Chapter Summary: Y/N sees a different side of Jay after he chances upon one of her late nights in the office.
Word Count: 1.8K+
Warnings: toxic workplace/workplace bullying
A/N: Sorry for the drought! Lunar New Year can be really draining for more reasons than one but I'm here!!! I'll try to update more regularly! Hope you guys enjoy this. Do leave your footprints behind!
SERIES MASTERLIST || JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST
Chapter 3 || Chapter 5
You hadn’t been totally sure about this. Putting aside the fact that this was totally out of your official job scope, you were sure there would be some unhappiness brewing in the other departments. Honestly, you should be used to it by now, but it still created the familiar void of anxiety in your gut.
Surprisingly, it had been pretty quiet.
Jay had been weirdly easy to work with. He pretty much let you take the lead, and it was a weird feeling having someone in an actual mentor position who seemed willing to teach you and let you grow.
You’d been skeptical at first, sharing just a portion of your ideas with him. Yet, he’d surprised you during the first meeting with the client when he’d let you take the lead, and didn’t take credit for a single idea that you had put forward, explaining that he’d just taken over and would merely be in a support position.
Life Construction had taken well to that idea, the manager making it clear that the reason he’d agreed to a meeting was because he trusted you, to which Jay had given a smile that had a hint of pride in it.
So you’d slowly let down your guard. You had a feeling that Jay kind of knew that you were holding back, and yet he’d just paced you, especially since the project was moving somewhat smoothly.
Overall, things had been looking up. Just a little, because you didn’t let down your guard about such things anymore. But up, nonetheless.
“Y/N? What are you still doing here?”
You were brought out of your thoughts by the only voice in this office that didn’t make your heart sink.
You glanced up at Jay standing half confused with his jacket draped over his arm on his way out of the office.
Your eyes darted towards your screen as you weighed your options. A part of you really wanted to tell him that you were stuck finishing up a task Laura had asked you to do, although for the life of you, you didn’t understand why the hell you had to calculate numbers for her.
Infuriating as it was, you were still hesitant about speaking up, your old boss’ words of “I don’t have time for this” seeming to ring in your ears.
But while you’d been immersed in the thousand considerations running through your head, Jay had reached your desk.
He peered at the screen from behind you, his eyebrows now bunching together as he frowned.
Even if he didn’t know what it was for, the numbers that jumped out at him made it perfectly clear that you were crunching numbers. Jay’s eyes flicked towards the calculator lying near your laptop before he looked at you.
You didn’t seem willing to say much, and while Jay’s heart sank a little as he realized he had a lot to do to clean up the culture of this place, it also made him sure that he hadn’t been wrong about you.
Jay glanced at you without saying anything, but you weren’t looking at him, your eyes drawn back down to your hands.
A part of Jay wanted to tell you to fuck it and go home. However, as the new director of this company, the work being done every day was a very vital part of making sure this place ran smoothly. Besides, Jay also knew that there was a limit to how much he could help you. If you didn’t get this done by tomorrow, it wasn’t like he could step in to say anything.
While he’d been thinking, a silence had fallen. This prompted you to look up at him, and you suddenly realized that this was the first time you’d been in such close proximity to Jay.
Jay glanced back down, and you quickly looked back at the screen in front of you.
“How do you feel about Chinese?”
Your brows furrowed. “Huh?”
Jay raised his eyebrows, but a hint of a smile danced behind his green eyes before he looked away, his eyes sweeping the rest of the darkened office.
“I’m sure two brains are better and faster.”
So that’s how you found yourself two hours later sitting next to Jay in one of the smaller meeting rooms, the projector whirring as it projected the sheet of numbers you’d been working on onto the screen, your Chinese food lying to the side as you buried your head in calculations.
“Who came up with this incredible rental fee model?” Jay didn’t hide the sarcasm in his voice as he keyed in the numbers onto the calculator in front of him.
You hid a smile, looking down without answering.
The evening passed quicker than you’d prepared for, working in silence save for a few choice comments from Jay once in a while. And as time passed, you found yourself being less and less able to keep your laughter to yourself.
By the time you and Jay made your way down the list of numbers towards the end of the sheet, you found that the numbers weren’t the only thing you had made progress with.
You glanced sideways at Jay as the both of you packed up your respective things. Things had turned out sort of weird yet it was a good weird, a feeling you hadn’t felt before.
Feeling your eyes on him, Jay glanced up.
“I’ll drop you home.”
You opened your mouth to reject but Jay put a hand up. “It’s late.”
Knowing it was probably useless to argue, you just took a breath and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Where’s Laura?” Jay asked as he stopped at your desk, glancing at the clock.
You looked up at him but didn’t respond. What were you supposed to say? It was normal for her not to be in at 9? She was probably just claiming her non-existent overtime?
But you should have known that Jay wasn’t likely to give up without a response.
“My office. Now.”
To anyone else, it looked like Jay was probably pissed at you, and you could even see the few gloating faces that were telling you, “See, nothing has changed”
But they were wrong.
You’d almost missed it, the softer look in his eyes even as he spoke gruffly.
It was only confirmed when you closed his office door behind you.
“Now, can you tell me?” Jay asked, pointing to the couch in his office.
So, today, instead of sitting across his desk, you sat on the couch in his office, which was usually reserved for meetings when clients came over to speak to him.
You sat but you didn’t speak.
Jay didn’t push, but he also wasn’t planning on dropping this without an answer from you.
You glanced up at him now, surprised to meet his bright green eyes since he was staring at you.
You sighed, knowing there was no way you were getting out of this one.
“She comes in at about 9 to 9:30 I guess. And it’s the start of the month, which means she’s probably going to send you an email to tell you she’s taking time off for working overtime last week.”
Jay frowned.
“Overtime?”
You shrugged.
“She wasn’t asked to work overtime," Jay said.
You gave him a forced smile. “Yeah, but she did.”
“That’s not my problem,” Jay answered, and you weren’t able to hide the surprise on your face quick enough.
Jay picked up on it almost immediately.
“This isn’t new, I take it.”
You didn’t answer and Jay just nodded. “Y/N, listen…”
You glanced up again, and Jay gave you a small encouraging smile. “I know what’s going on. Kind of. And I’m working on it, just… bear with me for a bit.”
Your frown was one of confusion and Jay just smiled, before nodding to signal you could leave.
You knew something was off the moment Laura swept into the office the next day. You could always tell when she was in a bad mood, because she’d ignore anyone’s but mostly your morning greetings, which you only kept up out of politeness.
Victoria shot you a look from where she was seated diagonally opposite you, and you just raised an eyebrow.
Despite the fact that she was one of the only friendly faces around here now, you were still a little guarded. After all, Victoria reported directly to Laura, and you couldn’t be sure where her real loyalties lay. Another real reminder that the longer you worked here, the more jaded you’d become.
The weird thing was that unlike the usual screaming or sarcastic, mean comments she would make when she was in a bad mood, Laura kept to herself, merely storming around the office. You could even see the concerted effort it took her to speak somewhat civilly to you and Victoria.
You were confused until you spotted Jay leaving his office, the icy look on his face disappearing the instant he met your eye, giving you a discreet smile before he left for another meeting.
It didn’t make you feel less confused, not really. But a small warmth felt like it blossomed right in the middle of your chest. It was a strange feeling you’d never had before, but it was a good kind of strange.
Later that night, you opened the door to your usual bar, the bartender flashing you a smile as you slipped into your usual chair and he handed you a drink before you said anything.
“Y/N?”
You glanced up, your eyes meeting the familiar green eyes of Jay Halstead.
You blinked back at him without saying anything, mainly just shocked to see him here.
“No, I’m not stalking you.” Jay said, before you could say anything and you felt your eyes widen just slightly.
You just smiled. “You didn’t tell me you could read minds, Mr. Halstead.”
Jay just smiled as the bartender handed you your usual drink and Jay nodded at him. “My tab.”
The bartender glanced at you and you smiled, shrugging. He gave a friendly grin before nodding. You rolled your eyes because you knew what he was thinking. You’d never let someone else, more specifically any guy in the bar, buy you a drink before.
The look wasn’t lost on Jay but you didn’t talk about it and he didn’t ask.
Technically, it should have been awkward, sitting with your boss in a bar, but even the short silences between your conversation seemed comfortable.
Jay had just asked you a question when your phone buzzed.
You glanced at it, the familiar name flashed across the scene in big words and the knot in your stomach tightened in a natural and familiar way.
Things had always been like this. You’d be decompressing after a horrible day at work, be it here or at home, and Laura would call. If you were lucky, it was about something for you to do tomorrow morning. When you weren’t, she would ask for it within an hour or two, and you’d either have to race out of there or open your laptop at the bar.
You sighed and reached for the phone about to answer it but froze when Jay put his hand over yours, the warmth from his fingers spreading right into yours.
THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!
Chapter Summary: Once again coming to terms with the fact that nothing significant was going to change, Y/N comes to a decision. Meanwhile, Y/N is cornered into meeting a client.
Word Count: 2.1K+
Warnings: toxic workplace/workplace bullying, allusions/slight mentions of harassment (incl sexual)
A/N: Here's Chapter 2! I'm nursing a cold (again) but I wanted to get this out! Hope you enjoy this and remember to leave a footprint if you liked what you read!
SERIES MASTERLIST || JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST
Chapter 1 || Chapter 3
“And why exactly do we do this?”
Jay could feel the irritation in his voice rise, only further exacerbated by the answer that he was given. “Procurement documents fall under Operations.”
So by the time you’d pushed open his office door, Jay was already running on a shortened fuse. You’d noticed it the moment you’d walked in, the frigid air doing nothing to relieve the anxiety that felt like it was coursing through your veins.
Jay nodded, extending his hand and motioning to you to have a seat.
You nodded quietly, slipping into the chair that was across from him.
Jay pushed the document file towards you. “Explain this to me.”
You blinked at the procurement documents in front of you before looking up into the green eyes that felt like they could penetrate right through you.
“The date isn’t filled in. The request form is submitted at the same time as the order?”
You held back a sigh.
This was all Laura’s doing - insisting on a shortcut in order to lessen her work, even though it was against policy. You’d tried bringing it up for discussion before, but you were shot down within a minute with justifications of efficiency and other big words you didn’t bother committing to memory. The department never had any power to talk about from the beginning, but saying all that just felt like you were making excuses.
And then you realized you’d just been sitting in silence while your new boss was waiting for an answer.
You bit the inside of your cheek like a habit before you spoke.
“It was a decision made by…”
“Stop.” Jay snapped, making you flinch.
Jay paused, inhaling to regain some composure and trying to keep his voice at a moderate level. “Don’t you dare tell me that this decision was made by someone else or so help me…”
You should have known.
“It’s just the truth. Next time I’ll ask if you want the bare truth or the politically correct answer, sir.” You couldn’t help snapping back even as your stomach coiled with semi-regret.
To hell with this.
You’d called your friends a week ago and started to put feelers out for a new job, so you were just hoping to get out of this hellhole as soon as you could. There was a limit to how much a girl could tolerate.
Jay raised an eyebrow.
“Everyone here knows that Finance calls the shots. Call it an unspoken rule. I’ve tried to change this.” You pointed at the document on the table now. “Tried and failed. Multiple times. No one in senior management wanted to touch this issue so I’ve accepted this.”
“So this is your process, but you can’t do anything about it. Is that what you’re telling me?” Jay asked, irritation seeping back out.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Laura’s now the head of administration. Has she not briefed you on this?”
Seriously, you needed this meeting to end before you actually lost what little composure you had left.
Jay didn’t respond, merely nodded at you as a dismissal.
“Y/N, right?” He said again, just as you got up from your seat.
You didn’t respond, just looked back at him.
“I don’t know how you did things before, but I’m telling you now. We follow the rules. Remember that.”
You resisted the real urge to roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”
Jay sighed as the door closed behind you. The way things were done here was a real problem.
The moment you crossed the threshold of your apartment, you sunk into your couch, wanting nothing more than to stay in there, the folds of the cushion feeling like a giant hug.
Reaching out for your phone, you turned one of your favorite playlists on, letting the soft beats from the music fill your quiet apartment.
As the melody slowly crescendoed, you sank further into the cushions, feeling the tears well up in your eyes like you’d expected and kind of wanted. You just needed to let it all out for the day, so you could go back to work with an empty brain and empty feelings tomorrow to face a new day.
You didn’t know how long you lay there huddled in your couch cushions, crying softly, but when you finally felt the frustrations slowly leave your tired body, you sighed, turning onto your back to stare up at your ceiling.
This was one of the times you were glad you lived alone - no family, no roommates, nothing. Just left to your own devices, the privacy of your own home to let out all the negative feelings without having to consider anyone else.
You only crawled out after you felt satisfied that most of your emotions were all cried out, and you had a new plan - you were leaving. You were going to get out of this hellhole the moment you found another job. Meanwhile, you would keep your head down, you weren’t going to talk to anyone, make any decisions, or give any opinions. Staying out of everyone’s way sounded like a great idea.
At least until your new boss thought it’d be a great idea to call for a meeting about policies and single you out with a “what do you think, Y/N?”
Trying your hardest to control your sass like you’d done almost every single day in this office, you looked up from your laptop.
Jay raised an eyebrow quietly at you, waiting for you to speak. “No wrong answers here, I just want your opinion.”
You wanted to give him a short dry laugh. That assurance wasn’t much of one, especially when you saw the look on Laura’s face as if she was daring you to disagree with whatever she had just said, or even the other exchange of looks from the unfriendly faces in the room.
The exasperating thing about you was that even at a time like this, you couldn’t speak against your conscience. Not even to save your own ass.
“I think if we do this on the website, we might be sending the wrong message,” You said, looking straight ahead at Jay, even though you didn’t really want to look at him either. But you figured the safest bet was the lesser of the many evils.
So, you swallowed and offered an alternative suggestion.
To no surprise at all, you’d barely reached your desk when a sarcastic comment from Laura reached your ears. You couldn’t tell what Jay was thinking, but if you didn’t know better, you would think he kind of liked what you had said.
But you knew better.
Things wouldn’t get better. Not here. Not by a long shot.
Things fell into a weird kind of routine as you got used to the new way of things.
Nothing much had changed except that you could tell Jay seemed to be trying to subtly change things around the office, including the current workflows.
You hadn’t had much one on one interaction with him ever since that less than productive discussion on procurement shortly after he’d taken over, and you kind of hoped things stayed that way.
But now you had more important things to worry about.
“I need you to do it.”
You looked back up at Edward, trying your hardest not to glare or show any trace of emotion on your face.
You raised your eyebrows. “I handle internal communications. I don’t think I’m supposed to…”
He didn’t let you finish. “I’m about to go in to an important meeting. No one else is available. Just go down, meet him and see what he needs. I have to go.”
“Wait…”
But he wasn’t waiting.
Biting down a few curse words, you looked around the office. No one else was around to help and technically, you were the one who took care of visitors or walk-ins because there was no one else.
Left with little choice, you grabbed your notebook and headed out of the office, going straight to the lobby on the ground floor.
“Mr. Fisher. I’m Y/N. What brings you here?” You asked, extending your hand for a handshake.
You didn’t particularly like the glint in his eye as he smiled and took your hand, his hand lingering on yours for a bit longer than a normal handshake.
Even so, you swallowed down that weird feeling, directing him towards a table at the cafe in the lobby of your office building. “Black coffee?”
Declan Fisher nodded back at you with a smile and you went to get the drink, smiling at the part-timer behind the counter.
As you put a cup of coffee down for him, you were reminded that you hadn’t done this ever since Edward had been brought in to head an entire team just for this purpose. You didn’t even have enough information about the client to be down here.
Sure, you used to do this when the team had been at half the strength they were at now. There’d been no one to take on extra responsibilities, so you’d pitched in as much as you could. But what was the point of hiring an entire team if this was going to happen?
Even so, you knew you had to clear your mind and focus.
“I haven’t seen you before.” He said, bringing his voice lower.
You gave him a polite smile. “I don’t usually sit in on client meetings.” You offered, as some sort of explanation. “You can share with me any concerns or requests you may have, though. I’ll make sure the right team gets it.”
He nodded back at you. “Not worried in the slightest.”
That was kind of a weird response but you didn’t react, flipping open your book as he told you about some big idea he had for a project he said was new, listening as he told you he was even more sure about working with Blossom after meeting you.
You tried to ignore the comment as you wrote down as much detail as possible, reminding yourself to have it out with Edward when you got back.
“Sure, I’ll get this to the team and get them to call you for another meeting so that you can discuss the creatives further.” You answered with a smile, slipping your pen back into the holder that was attached to the book.
Fisher didn’t look like he was ready to get up though, glancing at you. “Stay until I finish my coffee?” He asked.
Before you could even respond, he leaned over to put his hand over yours.
You felt the sinking feeling in your stomach, pulling your hand away instinctively.
Not even fazed, Fisher reached over further, putting his hand over yours again, his thumb grazing over your knuckles.
Without even thinking, you pushed your chair backwards as you shot to your feet, the chair clattering to the ground behind you as the table shook, the black coffee spilling onto the table and inevitably onto Fisher’s suit.
Now, Fisher just look pissed.
Biting back a few well-chosen words that were hanging off the tip of your tongue, you chose not to apologize for the mess. “Someone will call you, Mr. Fisher.”
Your skin still crawled from the physical contact so you turned, escaping through the lobby and through the gantry that prevented non-employees from walking through without a pass.
Jay tapped his fingers on his desk as his eyes roved over the company website, rolling over the ideas and discussions from the meeting a few days ago.
His thoughts unconsciously drifted towards you, especially since you’d once again surprised him.
Calling someone out in a meeting like that wasn’t something he did regularly, but he wanted to see how you handled it. You’d passed with flying colors, surprising him with a well-chosen suggestion that he felt no one else had seen coming either, even though they’d been working with you for a while.
Before Jay could get any further, he was interrupted by a knock at his office door.
“Edward, right? Come on in.” Jay said as Edward opened the door.
“Jay, we have a problem.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “What kind of problem?”
“I just got off the phone with Declan Fisher from Triumph Systems,” Edward said, glancing up at Jay uncertainly. “He just told me he wants to pull his projects. We’re just about ready to sign the contracts, and it’s a big sum.”
Jay sat up a little straighter. “Did he say why?”
Shaking his head, Edward looked up. “He just said that the girl he met was extremely rude and he’s never been this insulted in his life.”
“Girl?” Jay asked, his voice slightly sharper.
Edward nodded. “Y/N met with him an hour ago.”
A silence fell in Jay’s office before he spoke again, nodding. “I’ll handle this.”
As Edward closed the door behind him, Jay held back a sigh and pressed the numbers on his phone.
“Y/N, can I see you in my office? Now.”
THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!
• Warnings: mention of trauma, panic attack, blood, use of gun and knife, death, curse words, violence.
• Word count: 16K (yeah I’m sorry about that lmao).
• A/N: that’s part 2 of Scars and Shields. First of all I want to apologize if I didn’t to a great job, I tried my best to write about the trauma, the feelings associated to it etc please bear with me lol, I’m more than happy to learn from my mistakes so please comment if I wrote something wrong. Let me know what you think about this, please comment, like and repost if you want, it’d mean the world. Love you all.❤️
<- Part one
Two months later your injuries had healed.
The bruise faded and when you looked in the mirror, it almost seemed like they’d never been there.
But they were there, you could still feel them. Maybe physically they were gone, but emotionally… God, it was a whole another story.
The fear was still there, strong, intense.
Marcus Kane had devastated you more than you’d ever cared to admit, and you hated it.
You hated that even after two months—even knowing he was behind bars—you still counted the exits in every building you entered, still looked over your shoulder, still jumped at the slightest noise, still startled when someone suddenly touched you.
Some days were better than others, some slower, some faster when you somehow managed to distract yourself, especially with work. Some days you found yourself checking the locks only once instead of three times, while others you flinched even when the wind blew the leaves a little more than usual.
And you couldn’t stand it.
You thought about it a lot: if you’d gone to therapy after your first attack, would you’ve have been stronger now? If you’d talked about it with someone, would you have been forced to face it all alone?
What if you hadn’t locked everything away in a box and thrown it into the depths of your mind, without the presumption that everything would be okay?
You didn’t have an answer for this and now, unfortunately, you were forced to pay the consequences.
Of one thing, however, you were sure: without Jay Halstead, you would’ve ended up in an endless abyss, and you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back up on your own.
It was hard to admit it to yourself, especially at first, but ever since that night—when you run to his house in tears—he had never left your side. Ever.
His presence hadn’t been overwhelming; on the contrary, it was like that first breath of fresh air you inhaled after spending so much time underwater.
He had never insisted, never told you what to do, how to behave, he was simply there. He was there in the little things, in the moments of difficulty that seemed small but were insurmountable for you.
And this was because he knew you, he knew who you were.
It was true, you had never confided in each other, you weren’t the kind of people to talk to each other about their feelings, but in all that time you had been partners, you had learned to know each other, really know each other, even if in your own way, even without too many words.
It was late at night, and all the team got back home earlier after successfully closing a case. The doorbell rang suddenly, and your heart skipped a beat, not because you were surprised, but because you knew exactly who was on the other side of the door.
When you opened it, you weren’t surprised to find Jay standing there, looking as if he’d stepped out of a modeling magazine.
“Well, you really were waiting for me, huh?” Jay teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, a smug smile on his lips.
You rolled your eyes, amused but trying to hold back a laugh. “I was already up,” you replied, making room for him to come in.
It had become your unspoken ritual. Since you were attacked, there hadn’t been a single evening, not even one, that Jay had left you alone. No matter what happened, after every incident, even if you both had your own commitments, even if you insisted it wasn’t necessary, he made sure you weren’t alone,
The first few times you resisted, feeling guilty and weak, but as the days passed, as you began to process everything—the attack, your undercover past with Kane—you realized how vital Jay’s presence was, how grateful you were for it, and how much he had helped you.
When you felt like it, you talked about it, encouraged by him but without too much insistence. When you had a panic attack, he was there, hugging you and whispering that everything was okay. When you cried because you felt broken, he dried your tears, telling you how you were the strongest person he had ever known.
And then everything went back to the way it was before, teasing you, playfully insulting you, pranking you, leaving you no time to dwell on the rest like you usually would.
“Look what I brought you and tell me if I’m not the best partner in the world,” he began, once you were both in the kitchen. He pulled out a box of special tea from a white bag… Your favorite one.
“Oh my God, Jay!” you exclaimed with joy. “How the hell did you find that?! I’ve been looking for it since forever. Thank you so much!” You almost jumped like a child, your heart fluttering erratically. Well, yes, you were an herbal tea lover, you couldn’t help it.
He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Grandma.”
You playfully hit him on the arm. “Stop calling me that.”
“Never,” he retorted, laughing. It was a nickname he’d given you since he discovered your endless supply of herbal teas. “Anyway, I found it by chance in a shop nearby, it’s nothing special.”
You picked up the box and looked at it for a moment as you smiled, because you didn’t believe for a second that he’d just found it by chance, and the thought that Jay had been scouring through shops looking for that particular brand of tea for you, made your stomach twist, in a way that happened all too often when you were with him.
“Thank you, seriously, you didn’t have to do it, I really appreciate it,” you looked at him for a moment and noticed how his cheeks had suddenly flushed, like his ears.
God he was so adorable, you wanted to squeeze the shit out of him.
Without thinking too much, you hugged him; you weren’t good with words, and you hoped in that hug, he’d truly understand your gratitude, not just for the tea, but for everything.
He stiffened for a second before returning the hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, his body relaxing.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered.
You took a second, just one, to inhale his scent, that perfume that was becoming a sense of security, your lifeline.
You didn’t know how long you stayed there, maybe a second, maybe a minute, maybe longer than was appropriate, longer than ideal for just two partners.
But you didn’t move.
Your body reacted before your mind did, the way you melted into his arms, how the tension on your shoulders slowly dissipated. It unsettled you, how normal and natural it was becoming, how easy it was becoming to let go with him.
In that moment, however, you decided not to think about it because it felt good being in his arms.
You focused only on his regular breathing, the warmth of his chest under your cheek, his heartbeat, the rapidity of which you couldn’t help but notice.
For a fleeting moment, a thought brushed the edges of your mind.
Please don’t let this stop.
You pushed it away immediately, guilt curling in your stomach. You shouldn’t have needed this, need him like this.
And yet, when his arms tightened around your body, you held on for a second longer.
When you finally pulled back, there was a moment of silence in which neither of you said anything.
You simply slightly raised your head, enough to look at him, and your eyes met his, so bright, so deep and unreadable. He looked at you intensely, as if he was about to say something, but finally he cleared his throat, breaking the moment as naturally as it had formed.
A small smile graced his lips. “How about a nice cup of tea now?”
“Great idea.”
You moved around each other in the kitchen with ease, as if he’d been there a million times. No hesitation, no need to ask.
Jay filled the kettle while you reached for two mugs, automatically grabbing his favorite without even thinking about it.
You started talking and joking, that hug as if it had never happened.
“You know,” he spoke casually, opening the pantry where you had only herbal teas, of every possible kind, “I wanted to ask you something. Do you even have something to eat in there?”.
You rolled your eyes. “Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t think so,” he teased you. “One day I’ll turn on the TV and find you on that show ‘Me and My Obsessions’ or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m not obsessed. Can’t a girl like a nice cup of tea?”.
“That’s straight up obsession, darling,” he said as he looked through your immense collection. You tried to not to think about how your heart skipped a bit hearing him say darling. “I really don’t understand how you can like all these weeds.”
“Excuse me? They’re not weeds, they’re actually very healthy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he let out a small laugh.
“But why do I have to sit here and be criticized by someone who only drinks black coffee? Without even sugar, and you even have the nerve to say it’s so good.”
“Because it is good,” he picked up a carton of lemon and ginger tea and took a teabag from it, “still better than whatever medieval potion you have in here.”
You nudged him with your elbow as you passed by, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just uncultured.”
He looked at you, a raised eyebrow. “Wow. Attacked in my own kitchen.”
You paused, then smirked. “Pardon? Your kitchen? Pretty sure this is my apartment.”
“Still, I always end up cooking or making your potions when I come here,” Jay leaned back against the counter.
“And who asked you?” You crossed your arms over your chest.
“My kindness, because without me you would’ve died of hunger living only on your herbal teas.”
“And yet,” you shot back, “you keep coming over and you’re making yourself one of my potions.”
For a split second, something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe—before he recovered, that familiar grin sliding back into place.
“Guess I’m a sucker for punishment,” he said lightly, wiggling his eyebrows.
But the way he looked at you lingered just a beat too long.
The kettle whistled, filling the apartment with a familiar sound. You leaned back against the counter, watching Jay move, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed, like this was exactly where he was meant to be.
And maybe that was the problem.
You carried your mug to the couch, curling your fingers around the warmth as you sat down. Jay joined you a moment later, settling beside you with just enough space to be appropriate, and yet close enough you could feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of his shirt.
The film you had chosen played quietly in the background, some mindless film that you weren’t even really watching. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, awkward. It was… comfortable. Safe.
You sipped your tea and let your shoulders relax, your thoughts drifting.
Two months ago, being alone in your apartment felt unbearable. The walls were too thin, the silence too loud. Every sound made your heart racing, every shadow felt like a threat.
Now, with Jay sitting next to you, the fear didn’t disappear completely, but it softened. It dulled at the edges, manageable. You weren’t healed, you knew that. Some days were still hard, some nights still endless.
But you weren’t drowning anymore.
You realized, distantly, that Jay had become part of your balance. Not your crutch, but that steady presence that reminded you how to stand back up when your legs felt weak.
He didn’t fix things, he didn’t pretend to. He just stayed.
And somehow, that was everything.
Your gaze flicked to him briefly, looking at the way his jaw tensed when something on the TV annoyed him, the way his foot bounced slightly against the floor.
You wondered when you’d started noticing these things. When did they start to matter? Or were they always important to you but you were just now realizing it?
The thought made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
You looked back at your mug, suddenly afraid of where your mind was going.
This was safe. This was good. You couldn’t afford to complicate it. You couldn’t afford to name feelings you weren’t ready to face.
What if it was the situation that made you think those things? Because, let’s face it, he wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for that night. Your relationship would’ve been the same, you wouldn’t have gotten that close.
Still… a quiet, traitorous part of you whispered a question you didn’t dare ask out loud.
What happens when this end?
When he decides I’m okay?
When he stops coming over?
When I have to relearn how to sit in this apartment alone?
Your fingers curled tighter around the mug, as if holding onto the warmth could keep the thought from slipping away.
He was there because he was a good friend helping a friend in a moment of difficulty, nothing more and nothing less, you couldn’t think otherwise.
Jay shifted beside you, his arm brushing against yours. “You okay?” he asked softly, eyes flicking toward you with that familiar concern.
You nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
You settled deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket to cover your legs, the mug warm between your palms before taking another sip. Jay leaned back beside you as he too pulled the blanket over his legs, stretching his arm along the back of the couch—not touching you, but close enough that you were acutely aware of him.
Too aware.
You tried to focus on the TV, but your mind wandered, drifting backward without your permission.
Your head was exploding from everything that was happening, from all the confusion that was invading it.
This wasn’t new, that was the unsettling part.
Even before everything—before Kane—Jay had always been there. Not like this, not so constant, but present in ways you hadn’t questioned at the time. The lingering looks you’d brushed off as nothing. The way your stomach had flipped whenever he smiled at you, the instinctive trust you’d placed in him long before all of this.
You’d told yourself it was just partnership. Respect. Familiarity.
It had been easier not to look too closely.
But in that moment, sitting beside him in the quiet of your apartment, the truth pressed gently but insistently against your ribs. Something you didn’t want to listen to, however, because you knew it would only bring more pain, pain you weren’t ready to face. Something you’d ignored because acknowledging it would’ve meant risking something you hadn’t been ready to lose.
You swallowed, your grip tightening around the mug.
The fear wasn’t about needing him. It was about wanting him more than just friends and realizing you always had.
Jay shifted again, glancing at you. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, softer this time, like he was afraid of startling you.
You nodded, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
He studied you for a moment longer, like he knew there was more but wouldn’t push.
That was Jay. Always giving you space, even when every instinct in him probably told him to step closer.
And maybe that was why this hurt in a way you hadn’t expected.
Because if things had been different, he wouldn’t even have been there, and you’d never even had the courage to even face these thoughts.
You glanced at him again, just for a second before bringing your eyes back to the film. He was watching the TV now, relaxed, unaware of the quiet war unfolding in your chest.
You wondered if he had ever felt it too.
Or if this had always been yours alone.
Jay took a sip from his cup, and you found yourself glancing at him again, involuntarily. It was only when you realized he was turning his head toward you that you immediately returned your eyes to the screen. Your face was ablaze, your heart pounding, a single realization settling heavy and undeniable in your chest—this wasn’t something that started because he stayed, it was something that stayed because it had always been there.
But you weren’t ready to face it, not at that moment.
“Hey,” he whispered after a while, drawing your attention from that movie you absolutely hadn’t been watching. You looked at him, seeing he’s already looking at you. “If you need to talk, I’m here, you know that, right?”
You smiled faintly, nodding. “Yeah, I know.”
His eyes roamed your face for a moment, sweet and attentive. “I know you know, but I also know I have to remind you every now and then.”
Your heart was beating so erratically you feared an imminent cardiac arrest. “You don’t need to… Really, I’m fine.”
“Hmm, I don’t know, I can see from here how that pretty little brain of yours is working right now.”
“That’s not true, I was just watching the movie.”
“You were watching everything but TV, come on.”
“And how do you know?”
“Because I watch you a lot more than you think,” he replied so casually, as if these few, simple words hadn’t just turned your life upside down. “And that’s why I want to remind you that I’m always here if you need me, okay?”
You nodded, unable to form any meaningful sentence, your voice stuck in your throat.
He smiled sweetly at you and shifted a little, adjusting the blanket over your legs that had begun to fall to the floor. He made sure it covered you more. He was protective, thoughtful, and you struggled to remember the last person who had been so thoughtful to you for the simple reason that they wanted to be so without receiving anything in return.
“Thank you... For everything,” you whispered after a while, both of you intent on watching the movie. You didn’t even know if he’d heard you, but when his arm slid from the back of the couch around your shoulders—squeezing you a little closer to him—you had confirmation that he had indeed heard you.
For a moment, you let yourself just be. No fear. No panic. Just tea, the quiet hum of the apartment, and Jay.
You stayed like that, until tiredness took over and you found yourself resting your head on his shoulder. You were probably dreaming, because, at a certain point, you even felt his lips touch the top of your head.
You didn’t ask yourself if it really happened or not, you simply let yourself be cradled in his arms, in a deep sleep that you rarely had anymore.
-
You were at work, weeks later, in the middle of a morning that felt deceptively calm.
Those weeks had brought small steps forward. You’d finally found the courage to see a therapist, sat through your first session with your hands clenched in your lap, your voice shaking only once—or twice—when certain words came too close to the surface. Time had passed in a blur of cases, coffee breaks, late nights buried in paperwork, and you hadn’t missed how thoroughly you were drowning yourself in work you didn’t strictly need to do.
Maybe it wasn’t healthy, overworking yourself just to stay afloat. But it kept your mind busy, and busy meant quiet. If that was the price of feeling okay, you were willing to pay it—even if your therapist had gently suggested otherwise.
You were sitting at your desk when a familiar voice caught your attention.
“So…” Kim said, and you looked up at her as she sat on the edge of your desk. “You look… Better.”
“Better?”
She nodded, studying you with an intense, searching gaze. “You seem more present, less… I don’t know, like you’re running on fumes like the first few days.”
The first few days after the attack, she didn’t finish, but that’s what she meant.
You let out a humorless laugh, meaning against the back of your chair, arms crossed over your chest. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little,” she smiled. “But really, how are you doing?”
You sighed. “I’m better. Some days are better than others, but I really feel better.”
“They’re still steps forward, I’m glad to see you like this.”
You spontaneously shifted your gaze to Jay, who was talking about something with Kevin and Adam, one hand wrapped around his disgusting coffee cup and the other tucked into his pants pocket, his posture relaxed. Kim followed your gaze, and in that moment, Jay flicked his eyes on you, mid-sentence.
You blushed and looked away before looking at Kim again.
She looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you pressed.
“You’ve been doing that a lot, you know?”
“Doing what?”
“Staring at him. You really think we wouldn’t notice?”
Your stomach churned. “I’m not staring at him, stop with this nonsense.”
“Did I say it’s a bad thing?”
You inhaled through your nose, your shoulders stiff. “Kim…”
She studied you for a moment. “He’s always been like this with you.”
“Like what?” You frowned.
“Looking at you, seeing where you are and how you are, making sure you’re okay,” she replied, “and before you say it’s the situation, my answer is no, he’s always been like this with you.”
“That’s just a partnership. We’ve been working together since… Hell, forever. Plus, he’s like that with all of us, that’s just how he is.”
“Sure, that’s how he is,” she winked, “but you can’t deny that he’s always been different with you, ever since you became partners.”
“Mmm, of course I can deny it, because it’s not like that. It’s his nature.”
“Babes, stop wearing blinders,” she retorted, “we’ve all seen the way he looks at you, like you hang the moon. Every time something happens, he checks on you before everyone else. He watches you like a guard dog ready to tear apart anyone who might hurt you. It’s just… I don’t know, he’s very protective of you, even with us.”
“With you?”
“Yeah, Kevin once made a joke about you. I don’t even remember what it was, but Jay almost bit his head off, and that’s just one example.”
You glanced back at Jay, who had just finished laughing with Kevin and Adam and was now looking at the room, eyes flicking toward you again. You quickly looked down at your hands, again, pretending you hadn’t noticed.
You could feel his eyes on you and this made a bunch of butterflies explode in your stomach like you were a teenager.
God, I’m so gone.
Kim leaned closer, her tone softer, almost conspiratorial. “I’m not saying it’s anything you have to deal with right now. I’m just saying… Whatever this is, it didn’t start with Kane. He’s always been like that. And I promise, everyone else in the team noticed it too.”
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden tightness in your chest. “Kim…”
“Relax,” she said with a faint smile. “I’m not trying to mess with you. Just... Telling how I see it from my point of view."
You let out a short, humorless laugh, and when you looked up again, Jay was talking to Adam, but his eyes were already on you.
You looked at each other for a moment, heart thudding a little too fast, when Voight exited his office, his voice interrupting that little moment of peace.
“Listen up, everybody,” he said, and you all snapped to attention. “I just got a call.”
There was a short pause, and you frowned when his eyes met you. That single look was enough to tell you something was wrong.
“The first hearing in Marcus Kane’s trial was supposed to be held in the next few days,” your boss spoke, and just hearing his name made your insides twist. “This morning they were taking him to court, but there was an accident, and he…” he sighed. “He managed to escape.”
In that precise moment, you felt your entire world fall apart.
Every step forward, every progress you had made, vanished like sand in the wind.
You felt all eyes on you, wary, as if they were waiting for you to collapse at any moment. You also felt his gaze, especially his gaze.
But you remained impassive, as if Voight was talking about any other case.
“How did it happen?” you asked, managing to keep your tone apathetic and flat.
You’re fine.
You’ll be fine.
Voight, like the rest of the team, observed you for a few moments. “Listen…”
“How did it happen?” you asked again, your hands folded in your lap, palms sweaty, fingers trembling.
You counted mentally. You had to stay calm, you were a cop, you had a job to do.
“A head-on collision, a car went the wrong way and collided with the vehicle carrying Kane.”
“How do we know it wasn’t planned?” Kevin asked.
“We know for sure it was. The driver has already been identified: Vincent Kane, his younger brother. The impact was too violent and he died instantly.”
You exhaled a breath but by now your brain had stopped cooperating, listening, thinking.
The words echoed, sharp and invasive, crawling under your skin. Images rushed in without warning, metal restraints, dark spaces, the sound of your own breathing too loud in your ears, the knife stabbing your skin.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral, your posture steady.
I’m okay. I’m here. I’m safe, you told yourself that over and over, like a mantra.
Someone asked another question. Voight answered. The conversation moved on. The world kept spinning like nothing had just shattered inside your chest.
But you could feel it now, that familiar pressure building, tight and suffocating. Your palms were sweaty, your heartbeat loud enough you were convinced everyone could hear it. The walls felt closer, the air thicker.
You stood up abruptly.
“Excuse me,” you muttered, already moving, not caring about your teammate’s voices calling your name.
You just walked, fast, too fast, toward the hallway, your breaths coming shallow and uneven. By the time you reached the bathroom, your vision was starting to blur, your chest burning with the effort of trying to breathe normally.
You barely made it into the bathroom before your back hit the wall and you slid down, knees folding against your chest.
No. No, not here. Not now.
Your hands shook as you pressed them to your face, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember the techniques your therapist had taught you. Five things you can see. Four you can touch. Three you can hear—
But your lungs refused to cooperate.
The panic hit fully then, brutal and overwhelming, a tidal wave you hadn’t seen coming. Your breaths turned into gasps, your body curling inward as if it could somehow make itself smaller.
“Are you okay?” Someone asked you.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Out. Now.” Jay’s voice reached your ears, your arms still wrapped around your legs, head resting on your knees. You didn’t even know who he was talking to.
Jay immediately sat down in front of you, after locking the bathroom. He didn’t dare touch you, knowing that would only make things worse. His insides twisted, in pain from what you were going through.
“Hey,” he whispered, unaware of whether you had heard him or not. You didn’t respond, just stayed there curled up, shaking like a leaf. “Hey, it’s okay, everything is going to be alright, I’m here with you.”
His chest tightened. God, how much he wanted to hold you and cradle you in his arms, protect you from all the things that were tormenting you, to wrap you in a little bubble so that nothing and no one could hurt you again.
But he couldn’t do it, not in that moment.
He knew panic attacks, trauma, well; he’d experienced them firsthand, and he knew more than anyone that pushing you would only make things worse.
He closed his hands into fists and remained in the same position, close enough for you to feel him but far enough away so you wouldn’t be scared.
“You’re not alone in this, you don’t have to face it alone,” he murmured, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you. You’re here, you’re safe.”
Your breath hitched, uneven, and he leaned a fraction closer to you, careful not to crowd you. “Look at me,” he said gently, his hands hitching to caress you. “Just for a second, please.”
“Leave… Leave me alone, Jay,” you muttered.
“You know damn well I won’t do this, baby,” he answered, “Just look at me.”
You finally raised your head, and his heart sank as he saw your puffy, red eyes. But you weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost in space.
“Do you feel like giving me your hands?” He asked softly, holding out both his hands toward you. You stared at him for a moment before placing your trembling palms on his. Jay squeezed them, his thumbs caressing your skin.
“That’s it. Now look at me and breathe with me.”
You finally looked into his eyes, but you couldn’t speak. Another tear rolled down your cheek, and he squeezed your hands imperceptibly.
“I’m here with you, you’re not alone, okay?” He continued, “Do you trust me?”
You nodded.
“Then trust me when I say, I won’t let anything happen to you. As long as I breathe, that son of a bitch won’t touch a hair on your head.”
“Why does this keep happening to me?” You whispered, your voice broken, hoarse from crying.
Jay’s breath caught at your question, his heart breaking for you. He didn’t know how to respond, because there was no clean answer, no logical explanation for the tricks the brain sometimes played.
He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
Instead, he tightened his grip on your hands just enough to remind you he was still there. “Because trauma doesn’t work on a schedule,” he said quietly. “And it doesn’t care how strong you are.”
Your fingers trembled in his and Jay leaned towards you just a little more. “But this doesn’t mean you’re going backwards,” he continued, his voice steady even though his chest felt tight. “It doesn’t erase the work you’ve done. It just means your body remembers something your mind is still learning how to process.”
You shook your head weakly. “I should be better by now.”
“No,” he said immediately. Not sharp, but firm. “You don’t get to ‘should’ yourself through this. Give yourself some time and, above all, some credit.”
Your eyes flickered up to him at that, unfocused but searching.
“You survived something that shouldn’t have happened to you, what you went through was traumatic, he kidnapped and tortured you and now you’re facing this monster again,” Jay went on, softer now. “And your brain is doing exactly what it was wired to do, trying to keep you alive. Even when it gets it wrong.”
Another tear slipped free. He resisted the urge to wipe it away, staying still, letting you decide how close was safe.
“You’re not weak,” he added. “You’re not broken. Hell, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire life, you survived that traumatic shit, you got back on your feet and not everyone is capable of doing that.”
Your breathing slowly began to match his, still shaky but no longer spiraling. Jay watched it like it was the most important thing in the world.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good. Just like that. In and out.”
You swallowed. “I hate feeling like this.”
“I know baby, I know,” he whispered softly.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your breaths and the low hum of the building around you.
Then, cautiously, Jay moved one knee closer. “If it’s alright,” he said quietly, “I can stay right here as long as you need. Or I can get you out of here. Your call.”
And he meant it. Every word.
You hesitated, then nodded faintly. “Just… Stay.”
Something in his chest loosened. “I’ve got you,” he said, low and steady. “Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here.”
And he stayed exactly where he was, anchoring, present, unmovable, not as a hero, but as someone who cared too deeply to leave.
You sat there on that cold floor for an indefinite amount of time, him helping you take deep breaths, but not a word was said.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered suddenly, so quietly he almost imagined he’d heard them.
He frowned. “For what?”
“For all of this,” you sighed, your gaze fixed on your fingers still intertwined with his. “For being a burden…”
“Hey, hey, no. Stop,” he interrupted you immediately, his heart contracting painfully. “Don’t do that.”
Your eyes met his, uncertain, guilt-ridden.
“Don’t even finish that sentence. Don’t ever, ever, apologize, not to me, not to anyone else, okay? I never want to hear you say that again.”
You remained silent, your eyes still full of tears. God, he hated seeing you like this, he hated not being able to do anything to make you feel better.
“You’re not a burden, never have been, and never will be, do you hear me?”
“But…”
“No, no buts,” he squeezed your hands even tighter, firmly yet gently. “I choose to be here with you. There hasn’t been a single time I’ve felt forced, believe me. I just…” he sighed, pausing for a moment and trying to modulate his words before saying something he might regret, “there’s nowhere else and no other person I’d rather be with right now.”
You smiled, so faintly it almost went unnoticed.
“Can I?” He whispered, and you nodded, not even knowing what he wanted to do. He let go of one of your hands and placed his palm on your face, while his thumb dried your tears, first one cheek, then the other.
Jay couldn’t stop looking at you; despite your red eyes and your tears, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
A warm feeling took over him as he noticed the way you leaned into his touch. “Can I hold you? Just for a little bit.” He then murmured, almost in a whisper.
“Please,” you responded immediately, without any hesitation.
He let out a small smile and moved next to you before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.
You leaned into him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater like it was the only real thing in the room.
Jay exhaled, long and quiet, his chin resting against the top of your head. “I've got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
He stayed like that, unmoving, breathing with you, letting the weight of you settle against him like it belonged there.
His free hand continued to absentmindedly caress your hair, your face as you sat there in the bathroom, the cold floor and the icy wall behind you.
There was a moment of silence, a silence filled, however, by Jay’s racing mind, by his breathing, trying to regulate it, as if he was afraid you’d escape if he breathed wrong.
He hugged you and held you in a way that made it seem like he needed it more than you, and maybe, in a way, he did.
He tried to focus on something else, on anything else unrelated, but he couldn’t, not when your scent was overwhelming his senses, not when the smell of your shampoo filled his nostrils, not when your arms were so tight around him, as if he was your lifeline.
He didn’t want to think too much because if he did, he’d lose the grip he’d fought so hard to maintain.
This, however, wasn’t new; he’d spent years doing it. Because he cared long before all this happened, long before the fear, the panic, the nights spent with you. And, to be precise, it wasn’t your fear or your panic, but his.
He was terrified to lose you, terrified anything might happen to you, terrified to even know you’re hurt. That’s why he was always there, not because he had to, but because he wanted it, he needed it.
He’d always had a strong sense of protection for you, right from the start, and it was obvious to everyone. Whatever happened, whether it was interrogating a suspect, going to shady places, he made sure you came first.
He’d wondered why, so many times, why he was like this with you, but he’d simply buried this question, telling himself it was just partnership, loyalty, friendship. He’d buried it under jokes, quips, his teasing until you went crazy.
It was easier that way. But ever since that night... Damn, Jay couldn’t find peace, he couldn’t forget the terror on your face when he opened his door, when he saw you soaked, hurt. The panic and fear he felt in that moment, God, were something that would scar him forever.
He wanted nothing more than to lock you in a glass bubble, so he’d always know you were safe, and it killed him knowing he couldn’t do that, knowing how much you were suffering and not being unable to protect you.
And now, with you in his arms, so vulnerable, Jay struggled. All of his careful compartments had collapsed into one unbearable truth: he’d been lying to himself.
He hugged you a little tighter, pulling you closer.
Jay swallowed hard.
If things had been different, if Kane had never happened, he would’ve kept pretending, kept the distance, kept the line clean and untouched, as he had always done in all the years since he’d known you.
And he hated that it took this, he hated that your pain had dragged the truth into the light.
Because loving you hadn’t started with Kane, no, he had just made it impossible to ignore.
He shifted slightly, as if this thought prevented him from staying still. He had to do something, he had to distract himself or he’d end up ruining everything, and you didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t right, not with what you were going through.
“If I could carry this for you,” he said, his voice low, controlled but thick with something he didn’t name, “I would. In a heartbeat.” He didn’t expect a response; to be honest, he wasn’t even asking for one.
“I know,” you whispered back, and your arms tightened. “I would do the same for you.”
Jay closed his eyes, his heart beating so hard it almost burst out of his chest. He wanted to scream, cry, break something because he was overwhelmed, overwhelmed by his feelings, by what you were doing to him.
Without even thinking about it, he lowered his head and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your forehead. It was gone almost as soon as it happened, that kind of touch that felt instinctive rather than intentional, but he had to do it, he needed it.
He froze for half a second after realizing his gesture. He held his breath, ready to pull back, to apologize, to pretend it hadn’t happened, but you didn’t pull away, instead, you wrapped your arms a little bit tighter around him.
So, he stayed.
And that scared him more than anything else.
“We should get back,” you said, after a while, breaking away from the embrace. Since when had your absence caused him such an emptiness? Since when not being able to hug you anymore disappointed him so much?
“How are you feeling now?”
“I can’t lie to you, I… I don’t feel good thinking about him being out there somewhere… But I’m better now.”
“We’ll get that son of a bitch, I promise.”
You smiled faintly. “I know.”
Jay stood up and offered you a hand to help you, which you immediately grabbed.
He unlocked the door, and you were about to leave when you grabbed his hand this time.
He looked at you with a confused look on his face, which quickly turned to utter shock when you leaned toward him and pressed your lips on his cheek.
More than astonishment, he almost had a heart attack, and he wasn’t even exaggerating.
“Thank you, Jay… For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, he stared at you blankly for a few moments before realizing he had to speak. “A-anytime,” he stuttered, fucking stuttered.
You nodded once and, after opening the door, went back toward the bullpen.
And Jay stayed where he was for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the door pretending like you didn’t just shift the entire axis of his world.
It wasn’t even a kiss, more like a light touch. Your lips barely brushed his cheek, too fast for even his brain to register, but it was enough to set his skin on fire, it was enough to destroy that entire wall that so hard he had put up to.
His chest tightened painfully, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar since he met you.
He could still feel the ghost of it, the warmth, the softness, right there, just under his cheekbone, like his skin had already memorized it.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t read into it, he told himself immediately.
Don’ turn this into something it’s not.
She’s fragile. She’s grateful. That’s all.
His heart was hammering now, loud and reckless, and there was a sharp, familiar ache behind his ribs, something he was terrified to name.
He forced himself to stay still, to keep his expression neutral, even if every instinct screamed to reach for you, to pull you back, to hold you so tightly to him, to kiss you until he stole your last breath.
Instead, he grounded himself the only way he knew.
Control.
But God, if he hadn’t already been in too deep, that little kiss would’ve pushed him there.
When you returned to the bullpen, the rest of the team was there discussing the case, Kane. As soon as they saw you—Jay just few steps behind you—they stopped talking and watched you for a moment.
“Everything alright?” Voight asked, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Yes, I’m sorry, everything’s fine.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jay approach the whiteboard, positioning himself next to it, his eyes only on you.
“I know this isn’t easy for you, kid,” Voight continued, sighing, and you immediately understood where he was going with this. He knew the whole Kane thing; besides Jay, he was the only person on the team who knew. “But you can understand that you can’t work on this case since you’re personally involved.”
You exchanged a fleeting glance with Jay, as if asking for help, but no help came. Rationally, you understood, you would’ve said the same thing if you were Voight, but on the other hand, you hated being sidelined.
“I can help, boss. It’s clear that whatever he’s up to is against me and…”
“Absolutely not,” Jay intervened, his tone so resolute and authoritative that even you froze, “we won’t use you as bait, forget it. We’ll come up with a plan to find him.”
“He’s right,” Adam continued, “it’s too dangerous, we can’t give him what he wants on a silver platter.”
“Go home,” Voight resumed, “you’ll have protection 24/7, and we’ll keep you updated on anything. Try to get some rest.”
You sighed, resigned, knowing you’d never win this battle. You nodded and, without another word, grabbed your bag.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jay had said, but you didn’t respond, simply walking toward the exit.
The walk to your car was silent, that heavy silence you weren’t used to anymore, especially with Jay.
“I know you don’t like the idea of being off the case,” he spoke first when you reached your car, “and you know how much I hate to say it, but Voight is right.”
“I know he’s right, but it pisses me off anyway.”
“I hate that you have to stay home alone, I wish you’d stay here so I could always know you’re safe…”
“…But I’m not focused enough to stay here, yes, I know, I get it,” you finished the sentence for him.
“Hey,” he pressed again, stepping fully into your space, careful but firm, forcing you to stop. “Look at me.”
You hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then finally lifted your eyes to his.
“I know you’re mad,” Jay said quietly. “And I know it feels like we’re taking something away from you. But this…” he gestured vaguely back toward the building, “It’s about keeping you safe, that’s our number one priority.”
You scoffed softly, shaking your head. “You say it like I’m made of glass.”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I say it like you’ve already been through enough.”
That stopped you, his words landing better than you expected. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, your stomach twisting in pain. “You think I don’t know that?” you asked, voice lower now. “But I feel useless… I’ll just be sitting home while you’re all out there hunting him down… I…”
Jay exhaled slowly, like he was choosing his next words. “You’re not useless,” he spoke. “But Kane is unpredictable, and if there’s even the smallest chance he’d come after you—”
“He already did,” you interrupted, sharp. “And I survived.”
Jay’s jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he said, low. “And I’m not letting him get another chance.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill through you.
You studied his face for a moment, the tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were held too rigid, the way he never for a second stopped looking at you.
“Jay…” you started, then stopped, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
“I need you to promise me something,” he said.
You frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Humor me,” he replied, almost gently. “If anything feels off, anything, you call me. Doesn’t matter the time or what I’m doing. You call me and I’ll be there.”
“I will.”
“No, you won’t, not when I’m working on this case, so please promise me.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”
Something in him eased, just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough, it was like he wasn’t believing you.
You reached for your car door, then paused. Your hand hovered there for a second before dropping back to your side.
“Jay,” you said again, softer now. “Thank you again. For earlier. For… Everything.”
He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things and didn't trust himself with any of them. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied.
“I know,” you said. And then, almost without thinking, you reached for his hand, for the second time that day, with an ease that scared you to death.
Just briefly. Just enough for your fingers to curl around his, warm and grounding.
His breath caught, barely audible.
“Please be careful,” you added quietly. You were about to let go of his hand when his fingers grabbed yours again, squeezing them tighter than you did.
“I will,” he answered, “you too, and if you don’t want to call just text me, please, I can’t focus if I don’t know you’re okay.”
These words managed to further open the chasm that you carried around for too long.
“I will, I promise,” and this time, you truly meant it.
You let go of his hand and you were about to open your car door, when he preceded you and do it for you. You smiled and slid inside before he closed it.
As you drove away, you didn’t look back.
You didn’t see the way Jay stayed there long after you were gone, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn’t shake, his hand still hot from your touch.
You didn’t know that sending you home hadn’t made him feel better at all; instead, it had only made him scared he was running out of time.
Your apartment was too quiet, too calm, and for some strange reason, you hated it.
Your mind was in complete turmoil, you couldn’t think clearly, you couldn’t concentrate on one thing before the thought ended up on something else.
You carelessly dropped your bag on the ground, taking a deep breath trying to regain your composure. You tried to focus on the background noises, the distant noise of passing cars, the soft hum of the refrigerator, your own breathing which was louder than anything else.
You told yourself you were fine.
You weren’t spiraling. You weren’t panicking. You were just… Tired.
After kicking off your shoes, you moved through the apartment on autopilot, locking the door, checking the windows. Once. Then twice even if the police officers outside your door already did it.
It annoyed you how natural it had become.
You sank onto the couch and pressed your palms into your eyes, breathing out slowly. Your therapist’s voice echoed faintly in your head—Name what you’re feeling. Don’t run from it.
Fear.
Anger.
Frustration.
And something else you didn’t want to unpack.
Jay’s face kept intruding in your thoughts. The way he looked at you in the parking lot, the way his hand felt, solid, steady, like something you could anchor yourself to, the way he hugged you in that cold bathroom when you were falling apart.
Your chest tightened again, breath catching just slightly.
Not again.
You focused, counted your breaths until the pressure eased, focused on the things surrounding you.
You went to your bedroom and pulled a box you kept under the bed that contained several files, all the documents that related to Kane’s case, that box you managed not to open it in weeks.
You stared at it for a long moment, heart thudding.
You returned to the living room, setting the box on the coffee table, fingers trembling only a little as you lifted the lid.
Reports. Photos. Timelines. Notes you’d written years ago when you first worked on his case, in a handwriting that didn’t quite look like yours anymore.
You flipped through them slowly and the phone buzzed on the table. You froze, and for half a second, terror took hold of you, irrational and sharp, before you forced yourself to look.
A message.
From Jay:
You home?
Your breath left you all at once, fear replaced by relief.
To Jay:
Yeah, I’m okay. Just working through some stuff.
Three dots appeared, disappeared and then appeared again.
From Jay:
Don’t push yourself.
To Jay:
I won’t. How are things going over there?
From Jay:
We’re working on it, I’ll let you know if we find anything.
You knew full well this would never happen, and you didn’t know how to feel about it, whether relieved or irritated.
To Jay:
Okay. Be careful.
You set the phone face down and decided to take a quick shower before going back to the files, the papers spread out like a chaotic map of Kane’s crimes.
Every detail, every report, every photo you’d stored a hundred times before, was there in front of you. You weren’t supposed to be working on this case, but you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t just let it go.
Your fingers traced over his old movements, his connections, the patterns of his violence. It should’ve been easier, after all these years, but your stomach twisted every time you read his name. The memories you’d tried so hard to lock away poked at the edges of your mind… The panic, the terror, the knife.
You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay focused.
Five things you can see… Four you can touch… Three you can hear…
The hours passed in tense quiet, the sun dipped lower outside, shadows creeping across the floor, and still, you worked, because if you didn’t, the panic would’ve left you no escape.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered where Jay was, what was he doing? Did he find something? Was he thinking about you?
He was indeed thinking about you; in fact, you were the only thought that crossed his mind.
That, and finding that son of a bitch, that’s why he was outside a motel, breathing fast and his hand on his gun.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. Voight had forced everyone to take a break, but Jay refused, continuing to work alone on any clues. He had found a lead, a guy who had reported that a man—who Jay had then immediately identified as Marcus Kane’s brother—had paid cash for a fake passport.
Kane’s face was all over the news and when Jay answered a call from an anonymous caller who was sure they’d seen the fugitive heading to a motel, he couldn’t help but investigate.
The motel looked like it hadn’t seen maintenance since the late nineties. One flickering neon sign buzzed weakly above the entrance, half the letters burned out, the word 'MOTEL' reduced to a 'M—EL'. Paint peeled from the railings, cigarettes littered the ground, and the smell of damp concrete and old smoke hung heavy in the air.
Exactly the kind of place someone like Kane would choose to hide.
Jay stayed in his car for a moment longer, engine off, headlights dark. He scanned the second floor, eyes narrowing when he spotted a faint light bleeding through the curtains of one room at the far end. Room 217.
His jaw clenched.
He should’ve waited, should’ve called for backup, he knew he had to let Voight know he had a possible location. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be there alone, that it could’ve been all a setup.
But he wasn’t thinking rationally, all he could see was you, curled up on yourself, shaking, crying, fighting for air. All he could hear was your broken voice asking why.
He didn’t have time, Marcus could escape while waiting for reinforcements and it was an option that Jay would’ve never given up on.
He stepped out of the car quietly, gun drawn, keeping close to the shadows as he crossed the lot. His heart hammered against his ribs, every muscle taut, every sense sharpened. Years of training guided his movements, but beneath it all there was only anger.
There was no one around anymore, just him—-to be honest he didn’t even know if there was a living soul in that place—so he moved as quiet as possible as he took the stairs, slowly, stopping just before the second floor.
He listened.
Muffled footsteps.
Jay’s grip tightened on the gun.
He moved down the walkway, back to the wall, breathing slow and controlled. As he passed each door, his thoughts kept betraying him, slipping back to you.
He already knew you’d kick his ass for ignoring your messages, but he couldn’t tell you where he was, not without putting you in danger. He knew that at the slightest opportunity, Marcus wouldn’t miss a chance to kill you.
And it was a thought Jay didn’t even subconsciously want to formulate.
He stopped in front of the door.
The cheap wood was scuffed, the lock old. No sound now from inside. Maybe Kane was asleep. Maybe he was waiting.
Jay raised his hand, hesitating for just a fraction of a second.
He tried the handle and, to his surprise, it was unlocked. He didn’t give it much thought, the adrenaline coursing through his veins just at the thought of catching that bastard.
But if he’d been concentrated enough, controlled enough, he would’ve known it was too easy to find Kane, that something was undoubtedly wrong.
Every instinct screamed at him, but he pushed the door open anyway, gun leading the way. The room was dim, lit only by the bathroom light left on. Clothes were scattered on the bed, a half-packed duffel bag on the floor.
“Chicago PD,” Jay called out, voice low but firm. “Marcus Kane. It’s over.”
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Jay saw movement, fast, too fast.
He barely had time to react before something—or rather, someone—slammed into him from the side, knocking him hard against the dresser. His gun clattered to the floor, skidding under the bed.
Kane had been waiting.
And Jay realized, too late, that this was no longer an arrest, that he was going to fight for his life.
Kane immediately threw himself on him, without even giving Jay time to get up to his feet and react. A fist hit him full in the face, hot and harp, sending him crashing against the wall. For a moment, he was short of breath, but it wasn’t the time to think; he just had to act.
“Not exactly who I was expecting to be honest, but I guess it’ll do,” Kane sneered, his face twisting into something sinister.
Jay froze for half a second, and then it hit him. Why was it so easy to track him down, why was he was found so quickly. He was waiting for YOU.
“She’s always been a stubborn woman, I figured—”
But Jay didn’t let him finish his sentence; he threw himself on Kane, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy, crumpled shirt. He punched him square in the face, then another, before pressing his forearm against Kane’s throat, nearly cutting off his airway.
The latter wheezed, but that wasn’t enough to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
“Talk about her again and I’ll make you suffer like you never did,” Jay spat a millimeter from his face.
“I knew she’d come eventually. Couldn’t help herself. Always trying to be brave.”
Something inside Jay snatched.
He punched Kane once, twice, again, knuckles splitting, blood slicking his fingers, though he was totally oblivious to the pain. Kane collapsed to the floor with a grunt, coughing hard, but still laughing.
“You think sending her home kept her safe?” Kane taunted between gasps. He spat on the ground, a mix of blood and saliva, then wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. “I left traces…” he breathed heavily, “I wanted her to find me… I wanted to see the look on her face when she realized I wasn’t done with her yet.”
Jay tackled him.
They hit the floor hard, the motel bed creaking under the impact. He straddled Kane, fists raining down, every blow driven by a single, horrifying image of you walking in here, alone, what Kane was going to do to you.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed in his face, “you’ll fucking pay for everything you put her through!”
Kane twisted beneath him, suddenly desperate, hand flashing between them.
Jay didn’t see Kane grabbing the knife from his pants pocket, not until it was already sinking into his flash.
Pain exploded through him, blinding and white-hot.
He gasped, hands faltering just long enough for Kane to shove him off. Jay stumbled back, one hand instinctively pressing to his abdomen, coming away soaked in blood.
Kane dragged himself upright, swaying, smiling through bloodied teeth.
“Guess I still win,” he said. “Either way… She loses. Man, I can't wait to see her face when she finds you.”
Jay completely lost his mind, like he never did before.
He lunged again, ignoring the agony tearing through his body, thanks to the adrenaline that flowed in rivers through his veins, slamming Kane into the wall, then the floor.
The knife clattered away somewhere out of reach.
Jay didn’t stop, he couldn’t.
Every punch was fueled by terror, by guilt, by the unbearable thought that it could’ve been you.
He had lost count of the punches he’d landed, ignoring the pain each blow inflicted, the blood seeping from his wound, ignoring the sound of Kane’s skull being smashed against the dirt floor of that motel.
Jay ignored everything until Kane stopped struggling.
He froze, chest heaving, staring down at him, eyes open but now lifeless, his body still.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
I just killed Marcus Kane.
Jay staggered back, vision blurring, blood soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the carpet. He braced himself against the wall, breathing shallow and uneven, his forehead covered in sweat.
She was supposed to come here.
He slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind him, shaking now, not from the pain, but from the horror of how close you’d come.
He reached for his phone from his pocket when—with horror—he realized he’d left it in the car.
He was tired, exhausted, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he had to call for help, or he’d bleed to death there, on that filthy floor, alone.
God, he wanted you, he wanted you there, so bad he couldn’t breathe.
The strength continued to slowly leave his body, but despite this, he didn’t give up. He tried to stand up, leaning against the wall.
He kept pressing on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but his grip was too weak, almost useless. He managed to take a few steps before collapsing again.
This time, however, he couldn’t get up
But suddenly—after an infinite amount of time—he heard footsteps coming from outside the room, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.
He wasn’t used to praying, but in that moment, he did, he prayed to see you. He winced again in pain as he tried to get up again, but to no avail.
“Jay?”.
A voice reached his ears from afar, but he smiled despite this because he would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, even among a million people. He wanted to scream so badly, to tell you he was there, but he couldn’t, only faint whispers escaped his lips.
Staying awake was becoming increasingly hard, every breath felt like another stab, but he fought to keep his eyes open, because if he was to die that night, you were the last person he wanted to see.
You didn’t receive any answer but, on the other hand, you weren’t even sure you’d be able to hear it yourself since the loud pounding of your heart was deafening you.
You continued walking down the silent corridor with your gun pointed forward, terrified of what lay ahead.
But something immediately caught your attention. The hallway was dark, except for one room, whose light illuminated a small section.
You quickly approached it, and when you entered the room, your worst nightmare, your greatest fear, just became real.
Jay was lying on the floor, covered in blood, barely conscious.
You immediately put the gun back in its holster before grabbing your cell phone and dropping to your knees beside him.
“Hey, hey, hey, Jay, stay with me please. I’m calling for help,” you spoke before quickly calling for backup and an ambulance.
Your cell phone landed on the floor, your hands on his face as you slightly shook him. “Please stay awake for me, okay? Don’t fall asleep, the ambulance is on the way, please, Jay…”
He muttered something you couldn’t understand, and your heart broke when you saw that small smile on his lips, as if he’d just realized you were really there.
“It’s going to hurt a little, but I have to do it, okay? I have to stop the bleeding,” you quickly took off your jacket and pressed it firmly against his wound, your insides twisting as you saw his beautiful face contorted in pain.
Your vision was blurred by the tears you hadn’t realized were pouring like a raging river. “I know, I know…” you sniffed. “I’m so sorry, God, I’m so sorry…”
“H-hey…” he murmured.
You smiled at him, through your tears. “Hey baby, I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay… I’m not leaving you…” With one hand, you stroked his face and hair, while the other continued to hold the now bloody jacket firmly over his wound.
“You… You’re h-here…” he continued to breathe heavily, as if every word he said was torture.
“Shh, it’s okay… it’s okay… Yeah, I’m here… Please stay with me, okay? Don’t leave me, Jay, I’m beginning you…” you literally sobbed, feeling your heart being ripped out with every second that passed.
“Help!” you screamed, the sound ripping out of your chest, raw and unfiltered. “HELP—PLEASE, SOMEBODY!”
Nothing.
The silence was underpinned only by your sobs and Jay’s heavy breathing.
Your voice echoed down the empty motel walkway, bouncing off cracked concrete and empty rooms. No doors opened. No one came.
“Help us!” you cried again, hysterical, your throat already burning. “Please—he’s bleeding… Someone help me!”
“No… No, no, no…” you blurted out, shaking your head as if refusing to accept it could somehow change the outcome. You pressed both hands harder against his wound, desperate, ignoring the way his blood soaked your palms, your skin. “Stay with me, Jay. Stay with me, please—please…”
Your hands slipped. You couldn’t stop the bleeding. You couldn’t fix this. Panic clawed up your throat, sharp and uncontrollable.
“I can’t do this without you,” you choked. “You don’t get to leave me here alone, you hear me? You promised me.”
His face was so pale, sweat slicking his skin, but his eyes, God, his beautiful eyes, were still on you, or at least, he tried.
“I… I didn’t… I… Want you t-to see this,” he whispered, a faint, crooked ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“I don’t care,” you cried, shaking your head as tears spilled freely, falling onto his chest. “I don’t care about that. I just need you alive. I need you to stay with me, please Jay, don’t do this to me.”
He closed his eyes and the fear and panic no longer made you think.
“No, no, no, please… Hey, open your eyes, you hear me? Eyes on me baby, please stay awake.”
Your chest hurt, your lungs burned like a forest on fire. You couldn’t get enough air, like the panic was trying to drag you under again, only this time it was worse because it wasn’t just your fear anymore.
It was about him.
He shifted weakly beneath you, a pained sound slipping past his lips, his eyelids struggling to stay open. He was struggling, so damn much and you couldn’t do anything to help him.
“I can’t lose you,” you cried, the words spilling out without permission, without thought. “I can’t… I won’t survive.”
You leaned closer, forehead pressed to his, tears dripping down your cheeks, onto his skin, onto the blood you were desperately trying to stop.
“I love you,” you sobbed, the words ripped straight from your chest, so messy and broken. “I love you so much Jay… Please, I need you to stay. Please. Please stay with me.”
The moment the words left your mouth, it felt like the world stopped.
You hadn’t planned to say it, not like that, but it was true, and it had been true long before this moment.
His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched weakly against your sleeve, as if anchoring himself to you was the only thing keeping him here, his eyes searching your face.
“I wanted to… To… Protect you…” he coughed. “He… He won’t hurt you again…” he whispered again, voice rough, strained. It was only then that you noticed that body in the room, that now lifeless body, belonging to the person who had ruined you the most.
But you didn’t care. You felt nothing about it. You just wanted to save Jay.
“I l—…” he continued but the words died in his throat, his eyes fluttered.
“Jay? Jay!” Panic ripped through you again. “Jay… Oh my god… No, no, no, please… Open your eyes, stay with me.”
But his grip loosened, his head rolled slightly to the side.
“Jay!” you screamed, terror tearing straight through your chest. You pressed harder against the wound, sobbing uncontrollably. “Please… Please wake up… Talk to me…Please I need you.”
You screamed for help again, voice hoarse, desperate, echoing uselessly through the empty motel hallway.
Sirens cut through the night like a lifeline and you were never so relieved to hear that sound.
You barely registered the sound at first, too busy counting his breaths, begging him under your breath not to leave you, but then the flashing red and blue lights painted the motel walls, and you subbed in relief so hard it hurt.
“They’re here,” you whispered frantically, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Jay, baby, they’re here. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallways and suddenly the room was full, paramedics, lights, movement, orders being barked back and forth.
They stabilized him, then lifted him onto the stretcher, and you followed their every move, refusing to leave him alone for even a moment.
“Jay, please, stay with me,” you whispered, your eyes always on him, almost the entire way to the hospital. You wanted to grab his hand so badly, hoping he could hear you, know you were by his side and you’d never leave him. “Don’t leave me…”
“He’ll be okay, right? Will he make it?” You asked louder, not taking your eyes off his unconscious body, terrified of the answer.
“He’ll need a transfusion and surgery right away,” the paramedic replied, without actually giving you an answer, and for some other reason, this hurt even more. “Do you happen to know his blood type, ma’am?”
“A positive,” you replied, without even thinking.
This thought made you freeze for a moment. Damn, you even knew his blood type, how could you deny that you didn’t love him all this time?
His chest rose shallowly beneath the oxygen mask, each breath uneven. The monitor beside him beeped steadily, maybe too fast, his blood pressure too low.
“I love you,” you whispered again. “Don’t leave me please.”
That ambulance ride was the longest of your life, and even though it was traveling above the legal limit, it still felt like it was going too slow for you.
When the ambulance slowed suddenly, then finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re here.”
The doors flew open and cold night air rushed in. Hands moved everywhere at once, lifting him, pulling, and suddenly he was rolling away from you.
“No, no” you said immediately, panic exploding again in your chest. You stumbled after them as they rushed him through the ER doors. “I’m here, I’m with him… I need to be with him…”
“Miss, you need to stay back,” someone said, firm but not unkind. “Let us do our job.”
You reached for him anyway, fingers brushing his hand just before they pulled the stretcher farther ahead.
They pushed through the doors to the trauma bay and they slammed shut in your face.
And you lost it.
You sobbed, chest heaving as the weight of it all crashed down on you at once.
You looked at your hands, the blood on your hands, on your clothes—damn, it felt unreal, like none of this could possibly be happening. How could this be reality? How had you gone, in the space of a single day, from hugging each other to praying with every fiber of your being that he would survive?
You slid down the wall slowly, knees hitting the floor as another sob tore out of you.
You really couldn’t believe this was really happening. You couldn’t conceive the thought that you might actually never see him again, you couldn’t accept that the one time in your life you’d had the courage to tell him you loved him was because he was hurt.
What if it was the last time you spoke to him?
What if it was the last time you held his hand?
What if it was the last time you hugged him?
You shook your head as if trying to push that thought away. Jay wouldn’t give up, he was strong, he could handle this too.
The noise around you only made you more unsettled, too many footsteps, too many people talking, too many bells and monitors ringing, too much light—God, you couldn’t take it anymore.
The mere thought of him being there, only a few steps away from you, that only a door separated you, but you couldn’t be there for him devastated you.
“Miss.”
A voice in the distance called you.
“Miss.”
They insisted.
It was only when you felt a hand on your shoulder that you jumped, finding a nurse staring at you with a worried look.
“How is he? Is he okay? Is he awake?” You asked immediately, snapping to attention.
“They’re about to take him to surgery,” she replied, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
It was clear she was referring to the blood on you. The blood of the person you loved.
You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek.
“Do you want to call someone?” She continued, looking at you with eyes full of pity and sadness, before handing you a handkerchief, which you immediately accepted.
“Um… No… I…” you sniffed, reaching for your cell phone. Only when you felt your pockets being empty you remembered throwing it on the floor in that damned motel. “Actually, yes, I… I forgot my phone. Thank you.”
She smiled kindly. “I’ll be right back, but first, let’s get on the chair here, okay?”
You nodded and stood up, then immediately sat down on one of the various chairs in the emergency room hallway.
“Can I get you something else?”
You shook your head.
“Okay, I’ll be right back with a phone.”
You called Voight, trying to explain the situation as best you could, trying to be as clear-headed as possible, even though you probably sounded like a robot. He said he’d be right there with the others, and you responded only with a feeble “okay” after telling him which hospital you were in.
You thanked the nurse before handing her back the phone, accepting the bottle of water she had, despite everything, brought you.
A lump rose in your throat, suffocating.
You couldn’t even cry anymore.
You wanted to scream, break something, run into the OR just to catch a glimpse of him. Instead, you remained there, helpless, broken, your heart beating too hard and too slow at the same time.
Time lost meaning.
You didn’t know how long you sat there staring into space, maybe minutes, maybe hours, before you felt a presence beside you.
You looked up with difficulty.
Voight.
He didn’t say anything at first, he just stood there, eyes scanning your face, the blood on your clothes, the way your hands trembled faintly in your lap. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
For a moment, you wondered if he was waiting for you to speak. You tried, but you couldn’t. You just stared at him as if you said the words out loud, they’d become real.
“He’s in surgery,” you finally whispered, voice hoarse, barely more than air. “They took him in a few minutes ago.”
Voight nodded once, slow before sitting down next to you. “I know.”
Your chest caved in.
“I was supposed to stay home,” you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I know you told me to stay home and I tried, I swear I tried but I just…” Your breath hitched. "I had this feeling. Like something was wrong..."
You broke off, shaking your head. “If I’d gotten there sooner,” you murmured. “If I—”
Voight interrupted you. “Listen to me kid,” he said quietly, but firmly enough that you had no choice but to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
Your eyes burned. “He went alone.”
“He went alone because he wanted to protect you,” Voight replied. “Because that’s who he is, the only thing he cares about is you.”
That didn’t make it hurt any less.
You pressed your lips together, fighting the sob that threatened to tear you open again. “He was bleeding so much,” you whispered. “He tried to stand t-to talk. I thought…” Your voice cracked. “I thought I was going to lose him right there.”
Voight’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “But you didn’t and you won’t.” He rested his forearms on his knees, mirroring your posture. “The doctors are good. This hospital’s one of the best. If anyone can pull him back from the edge, it’s them.”
You nodded weakly, though hope felt like something dangerous now.
“The rest of the team are on their way,” he added. “You’re not doing this alone, he won’t be alone.”
You swallowed hard. “I told him I love him,” you said suddenly, the confession tumbling out. “I don’t know if he heard me. I don’t know if…”
Your throat closed but Voight didn’t look surprised, instead, he nodded again, slower this time. “He heard you,” he said simply. “Even if he couldn’t answer. He knows.”
That almost broke you completely.
You buried your face in your hands as silent tears slipped through your fingers.
Minutes and minutes passed and the rest of the team arrived, though you weren’t in the right mind to talk to any of them.
Hours and hours passed.
Hours in which you had done nothing but torment yourself and pray from him. You cleaned your face and your hands, though your clothes still bore the weight of that horrible night.
Then footsteps approached.
A doctor emerged from the double doors, mask pulled down around her neck, eyes searching the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, heart slamming against your ribs.
The doctor’s gaze landed on all of you as you approached. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” you answered, and even if it wasn’t true, the doctor immediately knew from your gaze you’d never let go.
The doctor nodded once. “He’s still in surgery,” she said. “It was a severe abdominal wound. He lost a lot of blood and we had to transfuse two bags of blood.”
Your stomach dropped and you stopped breathing for a second.
“But,” she continued, carefully, “he made it through the first critical phase. The next few hours will be fundamental.”
You exhaled shakily, legs threatening to give out beneath you.
“He’s alive,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
“For now,” the doctor said gently. “But he’s fighting.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He was truly fighting.
For the next two hours, you kept pacing back and forth in that waiting room. The rest of the team was there, but no one spoke. The anxiety was too much, the worry overwhelming.
When the surgeon finally announced that the surgery was over and he’d be taken to intensive care, you literally felt the ground disappear beneath your feet.
You hated hospitals, you hated the smell that hung in the air, you hated the sound of that monitor, you hated knowing that there were people fighting for their lives, you hated knowing that your Jay was there.
You found yourself outside his room, your body shaking, your heart pounding.
You couldn’t find the courage to go in, to see him like that. This wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You took a deep breath before taking a step, then another. When your eyes landed on Jay, it was like the air had been knocked from your lungs. God, a punch would’ve hurt less.
He was lying on that bed, his eyes closed as if he was simply sleeping, his oxygen on, the monitor echoing with his steady heartbeat. His chest was rising and falling, slowly, too delicately.
You approached his bed, your breath involuntarily held, walking so slowly as if you were afraid of waking him. Your fingers hovered for a few seconds over his hand, barely touching it, before you took it, and, God, what a relief it was to feel his warm skin against yours.
His angelic face was relaxed, but it was surrounded by the purple bruise that marked his fight with Kane.
He’s dead, he can’t hurt anyone anymore.
With your free hand, you slowly caressed his cheek, delicately, scared at the thought of hurting him. Your fingers brushed his hair, hoping somehow, he could feel it.
You leaned in slightly and gently pressed your lips on his forehead, leaving a small, sweet kiss, just like he had done in that bathroom not so many hours before.
“I’m here, I’m not leaving you,” you whispered, “You’ll be fine, everything will be fine.”
You sat next to him, on a chair in the room, and grabbed his hand, kissing it, holding it close to your face.
You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t know how to behave and not being able to do anything to help him was destroying you, making you feel more useless than ever before.
You had heard somewhere that talking could help patients, they could hear you even if they were unconscious, and that’s what you did.
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” you began. “It’s all my fault, this…” you sighed, trying to hold back the tears but failing miserably, “This shouldn’t have happened, not to you… I—”
You paused for a second, trying to reconnect your thoughts.
“I really don’t know where to start, I want to tell you so many things…” you kissed his hand again, “First I want to say thank you, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for me, for being there for me in the worst moments, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Your voice broke at the last words, your hand slightly squeezing his, trying to hold on to him because, if you hadn’t, you would’ve collapsed.
“It’s always been you,” you continued, “always, even when I pretended it wasn’t, even when I tried to convince myself it was just friendship and partnership… All these years, God… I’ve been so stupid, such a coward…” you took a deep breath “I’m so sorry, Jay, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to hear me say I love you in THAT moment, not in that way, but I just…” a tear rolled down your face, “I love you so much…”
“I tried to convince myself it was just the trauma, but it was a lie because every time I look at you, I know what I feel goes way beyond that, it’s something so deep I can’t even explain it,” you shook your head slightly, “up until now, I’ve lied to myself and preferred living the lie rather than facing the fear of ruining everything, but now… Now I don’t want to hide anymore, I love you so much it terrifies me, I don’t know what to do.”
Your thumb caressed his bruised knuckles, and it was another stab in the stomach.
“I should’ve told you before, I know,” you continued, “I should’ve told you when we were bickering over coffee, when you teased me about my tea collection, when you pulled all those pranks on me, when you smile at me, when you laugh until you lose your breath…” you stopped speaking when another uncontrollable sob escaped your lips.
“But I need you to wake up, baby, please, I need you so much. You always said I was strong, that I had armor, but the truth is, I was because of you, because you were always there beside me no matter what happened, you always helped me get up without saying anything and you always did it without making me feel like a burden and now…” you sniffed, your vision now blurry from the tears, “Now look at you… You’re here because of me…”
You slightly leaned forward, your cheek hovering close to his hand while still keeping your gaze on him.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself, how I’ll ever live with the fact that you got hurt because of me. You always protected me, and when I should’ve protected you, I failed, and I’m so sorry, baby, I hope you’ll forgive me…”
There was another moment of silence.
“Please come back to me… I can’t live without you, Jay, I don’t know how to be in this world without you… Without you making my life impossible, without you forcing me to watch those stupid action movies only you like, without you making me feel so safe with just a hug. I can’t imagine going to work and not finding you sitting at your desk, with a pre-made donut you saved just for me even though you always say it’s not, without you making fun of my handwriting…” You chuckled bitterly as your mind replayed all those moments, moments you would’ve sold your soul to relive. “So, wake up, Halstead, you understand me? You need to wake up.”
You remained silent for an indefinite time, sitting there next to him for all the hours that followed, even after the sun had risen, even when the others tried to convince you to go and rest, but you refused to move.
The hours passed, sometimes you continued talking to him, other times you simply looked at him, in silence, your hand always in his while your thumb drew imaginary circles on his skin.
At some point, your voice gave out completely.
Your head dropped forward, resting against the edge of the bed, forehead brushing his knuckles. You didn’t even remember falling asleep, you didn’t mean to, you just remembered that exhaustion took over at a certain point, quietly, while your fingers were still intertwined with his.
Pain.
This was what Jay felt when his eyelids opened slightly. He blinked once, twice, three times, trying to adjust to the blinding light in that room.
The events of the previous evening flooded his mind like a raging river, so it didn’t take him long to realize he was in a hospital bed.
He tried to move but couldn’t, not even when he tried to convince his body to do it.
He felt heavy, all his muscles ached, his throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper was rubbing against him.
He tried to lift his hand but couldn’t, and it was only when he looked down at the figure next to him that he understood why he couldn’t.
His heart sank when he saw you curled up in the chair, head resting on his hand, fingers intertwined, eyes closed.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes again and opened them again, before looking back at you, and to his great relief, you were still there.
He wasn’t hallucinating, he wasn’t dreaming, you were really there, next to him.
His fingers twitched weakly against yours, and this simple movement was enough to wake you. Your head snapped up, and he wanted to take a picture of your face again when your eyes met his.
“Oh my god… Oh god! Jay you… Oh god you’re awake!”
“Hey,” he smiled weakly when you jumped to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. You carefully grabbed his face, looking at him as if wanting to make sure it was really real.
“You’re awake… Oh fuck… How do you feel? God, you’re really awake.”
He chuckled, every muscle in his body aching. He raised a hand and placed it on yours, caressing it. “I’m fine, a little tired, but I’m fine now.”
And it was true. Even though everything hurt, even though he could barely keep his eyes open, even though even breathing felt like a stab, he truly was fine. Because you were there.
“I thought I lost you… I thought—” you whispered, but you stopped when he grabbed your hand, removing it from his cheek and bringing it to his lips before pressing a kiss.
“It takes more than that to finish me off, baby, you’ll never get rid of me.”
You chuckled through your tears. “Don’t ever do this shit to me ever again, you understand me?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, I’m not planning to get stabbed again, that’s enough,” he replied, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Can you hug me now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Please. You won’t hurt me,” he whispered, “I need it, I need to hold you.”
You hesitated for a moment, and it was the cutest and, at the same time, the most painful thing he’d ever seen. He understood your hesitation, but he didn’t want to see it, he never wanted to see you hesitate to hug him.
You finally nodded. He felt the mattress shift when you sat on the edge of the bed, and your hands trembled when you hugged him.
He wrapped his arms around you, his hands clutching your shirt in a fist as if you were his lifeline, completely ignoring the pain in his side. God, holding you and smelling your scent was enough for him to make everything else fade into second place.
He exhaled, all the weight shifting off his shoulders, finally feeling at home.
He was so grateful to be able to hold you again, touch you, hear your voice, look at you.
“Fuck, I missed the way you stink,” he muttered, and his heart exploded when you laughed. Man, he loved the sound of your laughter so much he just wanted to record it so he could listen to it over and over again.
“Yeah, well, look who’s talking,” you replied, pulling away from the embrace, a small smile on your lips.
“Well, I’m justified, I’m hurt, I have the right to stink.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so glad to even hear your insults.”
He chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
The room seemed to fade into the background, the steady beeping of the monitor, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the hum of the machines, none of it mattered.
All Jay could see was you. The way your smile lingered, small and fragile, the way your eyes searched his face, as if you were still afraid he might disappear if you blinked.
He studied you like he had all the time in the world now.
The faint shadows under your eyes told him you hadn’t slept. Your hands were still trembling slightly, even though you were trying to hide it.
Jay lifted his hand, slow and careful, and brushed his thumb just beneath your eye, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed falling.
“Did you mean it?” He then found the courage to ask, his voice so low he couldn’t even hear himself.
Your smile grew a little bigger, letting him know you understood what he was referring to. “What? That I love you?”
His stomach twisted and his heart skipped a beat. He nodded feebly, the courage he’d previously found now completely gone. A second passed, the blink of an eye, but to him it seemed like an eternity.
He was terrified of your answer.
What if you’d backtracked? What if you’d only said it out of concern? In the heat of the moment?
“Yes, I meant it,” you replied, lacing your fingers through his again. “I didn’t mean to tell you then, like that, and I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but yes, detective, I really, really love you.”
A treacherous tear fell down his cheek, and in that moment, he realized he’d let himself be stabbed a thousand more times if it meant hearing you say that.
You loved him.
All this time pining away, trying not to ruin your relationship, trying to stay as close to you as possible without letting you know how he truly felt... And you loved him.
God, he felt so stupid.
It was your turn to wipe away his tears this time, your thumb caressing his cheek, looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
“I was terrified…” he finally found his voice. “I was afraid of dying and not being able to tell you how much I love you, so much it fucking hurts…”
He let out a breath, now like a raging river. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I feel so stupid now… All this time I tried to convince myself it was all in my head because I was terrified of losing you,” he reached up, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, memorizing every line, every tiny freckle, every little scar he’d always noticed but never told you how much they meant to him.
“I’ve been bottling it all in… Every look you gave me, every word, every stupid fight I started just to make you laugh or get a reaction. I’ve loved every second of it, even the pain, because it’s you… God, it’s always been you, and it’ll forever be you,” his voice got lower, more desperate, “and now you’re looking at me like this… Fuck… I can’t—”
Jay’s breath caught when you pressed your lips to his. Just like that, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It took him a few seconds to process what was happening.
You were kissing him.
You.
Were.
Kissing.
Him.
One second, he was drowning in his own thoughts, terrified of expressing his feelings and the next you were kissing him, your lips so warm and soft against his.
His brain short-circuited.
Your hands were cupping his face, your mouth was on his and you were really kissing him.
Holy shit.
His chest tightened so hard it hurt worse than any stab wound would ever.
A shaky breath left him and his hand came up on instinct, fingers curling gently in your hair, letting himself go completely. He kissed you back slowly, like this was something sacred, something he’d dreamed of for so long he’d convinced himself it’d never be real.
It was desperate, but it wasn't rushed, it was everything he’d ever wanted and never thought he’d be allowed to have.
All the time he was close to you, all the times he imagined what it’d be like to kiss you, what it’d feel like, nothing could compare to the explosion he felt.
He could feel you trembling against him, the way you lingered, like you were memorizing him the same way he was memorizing you, the taste and the feel of you, the fact that this was actually happening.
When you pulled back, just barely, you rested your forehead against his, eyes closed, breath uneven.
His heart was racing and the monitor expressed it.
There was a moment of silence that you broke, as only you knew how to.
“Wow, your breath really smells like shit.”
Jay burst into laughter but winced when a pang shot through his abdomen. “Fuck it hurts, stop making me laugh,” he said. “And yes baby, keep talking dirty to me.”
You laughed and Jay barely had time to recover from the fact that kiss when the door creaked open.
“Alright,” a familiar gravelly voice said, “I think that’s enough romance for one hospital room.”
Jay sighed, eyes still half-closed, forehead resting against yours. Of course.
You pulled back just in time to turn and see Voight standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always. Behind him, the rest of Intelligence hovered like old gossips.
Ruzek was the first to step in after Voight. “Damn, man,” he said, eyes flickering between the two of you. “You look like shit.”
Jay smiled. “Good to see you too, Adam.”
Burgess followed, softer, relief written all over her face. “We’re really glad you’re okay, Jay.”
“Yeah,” Atwater added, nodding. “You scared the hell out of us.”
And then there was Antonio, trying, and failing, to hide a grin as his gaze kept going back and fort between you and Jay. His eyes lingered on the way your hand was still tangled in Jay’s, like neither of you had even noticed it.
Jay noticed but he didn’t let go.
“Did we interrupt something lovebirds?” Antonio smirked.
“No.” “Actually yes.” You and Jay answered at the same time.
Voight cleared his throat. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine. Couple weeks of rest, no heroics.”
Jay raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s optional.”
Voight’s mouth twitched, just barely.
There was a beat of silence.
“Now kids,” Voight said, talking to the others, and raised his hands, palms facing up. “You know what to do.”
You and Jay exchanged a confused look as the rest of the team snorted, starting to pull out some money and placing it in Voight’s hands.
Jay stared. “What the hell is happening?”
Voight took the money calmly, like this was the most normal thing in the world and tucked it into his coat pocket.
Ruzek rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Uh. We had a bet.”
Jay groaned. “Of course you did.”
“A bet?” you repeated slowly. “About what?”
Kim winced apologetically. “About whether you two were ever going to end up together.”
Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
Antonio shook his head. “Nope,” then added, “I said six months. Ruzek said never. Kim said you’d figure it out on your own.”
Jay narrowed his eyes. “And Voight?”
He met Jay’s gaze evenly and then looked at you. “I said it’d only happen if one of you almost died.”
Silence.
You stared at him. Jay stared at him. The heart monitor filled the space with its steady beeping.
“Oh…” Jay said weakly, “that’s fucked up.”
Voight shrugged. “I know my detectives.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all unbelievable.”
“Get some rest, Halstead.” Voight said and then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And try not to get stabbed again. I’m not betting on round two.”
Voight walked out of the room and the rest of the team took turns hugging Jay.
You sat next to him, fingers intertwined as your teammates gave both you and Jay shit.
And for the first time in a very long time, he felt like that—despite what happened—everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
• Warnings: mention of gun shots, prostitution, drugs, blood, violence, curse words. Let me know if there’s something else lol.
• Word count: 10k.
• A/N: guess who’s backkkk. Sorry for this I know it’s a long one lmao but I hope you like it, let me know in the comments what you think guys! I missed you so much, I’m trying to get back to writing even if it’s harder than I thought 😭 thank you always for your support, and thank you especially to everyone who stayed. I love you all ❤️
“Hey Halstead, you could finish filling out this case report instead of decorating the office,” you began, throwing him a paper ball from your desk, which was directly across from his. He almost jumped, then pretended like it hadn’t caught him off guard, but you didn’t miss it, and that was enough to make you laugh shamelessly.
He shot you a dirty look before picking up the paper ball that had fallen onto his laptop and throwing it back at you. You, however, weren’t taken aback and managed to catch it.
“Sorry, Miss Detective, but I haven’t gotten a master’s degree in hieroglyphics yet, so next time please write in English.”
You pressed your lips together because — you hated to admit it — that joke almost made you laugh. Almost.
You and Jay had been working together in Intelligence for years, having joined the team a year after him. You couldn’t exactly call your relationship with Jay idyllic, not the kind of relationship you had between friends. In fact, you bickered more often than you were ‘at peace.’
You didn’t mind, though. It’d be an exaggeration to say you hated Jay, he wasn’t the most pleasant company sometimes either, but he was a solid partner, and for some strange and absurd reason, your partnership worked and it worked very well.
Whether in the field, during interrogations, or on undercover missions, you and Jay had a connection that would’ve had a hard time believing.
It was true, you bickered often, you almost never agreed, there wasn’t a moment when one of you didn’t say something the other didn’t respond to with a stinging, sarcastic retort. You were both stubborn as mules, your personalities clashed like lightning and thunder, but outside the unit, you knew you could count on him, and he on you. And that would never change.
Before you could respond to his answer—and by respond, you meant throwing him the paper ball again—Voight’s gravelly voice urged you to stop wasting time and get to work right away.
You returned to the files on your desk, but not before glaring at Jay, who winked back at you, a mischievous smile plastered across his lips before he, too, resumed reading the report.
A wink. A damn wink.
Did you mention that one of the reasons you found Jay Halstead so damn annoying was that he was so handsome and attractive that it made your blood boil? Well, now you know.
It wasn't something you struggled to hide—you were the kind of person who managed to stay in control—but you hated the way that man seemed to make every cell in your body ignite with excitement, and how damnably drawn you were to him like a moth to a flame, despite him being unbearable most of the time.
The calm of the morning was suddenly interrupted when a case came in. Intelligence had been called following the kidnapping of the mayor’s son. Since it was a high-profit case, all the city’s attention was focused on it, and the entire police force was working on it.
The team worked day and night to bring Nate home, turning the boy’s and his father’s lives upside down. There were many suspects; there were many people who hated the mayor and who might have targeted the boy to get revenge on his father.
“It’s personal, of course. They made no calls, no ransom demands or money, no ‘don’t involve the police or your son is dead,’ whoever kidnapped Nate knew what they were getting into; they kidnapped him to directly attack the mayor,” Jay had said while the team was in the unit discussing the case. You glanced at Jay as he spoke, you sitting at your desk and he sitting on the edge of his, arms crossed over his chest. Voight nodded, agreeing with Halstead.
“And it’s a team effort. No one could kidnap the mayor’s son alone and go unnoticed,” Kim continued.
“We need to divide the tasks and we need to hurry, the boy’s life is hanging in the balance. Like Halstead said, it’s personal, so whoever kidnapped him won’t kill him until they get something from the mayor. This gives us some time to investigate possible suspects,” Voight intervened. “Atwater and Burgess interview all his friends and any possible witnesses. Ruzek and Upton locate nearby cameras and analyze the footage. Halstead and Y/Ln investigate the mayor’s background, threatening calls or letters, anything that might indicate a threat.”
You and Jay exchanged a look, and he wiggled his eyebrows, making you roll your eyes in annoyance before you stood up from your desk.
“I’ll drive,” Jay said as you headed to the car to talk to the mayor himself. The tension between you was palpable, but as usual, you suppressed it, trying to convince yourself it was just the tension from the case you were investigating.
Before you could respond, you saw him heading for the driver’s seat and huffed loudly, getting in the car yourself a few seconds later. “I’m perfectly capable of driving too, you know?”
Jay glanced at you, unconsciously taking a few extra nanoseconds to look at you as you put on your seatbelt. “I want to get to the destination alive, nothing personal.”
His gaze lingered for a moment on your profile, the line of your nose and jaw, the outline of your lips. It lasted almost literally a millisecond, and as soon as he saw you turning toward him, he immediately looked away, taking the car keys from his pants pocket and inserting them into the ignition.
“You didn’t just say that after I saved your life in that car chase last week.”
He laughed softly as he started the car, unable to resist looking at you again. “You’re never going to let it go, are you?”
A triumphant smile spread across your face, and Jay sucked in a breath. “No. Never.”
He remained still for a moment, one hand resting on the steering wheel. There was only a few moments of silence, during which the only sound echoing was that of the engine having just started. Every trace of your teasing smiles had vanished from your faces as your eyes met, his deep, searching ones staring at you, studying you with such intensity you almost looked away.
But you didn’t.
And neither did he, not in that moment.
If Jay had looked down, he would’ve seen the way your fingers were gripping the edges of your jacket tightly, how your breathing had slowed, heavier, as if every breath of air was struggling to reach your lungs.
Jay wanted to say something, he knew exactly what, and he knew that if he did, nothing would be the same again, so he was the first to look away. He couldn’t look you in the eyes anymore, not when those irises seemed to want to suck him alive.
The silence hung heavy inside that cabin, filled with unspoken words and unexpressed thoughts.
As Jay drove, he tried to keep his focus on the road, on the case, and not on the woman sitting next to him, whose presence seemed to fill every space of his being.
But he couldn’t help but think about the fact that he didn’t always have the chance to look at you that closely, that often, if not from afar. He’d almost forgotten all those details of your face that he couldn’t admire from afar, every little imperfection and detail of your skin that made you unique.
Because from afar, he couldn’t notice those details. He could only look at you when you were talking to Kim, for example, while you were all together in the kitchen drinking that awful coffee, when you gesticulated with your hands while discussing something, looking at you furrow your brows when you were perplexed, highlighting the little wrinkles in the middle of your forehead.
He could only see how you tied your hair with a pencil when you didn’t have a ponytail, how strangely you held your pen while filling out case reports, how you threw your head back when you laughed heartily and had the habit of hitting the arm of anyone nearby. But he also saw when he occasionally caught you looking at him and how you blushed when he did, then pretended nothing was wrong or just gave him the middle finger out of spite.
“Planet Earth calling Halstead, are you still here among us mere mortals?” Your voice caught his attention, not even realizing how lost he was in his thoughts.
“Sorry, you’re so annoying my brain tuned out your voice for a moment,” he couldn’t help but retort, because if there was one thing he loved to do and looked forward to every day, it was to piss you off.
He couldn’t help but chuckle when you hit him on the arm. “Piece of shit.”
“Oh c’mon, I was just kidding. I was just thinking about the case. What were you saying?”
What a load of bullshit, buddy.
You started discussing the case, and that brief moment, that dangerous exchange of glances that had taken place only minutes before, seemed to have already faded into oblivion, and he tried to convince himself, trying to forget how much it had made his heart skip a beat.
A notification on your phone interrupted the conversation for a few seconds. about the case, and when you unlocked it, you saw a message and a missed call.
From Mr. Sanders:
Y/n, I tried calling you, but I assume you‘re at work. Call me as soon as you can, it’s important.
A feeling of anxiety made your stomach twist. Mr. David Sanders was a man in his fifties, elegant and refined in appearance, and he was your lawyer.
Jay glanced at you, noticing your momentary silence, frowning for a moment as he saw you quickly typing on your phone.
“Everything okay over there?” Jay began, breaking the silence.
You quickly locked the phone before putting it back in your jacket, immediately adopting your usual cheeky and provocative expression. “What’s up, Halstead? You afraid I’m cheating on you?”
But Jay knew you well. Too well, even though you’d never admit it and he knew something was bothering you.
He also knew you’d never tell him willingly, always wanting to put on the superhero mask that could solve everything on her own, no matter what the problem.
“Have any of you noticed anything strange? A suspicious car, any unusual behavior?” Jay asked, addressing the mayor directly once you reached his house.
“What the hell do you care about this? My boy is God knows where, and you’re wasting your time with these stupid questions?!”
"We understand your frustration and assure you that our team and the entire police force are working tirelessly to find your son, and we won’t stop until he comes home,” you replied, your voice calm, understanding a father's frustration and concern for his son. “But we have reason to believe this attack is personal, so anything you can tell us can help us find the man who did this and your son’s whereabouts.”
The mayor ran his hands over his face in frustration, getting up from the couch and pacing around the living room.
“I get threatening letters practically every week. It’s hard to keep track of them and separate the serious ones from the fake ones.”
“Were any of these letters particularly violent or specific? Anything that might indicate a premeditated plan?” Jay asked, his hands in his pockets as his eyes followed the mayor as he paced nervously around the living room.
He hesitated for a moment, as if considering it, then nodded. “There was a letter a couple of months ago. It was about revenge. It said I would pay with ‘what I love most.’ It was disturbing, but there was nothing concrete.” The mayor gasped, starting to cry desperately. “It’s my fault… I… My boy, my baby…”
You and Jay exchanged a meaningful look before he approached the mayor, placing a hand on his shoulder and steadying him. Your heart broke for that poor, broken family, unable to begin to imagine what they were going through. “It’s not your fault, okay? Look at me, Mr. King. Your son is fine. Whoever did this wants to make you suffer. They haven’t gotten what they really want yet, and if they still haven’t reached out, it means Nate is still alive; they won’t do anything to him without your knowledge. That’s the point of his kidnapping.”
The mayor wiped away his tears, nodding feebly. “I’ll give you the letter.”
Scanning it, you noticed that the language was indeed violent and specific, but the signature was only an initial: “R.”
Jay tilted his head, thoughtful, before turning to the mayor. “It seems personal, like we said before. Do you recognize that initial?”
“I-I don’t… I don’t know… It could be anyone. Like I said, I have a lot of enemies,” he replied.
“We’ll have our technicians analyze it right away. We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” you said. “We’ll find Nate.”
During the rest of the day, you worked tirelessly, but your mind was racing, and you hated yourself for realizing that none of it was directed at the case.
Your attention was focused solely on that message from Sanders, on what he had to tell you. When you called him, you were in the locker room. It was already seven in the evening, and with each ring, your heart was beating faster and faster.
“Hello dear, it’s nice to hear you, how are you?” Mr. Sanders answered.
“Good evening, Dave. I’m fine thank you. I’m sorry to bother you now, but I’m busy with work. There’s a case…”
“Oh yeah, that boy’s kidnapping, I suppose. Bad story.”
“Yeah,” you sighed. “What did you want to talk about? It doesn’t take a detective to figure out it’s not something good.”
Sanders chuckled, but it was a bitter laugh, there was no humor behind it. “It’s about Marcus.”
Your breath caught for a moment. “What about him?”
“I’m so sorry, Y/n, I did everything in my power, but…” he sighed this time. “He got parole, he’s out of prison.”
“What?” You said, but it came out moreIt was like a whisper, and for a moment you prayed you’d misheard, that your brain hadn't processed those words correctly. “How is this possible? After everything he did... To those girls, those people... To me!”
You were furious, not at Sanders, but at the system that was supposed to protect you.
“I’m so sorry. He got a deal after leaking the names of several big people, and we’re not talking about just any people, but political figures, senators, doctors, lawyers, CEOs...”
“And obviously, some people’s names are worth more than justice.”
“I wish I could say you’re not right, but you know I’m on your side darling. I did everything I could,” he spoke. “But you’ll be safe, he’ll be monitored closely and the first mistake he makes he’ll be back in prison...”
You let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “And you think that’ll stop him?” you snapped. “I have to go, Dave, thanks for letting me know.”
“Y/n, wait, how are you now?”
“I’ll be fine,” you muttered. You were brought back to Earth when the locker room door opened, revealing Jay with a tired, worn-out expression. “I have to go, bye.”
You ended the call and then casually tossed your phone into your bag, trying to act as if nothing had happened.
You’d be fine. Whatever happened, you’d be able to get through it, like you always did.
“I thought you’d left,” he spoke first as he looked while he approached his locker. He watched you pretend to search for something in your locker and immediately noticed how you constantly avoided his gaze.
“Apparently not yet,” you replied in a cold, distant tone.
Jay didn’t respond, but as he opened his locker, he continued to steal glances at you. Even a blind man could’ve noticed your tense posture, your frown, your heavy breathing, the way you avoided his gaze.
He’d noticed something had shifted since you’d gotten that call, but he tried to mind his own business, knowing that if he asked you anything, you’d probably just shoot him in the face.
“Well, see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, goodnight.”
Jay left, but not before giving you one last look. You weren’t looking at him; your eyes seemed to be focused on something undefined.
You sat in the locker room for an eternity as your mind replayed your last encounter with Marcus Kane, his angry shouts, the threats he’d scream at you.
“I’ll come back, you bitch! You’ll pay for what you did to me! If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll kill you!” He screamed as they handcuffed him and led him into the police car, and those were the last words you heard before you lost consciousness, submerged in a pool of your own blood.
Your hand instinctively went to the scar on your side as those words continued to echo in your own, as if they had been spoken only moments before, as if you could still feel the knife piercing your skin.
You left, closing the door behind you, hoping that all of this was just a nightmare.
Three days had passed since that call, and you continued working.
Nothing happened, you didn’t receive any threatening calls but you always watched your back, your gun always within reach even when you slept, or at least when you tried.
In three days, you’d probably slept five hours, and the fatigue was starting to set in. You were stressed, constantly on edge, you had the constant feeling that someone was following you, and you knew Marcus Kane was out there waiting for you; you could sense him waiting for the right moment to attack you.
For three days, you worked nonstop on the case, day and night, to bring Nate home. He was still alive; there was video evidence of the kidnapper forcing him to demand his own ransom, after beating him almost to death.
“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack with all that caffeine,” Jay said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t expect to see you jump in fright, and he didn’t know whether to suppress a laugh or worry, because you weren’t the type of person who scared easily.
“You bastard,” you muttered in a not-so-low voice, not even looking at him, making him chuckle. “Thanks, but I didn’t ask for your medical advice, Halstead.”
“It was just an observation,” he commented, seeing the almost obsessive way you were stirring the sugar in your coffee.
“Well, go make observations somewhere else,” you replied, your back still turned toward him.
There was a brief moment of silence, as he continued to observe you, your stiff posture, the way you avoided looking him in the eye. Jay wasn’t stupid; he’d noticed this sort of change since you’d received that call. But he didn’t want to push you, he knew you’d withdraw even further.
You then turned to leave, but he pushed himself from the doorframe, preventing you from leaving. He noticed the slight tremor in your hand holding the cup and he couldn’t just act like nothing was happening. “Hey, are you okay?”
You sighed, your eyes still fixed on your cup before finally looking up at him. “I’m fine.”
A curt, mechanical reply, devoid of any emotion.
He looked at you for a few moments, his eyes fixed on yours almost as if he wanted to study you, as if he was searching for some way to extract the answers he knew he’d never voluntarily receive from you.
“Y/n. You’ve been fine for three days,” he replied, his voice tightening. “You’re not sleeping, you jump at the slightest noise. Whenever we’re out, all you do is look around.”
“You like me that much, huh?”
“I’m being serious, this isn’t you. What’s going on?”
Your jaw clenched. “You don’t know me well enough to decide what’s me and what’s not, do you?”
He let out a sigh, trying to keep his voice calm. “We’ve been working together for a while now, and I know fear when I see it.”
The silence that followed was heavy. You felt your throat tighten but swallowed hard, refusing to show it. “Drop it, Jay.”
He sighed again, realizing it’d be completely pointless to push any further. “Fine, do whatever you want.”
“Good.” And with that, you walked past him back to your desk.
-
The night air smelled of rain and tension, cold against your skin. The sound of water hitting the rusty metal of the warehouse provided a soft background, even soothing at times.
Through the earpiece, the team’s voices alternated with the crackling radio.
“Unit one in position.”
“Copy that.”
“Unit two.”
“Copy that.” Jay replied, ducking behind a stack of crates, his rifle ready. You were a little further ahead, your eyes fixed on the road, your fingers on your weapon, ready.
The money would be exchanged between the kidnapper and the mayor, and Intelligence was there, ready to capture the man and save the boy.
You kept looking around, nervous, impatient. Jay had noticed it, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t worry him.
“Breathe, Y/n,” Jay murmured, noticing the way you were trembling.
“I’m fine. I’m just cold, Halstead,” you replied, quickly glancing at him. Your clothes were now stuck on your skin, that much was true, and at other times you might’ve even been able to convince him, but not now, not with what had been happening to you lately.
“Let me know when you’ll believe it.”
You didn’t reply, but he knew you’d heard him.
“Target incoming,” Ruzek’s voice broke the silence.
A black van approached, its headlights now off, and stopped a few meters from the entrance to the old warehouse. Everyone was silent, their breath held, the rain being the only sound.
A man climbed out of the driver’s seat. He walked around the van and, instead of opening the door, remained standing there, his furious gaze fixed on the mayor standing a few meters away, the bag containing the money in his hands.
A mask covered his face so you couldn’t see him. But it didn’t matter, the plan was simple. Get eyes on the kid. Make the exchange. Take the man down.
But it wasn’t simple. It never was.
“Here’s your money, where’s my son?” The mayor’s voice was shaky.
“Give me my money first.”
“That wasn’t the deal. Give me my son and I’ll give you the money.”
The man pointed his gun at the mayor, and everyone stiffened, their weapons raised, ready for an order.
“Wait.” Voight ordered.
“You’ll pay for what you did to me,” the man retorted, and then the back doors of the van opened, but instead of the boy, two other masked men stepped out, both armed and their weapons ready to shoot.
“Gun!” Jay shouted, grabbing your arm and shoving you behind cover as the team spread out.
Your heart pounded in your ears.
Your eyes landed on the van and you saw a figure lying down in the back, you didn’t even know who it was. You didn’t think. You just moved.
Ignoring Jay’s warning, you broke from behind the crate, sprinting toward the van while bullets snapped past your head. The sound was deafening, every step a gamble. You almost reached it—
“Y/n!”
Jay’s voice cuts through everything. A second later, something hit you hard, him. He slammed into you, taking you down just as a bullet grazed the concrete where you’d been standing.
You hit the ground with a grunt, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. Jay’s body covered yours, solid and heavy, his hand pressed against the back of your head to shield you as he returned fire.
For a moment, just a heartbeat, everything stilled.
The world narrowed to the smell of gunpowder and the sound of your ragged breaths tangled together. His eyes found yours, only inches away, fierce, terrified, and something else you couldn’t name.
Then his expression hardened.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he snappep, still half-hovering over you. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”
“I—I saw him—”
“I don’t care!” he barked, voice sharp, chest rising and falling fast. “You move like that again, and you’re dead, do you hear me?!”
You swallowed hard, your pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with adrenaline. “Get off me.”
He hesitated — just for a second — before pushing himself up, still glaring at you as he scanned the perimeter.
The team closed in, the gunfire fading, suspects down, the boy saved, crying in his father’s arms. But Jay didn’t look away from you.
You brushed dirt off your vest, trying to ignore the sting in your arm where you’d hit the ground. “I had it under control.”
He lets out a low, humorless laugh, trying to keep his voice steady even if he was about to lose his mind. “Yeah. Sure you did.”
He walked off before you could answer, leaving you standing, breathing still shaking, and for some reason, the only thing you could think about was the look in his eyes when he’d covered you.
It wasn’t anger. It was fear.
The ride back was suffocatingly quiet and for the first time in your life you hated that Jay didn’t say anything, you hated he didn’t make his usual jokes just to piss you off, you hated he didn’t even look at you.
Streetlights flickered through the windshield, washing the inside of the car in flashes of yellow and shadow. The sirens had gone silent, replaced only by the steady hum of the tires on the asphalt.
You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, your hands still faintly trembling. Every time you blinked, you could see it again, the van doors bursting open, the muzzle flashes, the moment Jay threw himself over you.
He still hadn’t said a single word since you got in the car.
Not one.
And somehow, that was worse than him yelling.
Finally, his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. “What the hell were you thinking out there?”
You didn’t turn. “I was just thinking about Nate, I saw him there…”
“You almost got yourself killed.”
“I had it under control.”
His jaw clenched. “No, you didn’t. For fucks sake stop lying to me and yourself, you did something stupid and for once in your fucking life admit it.”
Silence again thick and heavy. You swallowed hard, your voice lowering. “You don’t need to babysit me, Halstead. I can take care of myself.”
“What’s happening to you? Why are you acting like this?”
You turned at that, glaring at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve—” You stopped, realizing your voice had cracked. You looked away quickly, blinking hard.
You felt his eyes on you but you refused to look back, you weren’t able to look at him without breaking down.
Jay’s voice softened slightly, though frustration still edged it. “You’re right. I don’t know. But I know what I saw and... And it scared the hell out of me.”
That caught you off guard. You looked at him, but this time it was him who didn’t look back. He continued, his voice lower now, almost speaking to himself. “You can hate me all you want, but I’m not gonna stand there and watch you get yourself shot.”
You didn’t know what to say. The words tangled in your throat.
You wanted to be angry, to snap something back… But all you felt was exhaustion.
“You didn’t have to save me.”
He was glancing at you and for the first time he didn’t know what to say.
The rest of the drive passed in silence.
When he pulled up in front of your building, you reached for the handle, but his hand landed gently on your arm. “You should call someone to stay with you tonight. After what happened...”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Stop saying…”
“I said I’ll be fine,” you repeated, already opening the door. You stepped out before he could say anything else, the cold air biting at your skin, already frozen due to the soaked clothes.
Jay watched you until you disappeared inside, that same gnawing unease twisting in his gut for days.
Your mind had managed to not think about what was happening to you for a few hours, but in your home, alone, those thoughts hit you again like a raging river.
You just wanted to sleep, you wanted so badly to close your eyes and rest just for a little bit, but Marcus Kane was still out there, hiding in the shadows, ready to attack you. How could you rest?
It had been almost four days since that call, and you hadn’t known peace since. You knew he’d look for you, that it wouldn’t take him long to find you, and you hated it all. You hated this wait, you hated the fear, you hated being scared to death in your own home, the place where you should feel most safe, you hated even having to shower with your gun beside you.
The apartment was quiet, too quiet.
You’d just stepped out of the shower, towel-drying your hair as you walked into the living room. The air still smelled faintly of shampoo and coffee.
For once, you thought maybe you could finally breathe.
But then the lights flickered.
And you froze, a prickle crawled up your neck.
You turned slowly toward the window, your heart almost stopped when you realized the lock was undone.
You remembered locking it. You knew you had because you checked it as soon as you got home.
How the hell was that possible?
Your pulse started pounding, sharp and shallow. You set the towel down, reaching for your gun that you now carried everywhere.
And then a voice, that voice.
“I always told you that your pride would be your downfall, sweetheart.”
You spun around and there he was.
Marcus Kane.
He was older, meaner, eyes burning with the same kind of hate you’d seen the day he was dragged into custody.
He took a step toward you, smirking. “Didn’t think you’d actually make it easy for me,” he muttered, glancing around. “Nice place, by the way. Better than the dump where I found you playing the perfect girlfriend.”
“Stay back,” you warned, gun raised, while trying to keep your hands as still as possible. “Don’t take another step,” your voice steady, not wanting to show fear. That was what he enjoyed most, seeing his victims scared to death, but you didn’t want to show him, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Oh, come on,” he said, voice dripping with mock affection. “After everything we’ve been through, you don’t even want to say hello?”
He didn’t even give you time to react.
The gun went flying as he slammed into you, both of you crashing into the coffee table but not before a shot landed in the void. Pain shot through your ribs as the wood cracked beneath you. He tried to pin you down, his forearm crushing against your throat, but you drove your knee into his side, hard.
He grunted, stumbled, and you scrambled to your feet, gasping. “You ruined my life!” he snarled, grabbing your wrist before punching you square in the face, making you step back. “Did you have fun pretending to fall in love with me? Making me trust you? You fucking bitch!”
You didn’t think, you just reacted.
It was your turn to punch him across the jaw, and you did it with all your strength, enough to make him stagger back.
He roared and swung again, but this time you were ready and dodged it. You shoved him back, grabbed the lamp from the side table, and smashed it against his head. He shouted, stumbled into the wall, enough for you to bolt toward the door. Or at least try.
He grabbed your hoodie, yanking you backward, and you felt the fabric tear, his breath hot against your ear. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart? We have unfinished business, you and I. You won’t get away that easily.”
You elbowed him in the side, and that was enough to make him loosen his grip around your neck, making it easy for you to turn toward him and punch him in the nose again. The crack was sickening, blood spraying as he cursed and fell to one knee.
You hit him in the face with your knee, with such force that he fell to the ground.
A kick to the stomach.
And another.
And another one.
And then you ran.
Down the hallway, out the door, barefoot, your heart thundering as his shouts echoed behind you.
You didn’t stop running, not when your feet hit the pavement, not when your shoulder screamed in pain, not when you realized you’d left everything behind except fear.
The TV was on, but Jay’s mind was focused on everything except the movie playing. He sipped occasionally from his beer bottle and couldn’t help but relive what had happened that day, the shooting, and you.
To be honest, he’d always had a hard time not thinking about you, even though he tried to convince himself otherwise.
What woke him from his reverie were loud knocks on the door, sharp, urgent.
He jumped and glanced at the clock: 12:47 AM.
Who the hell was that at that time?
He approached the door, and his heart almost stopped as he looked through the peephole.
He threw the door open, and there you were.
“Y/n...” he whispered, almost breathless, as his eyes scanned your body. You were soaked from head to toe, barefoot, your eyes wide open, tears mixing with the drops of water running down your cheeks, your body trembling. “What the hell—? Oh my god. What... What happened?”
A sob left your lips. “I… I don’t know where else to go…”
“Jesus Christ… Come here,” he without even thinking once pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your body. He didn’t care you were soaked from head to toe, he just wanted to hold you. “Shh, it’s okay… It’s all right, you’re safe now.”
To his surprise, you returned the hug, as you continued to sob, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it was your lifeline.
In all the years he’d known you, he’d never seen you like this, ever.
“It’s okay, everything’s okay, I’m here, I won’t let you go,” he kept whispering as he stroked your hair and held you tightly against his chest.
His stomach twisted with a feeling he’d never experienced before, with a rage so strong he’d raze the entire city if he could.
“Hey, look at me,” he whispered softly, pulling away from that embrace just enough to look at you. You avoided his gaze, as you had been doing for the past couple of days. “Look at me.”
The first thing he noticed when you slightly lifted your head was the purple bruise forming on your cheek. He wanted so badly to caress you, to wipe away those tears he hated to see, but he didn’t, he didn’t want to scare you away, make you feel uncomfortable.
“Talk to me, please. Who did this to you?” His voice was soft, sweet—a tone he’d never used with you—even as he tried to mask the anger and fear he was feeling in that moment.
You shook your head, not saying a word.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me now, okay? Come inside.”
You didn’t say anything, simply letting him lead you into his house, his hand on the small of your back as if he feared you might disappear at any moment.
It was ironic that this was the first time you’d seen his apartment and it was because something horrible had happened to you.
“Do you want anything? Some water? I can get you some clean clothes. You can take a shower if you want.”
You nodded, though you didn’t answer any of his questions. Jay stepped away for a moment, his heart still pounding as he went to his room and grabbed a pair of clean pants and a shirt from the drawer, then a pair of clean slippers before joining you in the living room. He’d found you in the same position, standing, arms crossed over your chest, staring into space.
“Here you go, take all the time you need. The bathroom is down the hall on the right; you’ll find clean towels and robes there.”
You grabbed your clothes, the trembling in your hands still there. He noticed the swelling of your hand, the cuts on your nuckles. You looked at him for a moment, and Jay felt as if he’d been hit in the gut, before whispering a faint, “Thank you.”
Jay ran his hands over his face in frustration, feeling more helpless than ever. What the hell had happened?
At that moment, his cell phone rang, and Voight's name lit up the screen.
Turns out, a patrol unit had reached your apartment after a neighbor called about what sounded like a gunshot. Upon arrival, an unknown man was found injured, confused, and still semi-conscious on your floor. The cops had called Voight after realizing the address belonged to one of the Intelligence members, but you weren’t there.
Jay reassured Voight you were with him, and you were fine, or at least seemingly so. Voight was investigating the man’s identity, and it didn’t take long to pinpoint his name: Markus Kane, a convicted felon who’d been released only a few days earlier after serving time for drug trafficking, prostitution, and murder.
It didn’t take Jay long to realize that the change in your behavior over the past few days was due precisely to Kane’s release.
“Keep an eye on her Halstead,” Voight said before ending the call.
“Of course, don’t even mention it.” The call ended, and Jay let out a sigh before placing his phone on the coffee table.
He went into the kitchen and started heating up some water so he could make you some hot tea. He didn’t know what he was doing, because since it was you and he didn’t really know how to act around you most of the time.
“I didn’t know you were the tea kind of guy, Halstead,” your voice startled him, so lost in thought he hadn’t heard you arrive. His heart probably didn’t skip a beat, not until he saw you in his clothes, even though they were a few sizes too big.
This isn’t the time Jay, stop it.
“Figured it out you wanted something hot.”
You nodded. “Thanks.” You sighed, running a hand through your now-dry hair. “Listen, Jay, I... I’m sorry to bother you...”
“Hey, no stop,” he interrupted you before letting you continue what you were saying, “If you think for even a second I’m going to let you go, you’re sorely mistaken. I’m not leaving you alone.”
You looked at him for a moment, your gaze unreadable, before lowering it to your feet.
“C’mon, let’s get comfortable on the couch.”
Jay sat down next to you, leaving a little space between you two, a space he only wanted to fill.
The silence was tense, almost suffocating; he didn’t know what to say. After all, he knew you, he knew it’d be useless to push you to tell him what had happened because that would only make you shut down even more.
But God, he was trembling, he just wanted to tear the son of a bitch who had done this to you to pieces.
You were still shaking, though not like when you’d arrived, and Jay hoped it was just the cold. He took the blanket he always had on the couch and draped it around your shoulders. “You’re shivering,” he almost whispered.
Your eyes were on his face, scared, curious, but you didn’t say a word. Jay’s heart was pounding, so fast that for a moment he feared you could hear it.
He passed the cup of tea between your hands. Your fingers barely touched, but this tiny contact made his throat tighten.
The room fell into an almost deafening silence again, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of the rain still hitting the windows.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. You brought the cup to your lips, taking a small sip.
“No.”
M
“Of course not,” he muttered, running his hands over his face in frustration. “Why would you ever…” He stopped.
“What?”
“Make things easy, you always have to complicate everything. You always have to put on this tough facade, pretend everything is fine, I don’t know why you do this… Seriously, you’re driving me crazy… Why can’t you just accept that someone wants to help you? Why do you think you have to deal with everything alone?”
“It’s not your job…”
“Of course it’s my job. For fucks sake we work together, you’re my partner, of course I want to help you, I care about you.”
You looked down at the cup, but Jay had noticed your shiny eyes, your trembling lip.
“Why did you come here?”
“I told you, I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Yes, you did, you could have gone to anyone else—Kim, Adam—but you came here, to me. We don’t get along most of the time. Why?”
“Jay… Enough…”
“Look at me,” he said, and you did. He tried to ignore the way seeing your tears again made him feel. He tried not to think about it, not to be distracted by the trembling of your lips, by the way you were trying to stay composed, to still feign strength when it was clear you had none left.
“Because I trust you,” you breathed out, in a whisper, “You… You’re the only person who won’t judge me, who won’t look at me like I’m a victim.”
The words hung in the air, as if they, too, were afraid of breaking. Jay stared at you, unable to say anything, incredulous that you could actually say it. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if simply breathing had become difficult.
“Really? Please say it again, I have to record it.”
“Never, you bastard.” You both chuckled. “You’re not going to let me live this down, aren’t you?”
“Oh never, princess.”
“Don’t call me princess.”
“Alright, alright. I won’t call you princess anymore, princess.”
“God, you’re unbearable. Forget what I said.”
Jay smiled, happy to have managed to ease the tension a little, because he knew you, he knew how much you hate being vulnerable, how you used sarcasm to avoid talking about your feelings.
But he was especially happy because he finally got to see you smile. Man, he hated seeing those teary eyes of yours, and in that precise moment, he vowed to do everything in his power to never see you cry again.
There was a moment of silence.
“That’s also why I’m here,” you whispered, your eyes now fixed on the cup.
“What do you mean?”
“Because you manage to make things a little bit better.”
Jay was taken aback; he never in his life would’ve expected to hear those words from you.
But then again, that was your relationship. You bickered. It wasn’t true to say you hated each other, because you didn’t, but at the end, you were always there for each other. Not explicitly—neither of you had ever said “I’m here”—but with your jokes and arguments, with an offered beer, even just with your presence, with silence.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that now,” you continued.
“I think I’m hallucinating.”
You giggled, playfully hitting him on the arm.
You took another long sip of tea, which was now cooling. You tucked the blanket around your body, then pulled your legs up to your chest before placing the cup on the coffee table.
“Before I started in Intelligence, I worked in the Major Crimes Unit in Washington. We were investigating a large drug ring, prostitution, and a series of related murders,” you began, your gaze lost in space. Jay listened intently, his breath held almost as if he feared that if you heard him, you’d stop talking. “There was a man in charge, Marcus Kane, and there was no way to frame him. We knew he was behind all those crimes, but there was no concrete evidence. Whoever had anything to do with him, they were terrified enough not to testify...”
“So we decided to go undercover. I volunteered. Catching Marcus Kane was the perfect opportunity to make myself known. I’d just become a detective, and I wanted to prove my worth.”
Jay smiled to himself. It was just like you.
“I went undercover for about a year, pretending to be a big shot in the prostitution ring and looking for new girls to buy. He was a shrewd, paranoid guy, suspicious even of his own shadow, so it wasn’t easy. But eventually, slowly, I managed to gain his trust.”
“He fell in love...”
You nodded. “And I took advantage of this opportunity. I never did anything with him; I always managed to slip away without arousing his suspicions, playing with his feelings. Long story short, I managed to gather enough evidence to frame him, to get the victims he raped to talk… But something went wrong, and to this day I still don’t know how he got the word that there was an undercover cop,” you sighed, huddling tighter. “We fought, he managed to stab me, but before he could finish the job, backup arrived and arrested him, but not before yelling at me that he’d get revenge.”
His heart broke for you, he couldn’t even imagine how you felt in that moment, fighting for your life, fearing you were about to die.
“What happened?” Jay whispered.
“A few days ago, I got a call from my lawyer. Kane made a deal, revealed the names of some big shots he dealt with, and got of jail…” you replied.
There was another moment of silence.
“I checked every single door and window, and everything was locked… I don’t know how he got in,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “We fought, he managed to disarm me, but believe it or not, he got the worst of it… I ran away, and here I am.”
“Oh yes, I absolutely believe you, Detective. I saw you angry,” Jay joked, trying to hide the turmoil he felt inside. He was there, he had left you at home and left. If he had insisted on staying, none of this would’ve happened.
“We caught him. Voight called me. One of your neighbors heard a gunshot and called 911. The patrol called him.”
You looked at him for a moment and let out a breath, though Jay noticed the news didn’t completely reassure you.
“He’ll find a way out this time too.”
“He attacked a cop. He won’t get away with it.”
You sighed. “I hope so, Jay.”
And there was that silence again, heavy, suffocating.
Jay’s body was tense, unable to relax. He’d never even seen that man’s face, but he hated him with every fiber of his being. Now your behavior became clear, the way you flinched, the way you constantly looked over your shoulder every time you were in the field, your recklessness during the trade.
He could only imagine the hell you went through these past days, the sleepless nights staring around, feeling vulnerable in the only place you were supposed to feel safe: your home.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, leaning back on the couch. Neither of you seemed to realize that in the meantime, Jay had inadvertently moved closer to you, but without actually touching you. He just wanted to implicitly tell you that he was there, that he was listening, that he would protect you.
“For what? It’s not your fault.”
“For not understanding. I mean, I knew something was wrong in the past few days, but all I did was insist on asking you if everything was okay, knowing you’d push me away. I’m your partner, I know you, I know who you are, and I didn’t do anything to help you.”
Jay studied you for a long moment, the way your shoulders trembled beneath the blanket, the way your eyes kept darting toward the floor as if you were afraid of what he might find if you met his gaze. Every instinct in him screamed to pull you closer, to erase every trace of fear from your face, but he couldn’t. Not when you’d made such a point of keeping walls between you two.
And yet, seeing you like this—raw, shaken, human—cracked something inside him.
“That son of a bitch will never touch you again, do you hear me? I don’t care what it takes, he’ll never hurt you again.”
You didn’t look up, and that killed him more than anything else. Because he could see the weight behind your silence, the exhaustion, the fear, the shame you didn’t deserve to feel. He knew it was something you hated, having to ask for help, depending on someone, feeling like a burden.
He hated seeing you like this, vulnerable, almost broken.
He just wanted to see you with that bright smile of yours, so beautiful it could light up the darkest room, he wanted to hear your terrible jokes, your way of teasing him.
“I know it’s hard for you, I know you’ve always been used to facing everything alone in your life, because every person you relied on has always disappointed you, and you’ve learned you can’t trust anyone. No one but yourself,” he spoke in a sweet, patient tone, “I know I’m the last person you’d want to tell you this. We’re not exactly best friends, but you’re not alone in this world. Whatever happens to you, happens to me… To the whole team.”
“I care about you, more than you can even imagine, and I know I’ve never told you this because that’s how our relationship is… But I’ll always be there for you whenever you want me to be. I know that stubborn little head of yours will stop you from doing that, but I’m here. I won’t leave you alone now, tomorrow, or ever, no matter how much you hate the idea.”
You finally looked up at him, and his heart broke as he saw those tears streaming down your face, that beautiful face now surrounded by that damned purple bruise.
“I hate you so much, Detective Halstead,” you sniffed, drying your tears. “Remember when you told me that if things got bad, a hug could make it all go away?”
He nodded.
“I really need one right now.”
He smiled and didn’t need to be told twice before pulling you into his chest for the second time that evening. He could count on one hand the number of times you’d hugged in the years you’d known each other, but each and every single one of them was forever imprinted in his memory.
Your arms were holding him with such force it left him speechless, as if he was your lifeline, the only thing that could save you in that moment.
“I thought I’d lose you today,” he whispered, so low he didn’t even know if you’d heard him. But from the way you held him, he knew you had. “Don’t ever do that to me again, please.”
“You really like me that much, Halstead?” you murmured, making him chuckle.
You have no idea, baby.
“That’s called being a partner, you should try it sometime.” He retorted, his arms wrapped around you as he stroked your hair.
“You won’t lose me. It would be hard to find a better partner than me.”
He laughed again, pulling you even closer. “I hate to admit it, but it’s true. That’s why I’m begging you to stay in one piece.”
“I’ll try,” you chuckled this time, and he breathed an internal sigh of relief as he felt you finally relax in his arms. “Thank you for everything.”
“Anytime. I’m always here.”
You lifted your head slightly so you could look at him, and he placed a hand on your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I don’t want to see you like this ever again,” he whispered. “Insult me, hit me, do whatever you want, but I don’t want to see you cry, see you suffer like this again.”
He saw you trying to hold back your smile, and his heart skipped another beat. “There it is, that’s that pretty smile that I like, that’s how I want to see you all the time. And if there’s anyone who stops you from doing so, promise me you’ll tell me, okay? So I’ll break his legs with my bare hands.”
You laughed, and his heart began to race this time. “Don’t you think that’s a little overboard?”
“Not at all.” He shook his head slightly. “You have no idea what I’ll do to that son of a bitch when I lay my hands on him.”
“It feels good.”
“What?”
“Feeling protected, feeling like there’s someone there to protect you, making you feel safe. It feels good.”
Those words weren’t supposed to affect him the way they did, they weren’t supposed to break his heart like that, but they did, and he hated it. Himself for feeling that way, the rest of the world for making you believe you weren’t worthy of those things.
“I know, and you won’t have to worry about that anymore, whether you like it or not.”
“I think I might like it.”
You remained silent for a moment, his heart still pounding, your breathing slowly becoming more regular. You stayed there, hugging each other on that couch as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if you were used to it, and somehow it felt natural, for some strange reason it was supposed to be this way.
His fingers continued to delicately caress your face, he wasn’t even sure if he was doing it more for himself than for you, and with every passing second he hoped time would stop for a little longer.
“So…” it was you who broke the comfortable silence, your tone lighter. “That pretty smile that I like, huh? My God, you’re really into me, Jay.”
Jay rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Don’t let it get over your head, obviously I just said that to make you feel better.” He retorted, grateful you couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks, because what he’d said was as far from the truth as could be.
“Mmh, mmh,” you hummed in amusement, relieved. You tilted d your head so you could look at him. “Sure, keep telling yourself that, maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
Jay felt something inside him twist, a sharp pull low in his chest that left him breathless. He didn’t even know how to describe it, what name to give that sensation.
You looked exhausted, yes, but there was also something else, trust, maybe, or the faintest flicker of safety. And God, it almost broke him.
He’d seen you angry, stubborn, reckless; he’d fought with you more times than he could count, but he’d never seen you like this.
So close. So open, so damn real.
And you were so beautiful it took his breath away.
His eyes kept roaming over every millimeter of her face, mentally taking thousands of photos so he could imprint them in his memory, because the truth was, he didn’t know if he’d ever have the chance to have you this close again.
His throat went dry, the words burning there with nowhere to go.
Jay swallowed hard.
Don’t do something stupid. Don’t do it.
But his gaze dropped to your lips for a second too long, and he knew he had to move, immediately, before he crossed a line he couldn’t take back.
“I…” he started, his voice rougher than he expected. He cleared his throat, stood up too fast. “I’m just gonna—uh—get you some ice. For… you know.” He gestured vaguely toward the side of your face, anything to justify the sudden space between you.
He didn’t wait for a reply.
He needed distance, oxygen, anything that wasn’t the scent of your skin, anything to non to see the look in your eyes that felt like it could undo him completely.
As he reached the kitchen, he braced his hands on the counter, eyes closed, chest tight.
Fuck.
Get it together, Halstead.
Because for a second back there, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to comfort you or just kiss you until the world stopped shaking, until neither of you would have any air left in your lungs.
Jay took longer than he needed. The ice was already in the towel but he couldn’t quite bring himself to go back yet.
For fucks sake he’d faced armed men, stared down killers, fought in wars, and somehow, walking back into that living room felt harder than any of it.
When he finally did, you were sitting in the same position, knees still drawn up, blanket still wrapped around you. Your eyes found him immediately, soft but searching, like you could tell exactly what was going on inside his head even if he was trying damn hard to hide it.
He cleared his throat, forcing a half-smile.
“Here you go,” he murmured, holding out the ice. “It’ll be good for the bruise.”
You took it, your fingers brushing his again, just a second, just enough to make his skin burn under your touch.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
He nodded, trying to focus on the movement of your hand instead of the fact that his heart was still hammering in his chest.
“Keep it on for a while,” he muttered, sitting down again, this time a little further away than before.
Safe distance. Or at least that’s what he told himself.
For a while, you both pretended to watch the rain through the window. The air still felt thick, like the room itself remembered what had just almost happened. Every once in a while, he’d steal a glance, the curve of your jaw, of your nose, your lips, the faint rise and fall of your shoulders as you breathed, and every damn time, it felt like something in him shifted.
You broke the silence first.
“Are you okay?”
Jay blinked, thrown off. “Me?” He huffed out a laugh. “You’re the one who just went through hell, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
You shrugged lightly. “I don’t know, it seems like something is bothering you.”
He couldn’t help it, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before his gaze flicked to yours, holding it for just a heartbeat too long before he looked away again.
“It’s…” he said finally, voice low. “I’m just glad you’re here. That’s all.”
And that was the truth. Raw, simple, terrifying in its honesty.
Because for all his control, all his training, nothing had prepared him for how much he could care about someone who drove him this crazy, for someone who could make him feel so protective, so alive, and so close to losing every bit of restraint he had left.
Summary: Jake and the rest of the Dagger Squad are spending a rare day off at the beach. You’ve been dating for a while now…just long enough for the butterflies to turn into playful teasing, and for Jake to know exactly when you’re pushing his buttons.
Warnings: Mild sexual content, semi-public kissing/touching
Word Count: 1,846
Prompt + Pairing: “You are such a tease!” + Jake “Hangman” Seresin
The sun’s barely risen when you pad barefoot into the living room, still wearing nothing but one of Jake’s old Navy shirts. It’s soft and worn, falling just low enough on your thighs to cover you. But just barely. You’re rifling through a beach bag, double-checking that you packed sunscreen and sunglasses, when you hear him behind you.
“You tryna kill me before we even leave the house?” Jake’s voice is still a little raspy from sleep, but there’s no mistaking the smirk wrapped around it.
You glance over your shoulder, and raise a brow acting innocent. “What?”
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes very obviously not on your face. “That shirt’s barely holding on, darlin’. And you keep bending over like you don’t know what you’re doing."
You roll your eyes, a little smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re the one who left it out. It's not my fault it’s comfy.”
Jake pushes off the doorframe and walks over to you. His eyes still trailing down your legs like he’s memorizing the view.
Just when you think he’s about to reach for you, you step around him to go grab your swimsuit from the bedroom.
“Better hurry, Seresin. We’ve got a beach to get to.”
He watches you go, shaking his head, and mutters just loud enough for you to hear, “Gonna make you pay for that later.”
* * * * *
The drive to the beach isn’t long, maybe fifteen minute tops. But with the way you keep adjusting your bikini top, it’s shaping up to be the longest fifteen minutes of his life.
Jake’s got one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. His sunglasses are on, but they’re not hiding how often he’s glancing sideways at you.
You’re twisted slightly in your seat, trying to adjust the tie on your bikini top.
“Is it crooked?” You asked as you tug at the fabric and shift your chest back and forth. “It feels crooked.”
Jake’s jaw tightens. His eyes flick away from the road for a second too long.
“You’re gonna make us crash.” He warns.
You blink at him, feigning confusion. “What? I’m just trying to fix it.”
“You’re trying to make me drive off the damn road,” he mutters, tightening his grip on the wheel.
You smirk, catching the way he adjusts the board shorts he’s wearing.
“You’re that distracted?”
He starts to slow slightly as you approach a red light. When he looks over at you, you adjust the top one more time, adjusting the cups and pushing the fabric together slightly to give him a better view of your cleavage.
Jake’s eyes rake over your chest and he mutters a quick, “Tease,” before the light turns green and he starts to accelerate again.
You lean over the console, and Jake stiffens beside you the second your body brushes against his. You pause, letting your fingers trail across his shoulder as you press a soft kiss to his cheek. His stubble is prickly against your lips as you whisper, “you love it.”
Jake’s grip on the steering wheel tightens even further for a beat before one hand slips off and lands firmly on your thigh. His fingers curl possessively, his thumb dragging slow circles that send a rush of heat straight to your core.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, darlin’,” he mutters, voice low. There was a warning in his tone, but it felt like more of a promise than a threat.
You smirk and sit back in your seat, pretending to adjust your sunglasses.
* * * * *
The beach is already alive when you arrive. The coolers are packed, towels scattered around, someone’s Bluetooth speaker is playing summer hits. The squad is in full sprawl out mode, claiming a prime spot near the dunes.
Jake pulls off his shirt with a practiced tug over the head move that should’ve been illegal, revealing sun kissed skin and those abs you had absolutely loved. His sunglasses slide into place as he adjusts his board shorts with a little smirk, catching you staring.
In response you pop the button on your denim shorts and shimmy them down your legs slowly, just enough to know Jake’s eyes are on you. You bend at the waist to slide them off completely, feeling the heat of his gaze on you.
A firm smack lands squarely on your ass, followed by a low whistle.
You straighten with a jolt, turning over your shoulder to give him a playful glare. “Seresin.”
He holds both hands up in mock surrender, the smirk never leaving his face. “You bend over in front of me and expect me not to smack it? I’m only human, darlin’.”
You roll your eyes and toss your shorts at his chest. “Behave.”
“Not a chance,” he says, and you know he means it.
You feel the warmth of the sun on your shoulders and reach for your sunscreen. You turn toward Jake, who had just settled in the sand with a beer in hand and his long legs stretched out on the towel. You hold up the bottle and tilt your head toward him.
“Think you can do my back?”
He raises a brow from behind his sunglasses and reaches for the bottle. He pats the towel between his legs and says, “c’mere.”
You settle between his thighs. The first cool swipe across your shoulders makes you shiver, and Jake’s breath catches just slightly as he leans in to press a kiss behind your ear.
“Cold?” He murmurs, his voice low and teasing.
You hum, arching your back just slightly as he applies a little more. His hands work slowly, spreading the sunscreen with careful and deliberate movements. They aren’t entirely innocent. And they’re definitely not subtle.
His hands slide lower, palms skating over your sides before dipping just under the edge of your bikini top to make sure every bit of exposed skin is covered. His mouth brushes the curve of your jaw as you lean back into his chest.
You turn your face toward him, your lips barely touching his in a slow kiss that lingers longer than it probably should.
“Jake,” you warn, grinning as you pull back. “There are children present.”
“So?” He murmurs, kissing along your neck again. “We’re just setting a good example for what love should look like.”
You snort out a laugh. “You’re such a tease.”
His hands slide around your waist, pulling you a little closer. “Takes one to know one, darlin’.”
“Hey lovebirds! Volleyball! Let’s go!”
Jake laughs and the two of you make your way over to where the rest of the group was. With how the teams were divided, Jake ends up on one team and you on the other.
You shoot him a look as you reach up to adjust your ponytail. “Try not to cry when I spike you.”
Jake’s grin is instant, cocky and dangerous behind his sunglasses. “You can spike on me anytime, sweetheart.”
A chorus of groans and “Jesus Jake!”s ring out from both teams. You feel the heat rush to your cheeks immediately. You roll your eyes and flip him off with a smile then turn take your place at the back to serve.
The game kicks off fast, full of chaotic energy and laughter as everyone drives for saves and jump for spikes. Jake, of course, is obnoxiously good. With his long arms, fast reflexes, and just the right amount of confidence to be a show off.
At one point he goes for a dramatic dive to save the ball, and lands flat in the sand. You jog up to the net and call out, “Need help getting up, old man?”
He wipes the sweat from his forehead and pushes up to his feet, brushing sand off his abs like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Nah, just wanted to give you a better view.”
A few rounds later Jake steps up to serve, tossing the ball once before readying his stance. Right as he goes to serve, you oh so casually adjust the top of your bikini, pulling the straps just enough to catch his eye. His gaze drops for half a second, but it’s just long enough to throw him off.
The serve is lousy, barely clearing the net before Phoenix saves it with a bump that send sit straight to you. You jump, time it perfectly, and spike the ball right at Jake. He misses the block entirely, and the ball lands clean at his feet.
Coyote, Fanboy, and the rest of his team all groan loudly.
“Something on your mind, Seresin?” you call sweetly.
Jake just runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, trying to play it cool as his eyes drag down your body. You blow him a kiss before turning away from him.
Someone on his team mutters, “Get a room.”
Jake doesn’t even look away from you as he replies, “Trust me. I’m trying.”
* * * * *
The group eventually calls a break, everyone scattering toward the towels, coolers, and the shade of nearby umbrellas. Sandwiches are unwrapped, beers are cracked open, and someone changes the speaker to a new playlist full of summer anthems.
You are mid sip of your water when Jake leans in close behind you, his warm breath brushing your ear. “Think I left my drink in the truck. Wanna come help me find it?”
You arch a brow at him. “You need help opening a cooler?”
His intentions are clear with the smirk that appears on his face. “Not exactly.”
You follow him up the sand path, both of you pretending not to be in a hurry.
The second you are far enough away from the beach goers, Jake’s hand finds your waist and tugs you behind the cover of the truck. You barely have time to open your mouth before he has you pressed up against the side panel, his mouth claiming yours in a rough kiss. His hands find your hips, as your fingers twist the strings of his board shorts.
Jake pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “You really gonna tease me like that and expect me not to lose it?”
You smile, completely breathless from just a few kisses. “It worked, didn’t it?”
He growls softly, dipping his head to your neck. “Keep it up and I’ll skip dinner and eat you instead.”
Your laugh turns into a gasp when his hand lowers, slipping right under the fabric of your bikini bottoms to grip your ass.
“Jake–”
He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Not here, baby.”
You whimper, fingers digging into his skin. “Then stop touching me like that.”
He gives your ass one last, lingering squeeze before pulling his hand free and resting it on your hip. “Just wanted to remind you what’s coming later.”
You stare at him, slightly dazed. “Consider me reminded.
Jake winks, then pulls open the cooler to grab a drink so no one questions what the two of you were doing while you were gone.
summary; Motherhood changed you in ways you didn’t expect. But Jake never stopped seeing you, even when you felt like a shadow of yourself. A careless comment stings more than it should, but love, as always, holds you steady.
word count; 5.6k
warnings; slight angst, alluding to post-partum depression, i've never been pregnant so i apologize for any inaccuracies, i tried to be as respectful as possible, protective!jake, the daggers are lowkey idiots but it gets resolved, happy ending
a/n; have i say i suck at picking titles? because i do !
masterlist
You and Jake had always been a good team.
Even before the wedding bands, before the house near base, before the nursery walls were painted that warm honey color you picked while Jake stood behind you with his arms around your waist — you just fit. You were the type of couple people admired without meaning to, the kind that felt solid without ever seeming boring. Everything about being with him felt easy. Natural. Like coming home.
You were vibrant, back then. Bright. Always the first to say yes to a last-minute plan. The first one dancing at someone’s birthday, drink in hand, laughing so loudly it made other people join in. You could hold a whole room without even trying. It wasn’t about being the center of attention; it was just your charm, the way you made everyone feel seen. The Daggers adored you for it. Jake fell hard for it.
But he also fell for the quiet parts of you. The thoughtful ones. The stubborn ones. The messy mornings and the soft, vulnerable nights. He loved the whole of you — fiercely, proudly — and you loved him just as hard right back.
When you found out you were pregnant, Jake cried. Sat right down on the kitchen floor, pulled you into his lap, and buried his face against your belly like he was already trying to protect something fragile and precious. You weren’t scared. Not with him beside you. You were ready. You both were.
Your daughter arrived less than a year ago, perfect in a way that stunned you.
And you loved her.
God, did you love her.
But something in you changed, too.
Not all at once. Not in a way that anyone else might have noticed right away. But you did. You weren’t laughing as much. Weren’t answering texts right away. You started saying maybe next time when the Daggers invited you out, even when you didn’t really know why. You didn’t feel like yourself — not entirely. And sometimes, it scared you how much you missed the girl you used to be.
Still, you tried to keep it all together.
You wanted to be the best mom. The perfect mom. You researched everything — the sleep schedules, the feeding plans, the organic baby food recipes. You committed to a full year of breastfeeding, no matter how exhausting it got. No formula. No shortcuts. You blended vegetables in perfect little glass jars and labeled them by date. You read articles, saved posts, made notes on nap windows and milestones like you were studying for the most important exam of your life.
Because it was the most important thing you’d ever done.
And even when you felt overwhelmed, even when it felt like you were constantly one mistake away from ruining something vital — you kept going.
Jake never asked you to stop. Never told you to ease up. He could see how much pressure you were putting on yourself, and instead of pulling you away from it, he met you right where you were. He got up for the night feeds when he could. Learned how to hold her just the way she liked. Memorized the way you liked your coffee on the days you barely had time to drink it. He rubbed your shoulders when you spent too long hunched over your phone, searching for answers you didn’t even know how to phrase.
He never made you feel like you were being dramatic.
He never made you feel like too much.
Jake Seresin had always been a protector — it was in his nature — but fatherhood turned that instinct into something deeper. He didn’t just protect your daughter. He protected you, too. In the quiet, invisible ways that really mattered.
Because he knew you.
He knew what your laugh used to sound like. He knew how hard you were trying to hold everything together. And more than anything, he knew this — no one could love that little girl the way you did. And no one could love you the way he did.
Jake brings it up casually one morning, while Willow is tucked against your hip and your coffee’s gone cold in the mug beside you.
“She’s got a new trick,” he says, watching as Willow grabs your necklace and babbles like she’s solving world hunger. “I swear, she’s gonna be talking before she walks.”
You smile —tired but real— and press a kiss to her temple. Her light brown curls are sticking up in every direction, wild and soft, and her green eyes, Jake’s eyes, shine with pure mischief.
“She’ll be walking in a month,” you murmur. “God help us.”
Jake grins and leans in to kiss your cheek. “You know what might help us survive it?” he says gently. “A night out. Just a few hours.”
You stiffen, and he feels it instantly.
“I don’t know…” you start, shifting Willow in your arms.
Jake softens his voice. “Your mom’s here. She can stay with her. Just the Hard Deck, nothing crazy. Everyone’s been asking about you.”
You glance toward the hallway where your mom’s unpacking toys and humming some lullaby you don’t quite recognize. Willow lets out a squeal and starts chewing on the collar of your shirt. It’s a normal morning. A good one. But even on the good days, you still feel stretched thin — like the lightest breeze could unravel you.
Jake notices your hesitation, but he doesn’t push.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says, brushing your hair back from your face. “Just think about it. It’s been a while.”
It had been a while.
You hadn’t seen the Daggers in months, not outside of the quick visits when they dropped off little gifts for Willow or came by to say hi. You used to be part of every plan. Now, you were the one sending polite, apologetic texts: So sorry, maybe next time. And no one ever made you feel guilty, but still… the distance was starting to grow. You could feel it.
Later that afternoon, you’re in the kitchen pureeing steamed carrots when your mom pads in barefoot, towel-drying her hands.
“You know,” she says casually, “your husband’s trying very hard to convince me you need a night off.”
You glance at her, brows raised. “Is he?”
“Mmhmm.” She walks over to Willow in her high chair and wipes her face, then turns back to you. “I happen to agree with him.”
You open your mouth, then close it again.
“I know it’s not easy to leave her,” she says gently, pulling out a chair. “But Jake’s right. It’s just a night. She’ll be asleep most of it. You deserve to have fun again.”
You sigh, dropping the spoon into the bowl. “It’s not just that. I haven’t had a drink in almost two years, I don’t know if my jeans even fit, and—”
“And?” she prompts.
You shrug helplessly. “I don’t feel like myself anymore.”
She stands and comes to you, resting a hand on your shoulder.
“You’re still you,” she says. “You’re just a little deeper now. That little girl brought out new parts of you — not lesser ones.”
Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them away.
“I don’t know if I’ll be any fun.”
“Sweetheart,” she smiles, brushing your cheek, “you’re always fun. And even if you’re not… you’re allowed to just be. Let the people who love you show up for you tonight.”
You don’t say yes right away, but a little after dinner, you find Jake in the bedroom changing Willow into her pajamas. She’s fighting sleep, yawning dramatically between shrieks of laughter as he blows raspberries on her belly.
He looks up at you, a question in his eyes.
You lean against the doorframe and nod softly. “Okay,” you say. “Let’s go out tonight.”
You spend most of the evening second-guessing your outfit.
Nothing feels quite right — too tight, too loose, too not you. Your body has changed. Not in a way anyone else would probably notice, but you feel it in your own skin, in the way your favorite jeans pinch at your waist or how the neckline of your blouse sits a little differently now.
You stand in front of the mirror in your bra and half-zipped jeans, staring at your reflection like maybe it’ll tell you what to wear. Your hair’s done — simple, soft — and you’ve brushed on a little makeup, but nothing dramatic. You haven’t worn real mascara in months. Lipstick feels like a relic from another life.
You sigh, ready to call it off, when Jake’s arms wrap gently around your waist from behind.
“Hey,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “You okay?”
“I don’t know what to wear,” you mumble.
He leans his chin on your shoulder, catching your eyes in the mirror. “You could wear sweatpants and that oversized hoodie you hate, and you’d still walk into that bar and knock the air outta me.”
You give him a look. “You’re biased.”
“Damn right I am,” he says, a little grin tugging at his mouth. “Biased as hell. You’re the mother of my child. The love of my life. You’re beautiful always.”
You roll your eyes a little, but his words make your throat feel tight.
Jake brushes your hair off your shoulder and kisses the side of your neck, slow and steady. His voice softens. “But if it’s bothering you… what about that black dress you wore on our anniversary? The one you wore with your leather jacket?”
Your brow lifts. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You wore your hair up. Smelled like honey and vanilla. Got a chocolate stain on the strap from dessert.”
You blink. “I can’t believe you remember the chocolate stain.”
He smiles. “I was gonna tell you, but you were so happy, and I didn’t wanna ruin the moment.”
That makes you laugh — really laugh — and Jake’s grin only grows.
You slip into the black dress. It fits a little differently now, a little softer around the middle, but you remind yourself that your body did something miraculous. You carried Willow. You fed her. You survived months of sleepless nights and sore shoulders and tears cried in the dark. You earned the way you’ve changed.
Jake zips the back up for you, slow and careful like he’s handling something sacred.
When you turn around, he whistles — quiet and low. “There she is.”
You smile despite yourself.
Before you leave, you peek into the nursery. Willow’s fast asleep, cheeks pink from her bath, hands curled into tiny fists beside her head. Your mom is in the guest room reading, and she gives you a thumbs-up when you pass by. Jake grabs your jacket, helps you slip it on, and takes your hand like he did on your very first date — fingers laced tight, steady and warm.
“You ready?” he asks softly.
You nod, heart pounding. “I think so.”
“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s go remind them all how much they missed you.”
The Hard Deck is buzzing when you arrive, just loud enough to make conversation feel easy without being overwhelming. Music hums from the jukebox, low and familiar, and the soft crack of pool balls mixes with the sound of laughter and clinking bottles. It smells like salt, spilled beer, and sunscreen — and it’s more comforting than you expected.
Jake opens the door for you like he always does, and you step inside, still holding his hand. You barely have time to scan the room before the noise shifts — a whoop from across the bar.
“Look who decided to grace us with her presence!”
You turn just as Javy breaks into a grin and rushes over, arms already open.
“Hey, mama!” he laughs, pulling you into a hug so warm it knocks the wind out of you. “Damn, we missed you.”
The greeting sets off a chain reaction.
Phoenix is next — she wraps you up tight, her familiar perfume making your eyes sting unexpectedly. “You look amazing,” she says, giving you a once-over before squeezing your shoulders. “Seriously. It’s so good to see you.”
“I thought maybe you’d been kidnapped,” Rooster jokes, pulling you into a side-hug and ruffling your hair like an annoying big brother.
“More like held hostage by a tiny dictator,” you reply, your voice lighter than it’s been in months.
Bob hands you a soda with lime without even asking and offers you a quiet smile. “Welcome back,” he says simply, like he knows how hard this was for you — like he sees you.
You laugh. A little awkward, a little shaky, but genuine.
And suddenly there are more hugs, more cheers, more teasing comments like “Does Willow even know we exist anymore?” and “Jake’s not nearly as fun without you, you know that, right?”
Jake stands a little behind you, his hand still resting low on your back, eyes bright. He doesn’t say much — just watches you soak it all in. His presence is grounding, anchoring you without being overbearing.
You haven’t been surrounded by this many people in months. And for a second, it feels like nothing’s changed.
But then you hear it — the familiar cry of a baby in your mind, that instinctive flicker of what if that’s never quite left you. Your hand slips into your pocket, checking your phone.
Nothing.
You glance at the time.
Jake notices immediately. He leans in and murmurs against your ear, “She’s fine, sweetheart. Your mom’s probably watching a Hallmark movie and Willow is asleep right where we left her.”
You smile, but your fingers still curl tightly around your phone.
You want to be here. You do. And the squad makes it easy to slide back into old rhythms. You sit at your usual spot near the dartboard, sip your drink, laugh at Coyote and Rooster bickering over pool rules. Natasha pulls you into a conversation about baby clothes and tells you, “You’ve officially made me obsessed with tiny overalls.”
But still — there’s a low hum beneath it all. That flicker of anxiety that hasn’t let go of your chest since the day you brought Willow home. You can laugh and nod and smile, but part of you is still in the nursery. Still listening for cries that aren’t there. Still wondering if she’s okay without you.
Jake squeezes your hand under the table.
You squeeze back.
You watch Jake make his way toward the bar, his shoulders easy, his walk still cocky even now. He glances back once — just a quick check — and you give him a little smile so he knows you’re okay.
You turn back to the table, and Phoenix is already sliding a bowl of peanuts in front of you.
“Bet Jake made you practice your outfit in the mirror before you left the house,” she teases. “I’ve never seen that man so whipped.”
Rooster snorts. “Whipped? Man’s a full-time bodyguard, housekeeper, and baby whisperer. I’m pretty sure Jake Seresin has a whole second life now.”
Javy leans in with a grin. “I’m just saying — back in the day, you two used to close the bar with us. Now he’s like ‘we gotta head home by ten, Willow likes to wake up for her midnight serenade.’”
They all laugh, and it’s not cruel — it really isn’t. It’s affectionate, familiar ribbing, the way old friends do. But it still catches in your chest.
You laugh, too, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. But it feels thin.
Fanboy smirks. “God, remember that trip to Catalina? You did tequila shots off a surfboard. Now you look like someone’s nervous assistant.”
That gets a real burst of laughter. Rooster raises his drink. “To the surfboard tequila queen! May she rest in peace.”
Javy adds with a laugh, “Replaced by Mom Mode 2.0.”
You press your lips together and smile, trying to ignore the way your throat tightens.
They don’t mean anything by it — of course they don’t. And maybe it’s even true. You have changed. You are different now. The old you — wild, spontaneous, loud — feels like a distant echo compared to the woman who now packs a diaper bag like it’s a military op and checks the baby monitor like it’s a heartbeat.
You used to be fun.
Now you’re… tired.
You glance toward the bar again.
Jake’s leaning with one elbow on the counter, waiting on your drinks, his head tilted as he chats with the bartender. Even from here, you can see how he carries you — how he’s still the same and somehow completely different, too. He hasn’t lost that sparkle. He’s just shifted it, wrapped it around you and Willow.
“You okay?” Bob asks softly, his voice barely above the laughter.
You blink, force another smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”
And you are.
But it’s not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
It’s the kind that sits in your bones. That makes you feel like you’re in a room full of people who love you and still somehow… not quite there.
Jake turns with your drinks in hand, catching your eye. He gives you that slow smile — the one that says you’re okay, baby, I’ve got you.
And you breathe a little easier.
Just a little.
Jake makes his way back to the table, two drinks in hand — yours already adjusted to how you like it now. Less sweet. Fewer bubbles. It’s one of those quiet little changes he picked up along the way, like so many others.
He sets it in front of you with a warm smile, one hand brushing over your shoulder before sliding down your arm in a barely-there touch. “Here you go, darlin’.”
You look up at him and try to smile, but he sees through it in an instant.
Something shifts in his expression — barely noticeable to anyone else, but you know him too well. He crouches beside your chair like he’s tying his shoe, but really, he just wants to be at your eye level.
“Wanna step out for a sec?” he murmurs, voice low and soft just for you.
You nod quickly, grateful.
The Daggers don’t even notice as the two of you slip away from the crowd and out the back door. The cool night air hits your skin, and you draw a breath that feels a little easier than the ones before. Jake follows you into the quiet, standing close but not crowding you, just… there.
Your eyes stay fixed on the dark parking lot, the neon glow of the Hard Deck’s sign painting the ground in faint color.
Jake finally breaks the silence. “Was it too much in there?” he asks gently. “Too loud? Too crowded?”
You shake your head. “No, it’s not that.”
He waits.
And you know he’s waiting for the truth, the real thing — because Jake doesn’t push. He never does. He only opens the door and lets you decide if you want to walk through.
But this time… you don’t. Not all the way.
You lean your head against his shoulder and quietly say, “Can we leave soon?”
That’s all.
And that’s enough.
Jake wraps his arm around you, tucks you into his side like you’re something fragile and precious — because you are. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there like he’s trying to ease the heaviness inside you with nothing but touch.
“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs. “We can leave whenever you want.”
You stay out there a little longer, his arms the only place in the world that feels steady. You don’t talk about what happened, and he doesn’t ask again.
He just holds you like he always has — like you’re the only thing that’s ever really mattered.
When you and Jake step back inside the Hard Deck, the music feels louder than before, the lights a little harsher. You keep your eyes on the floor, on the path back to the table where the Daggers are still laughing, halfway through another round.
Phoenix is the first to spot you. “There you are! We thought maybe you two snuck off to make out behind the bar.”
Bob snorts into his drink. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
You offer a weak smile, reaching for your purse. “We’re actually gonna head out.”
“Already?” Rooster whines dramatically. “You two are so boring now.”
“God,” Coyote adds with a teasing grin. “Is this who you’ve become? Early bedtimes and matching pajamas?”
Jake slings an arm around your shoulders and kisses your temple with exaggerated sweetness, but when he looks at the group, his expression shifts — not angry, not quite — but enough to silence the table.
“Shut the fuck up,” he says with a lopsided smile, voice easy but edged. “We’re still fun. We just also have a baby who wakes up at sunrise.”
The Daggers laugh again, but it’s a little more subdued. They get up to hug you goodbye, and you do your best to be gracious, smiling through the ache in your chest.
Phoenix hugs you tightly. “It was really good to see you, babe.”
“Yeah,” you murmur. “You too.”
Jake keeps his hand at the small of your back as you walk out, steady and warm, like he knows exactly how to carry the weight you won’t say out loud.
The drive home is quiet. Jake hums along to the radio, his fingers brushing over yours on the console between you. You hold on, needing that small connection more than you want to admit.
When you pull into the driveway, the house is lit with that soft, golden glow that always makes it feel safe. Inside, your mom greets you with a smile, Willow’s baby monitor cradled in her hand.
“She was perfect,” your mom says softly. “Didn’t fuss at all. She’s been out like a light since you left.”
“Thanks, Mom,” you say, already toeing off your shoes.
“You two looked good tonight,” she adds, watching the way Jake’s hand rests protectively on the small of your back. “It’s good to see you out.”
You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m just gonna go peek in on her.”
Jake watches you disappear down the hallway before turning to your mom. “Thanks again for watching her. She do okay with the bottle?”
“Like a champ,” your mom grins. “She’s a Seresin, after all.”
Jake chuckles. “Damn right she is.”
The nursery is dim, bathed in the soft blue glow of the nightlight. Willow stirs a little when you open the door, but when you pick her up, she nestles into your chest like she never wants to let go. Her little curls are damp against your neck, her breath warm and steady.
You sit down in the rocking chair and just hold her. Maybe longer than you need to.
You’re still there when Jake steps into the doorway, his silhouette filling the frame. “She okay?”
“She’s perfect,” you whisper. “Like always.”
He crosses the room quietly and crouches beside you, looking up at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
You hesitate.
Then: “Am I… not fun to be around anymore?”
Jake’s head jerks back slightly, like you hit him with something sharp. “Where’s this coming from?”
You look down at Willow, brushing a curl from her forehead. “It’s nothing. Just… something the guys said. Stupid jokes. I’m probably being sensitive.”
He’s silent for a long moment, and when you glance up, you see his jaw clenched, eyes stormy.
“What exactly did they say?”
You shrug, trying to make it small. “Just that we’re boring now. Not the life of the party. That I’m different. Which… I mean, I guess I am. I’m not the same as I was before Willow. I know that.”
Jake stands slowly, running a hand over his face. “Jesus.”
“It’s not a big deal,” you add quickly. “They didn’t mean anything by it.”
“No,” he says, voice tight but calm. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”
You blink fast. “I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling a little… off. Like I’m not as bright as I used to be.”
Jake sinks onto the edge of the bed, looking at you like he’s trying to memorize you. “Sweetheart, listen to me.”
You do.
“You are still the brightest person in the room. Every room. Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re sad. Even when you feel like half of yourself — you’re still everything.”
Your throat tightens.
“And yeah, things changed. But you had a baby. You grew a whole damn human. You didn’t stop being you — you just became more of you. And anyone who can’t see that can go to hell.”
You laugh, watery and soft. “Even the Daggers?”
“Especially the Daggers.”
You smile and lower your head until your forehead rests against Willow’s soft curls. “I don’t feel like myself all the time.”
Jake crouches again, his hand finding yours. “Then let me remind you who you are, as many times as it takes.”
Later that night, when the house is quiet and Willow is fast asleep in her crib, you find yourself curled against Jake in bed. The lamp is still on, casting a soft glow across the room, and Jake’s hand is drawing lazy circles on your back as your head rests on his chest. His other arm is wrapped securely around your waist, grounding you—like he always does.
“You okay?” he murmurs into your hair.
You nod a little, but then shake your head, and your voice comes out soft and tired. “I just… I want to feel like myself again. I miss her. And then I feel guilty for even thinking that, like wanting to feel like me means I’m not being a good mom.”
Jake’s arms tighten around you, pulling you a little closer. “Hey, no,” he says firmly, but still tender. “You are the best mom, sweetheart. I mean that. Willow is lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have you.”
You don’t respond right away, just press your face into his chest to hide the sting in your eyes.
Jake sighs quietly and brushes a kiss to your temple. “I’ve been reading about postpartum stuff,” he admits gently. “Just trying to understand. I think maybe talking to someone could help. A therapist, I mean.”
You lift your head a little to look at him, and his gaze is steady, warm. “You don’t think I’m failing?”
“No,” he says without missing a beat. “God, no. Baby, you’re doing everything you can. You’ve been pouring yourself into motherhood so completely, and that’s incredible—but it’s also okay to take care of yourself too. You don’t have to be perfect.”
You let out a breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. “I just want to get it right.”
Jake cups your face and leans in, his voice low and full of certainty. “You do. Every single day, you get it right. Even when you’re tired. Even when you’re scared. You’re Willow’s whole world. And mine.”
Tears blur your eyes again, but this time, they feel a little lighter.
“I love you,” you whisper.
Jake smiles, thumb brushing your cheek. “I love you more. And we’ll get through this, okay? Together. Just like always.”
You curl into him again, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and for the first time in a while, you let yourself breathe a little deeper. Maybe you didn’t feel entirely like yourself yet—but wrapped in Jake’s arms, in the safety of his unwavering love, you felt a little closer.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for tonight.
-
Jake walked into the Hard Deck with one goal.
The sun was bright, the breeze easy, the music low and familiar. The Daggers were at their usual table, beers in hand, sunglasses pushed up into messy hair. They were laughing about something, easy and loud.
He moved toward them without hesitation. Not a smile in sight.
“Jake,” Coyote greeted, grinning. “Damn, didn’t think we wore you two out that bad last night.”
Jake didn’t smile. He just stopped at the edge of the table, eyes sharp, jaw locked.
“We need to talk.”
The mood shifted instantly. Phoenix lowered her beer. Bob’s smile faded. Rooster raised an eyebrow, confused but still relaxed.
“Everything okay?” Fanboy asked, cautious now.
Jake looked at each of them, his voice even and low. “What you said to my wife last night. The jokes. About her being boring now? About her killing the vibe? That was out of line.”
No one spoke.
Jake stepped in closer, arms crossed over his chest. Not defensive — controlled. Contained. Dangerous in how calm he was.
“She hasn’t gone out in months. She was nervous as hell about last night, but she still got dressed, showed up, smiled. Did everything she could to feel normal again for one night. And you laughed at her.”
“Jake—” Rooster started, his voice hesitant.
Jake cut him off. “I’m not looking for excuses.”
Rooster fell silent.
“You think she didn’t hear it? You think just because she laughed it off and said nothing, it didn’t sting? She asked me if she’s not fun to be around anymore. Like she actually believed that.”
Phoenix’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her face had gone pale. Bob looked down, his ears turning red.
Jake’s voice was quiet, but firm. Final. “You made her feel like she didn’t belong. Like the person she is now isn’t enough.”
“We didn’t mean it like that,” Fanboy said, guilt sinking in.
Jake stared at him. “Then maybe think twice before saying that shit.”
Silence fell like a dropped weight.
“She’s not boring. She’s exhausted. She’s trying. And none of you even noticed. Not one of you asked her how she’s really doing.” His jaw worked for a second before he added, “You don’t get to make her feel small because she’s changed. We all changed.”
They knew better than to interrupt now.
“I’m telling you this because I love you guys,” Jake said, quieter now, but the steel in his voice remained. “But you owe her an apology. And if I ever hear something like that come out of one of your mouths again, I won’t be this polite about it.”
Phoenix was the first to speak, her voice soft. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
Coyote rubbed a hand down his face. “Damn, Jake. We fucked up.”
Jake didn’t answer. Just stared at them a moment longer, then nodded once and walked away.
He didn’t slam the door. Didn’t say goodbye.
Just left them sitting in their guilt, beers untouched, laughter long gone.
-
You were curled up on the couch in soft pajamas, Willow napping in the bassinet beside you, the faint hum of her white noise machine drifting through the open living room.
There was a knock at the front door.
Jake glanced at you from where he stood in the kitchen, his brows lifting slightly. He hadn’t said anything about leaving earlier, but now you understood where he must have gone.
“I’ll get it,” you said, gently rising and crossing the room.
When you opened the door, you blinked in surprise.
Rooster. Phoenix. Coyote. Fanboy. Bob. Payback. All of them stood there, looking sheepish — like teenagers summoned to the principal’s office.
“Hey,” Phoenix said, her voice soft. “Can we… talk to you for a second?”
You stepped aside, heart thudding a little, nerves twisting in your stomach. “Sure.”
They filed in slowly, unsure, clearly uncomfortable. Jake stayed quiet, leaning against the counter, arms crossed but expression neutral. Watching.
Rooster spoke first. “We came to say we’re sorry.”
You blinked. “For…?”
“For being assholes,” Phoenix said plainly, and that startled a small laugh out of you.
Payback nodded quickly, his voice quiet. “We didn’t mean it. The stuff we said last night — it was just joking around, but that doesn’t make it okay. We should’ve known better.”
You swallowed, arms wrapping around yourself. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“But we did,” Coyote said. “We know we did. Jake told us. And he was right.”
Fanboy added, “You’ve been through a lot. And we should’ve been more thoughtful. We love you — you’re part of us. You always will be.”
Rooster looked you dead in the eye, no sunglasses, no swagger. Just sincerity. “You’re still the same person who made us laugh till we cried. You’re still fun. Still sharp. Still the glue in this weird little group. We’re sorry if we made you doubt that.”
Your throat tightened.
Jake moved from the kitchen, silently brushing his hand over your back as he passed — just to let you know he was there, steady and sure.
You looked at the Daggers, your found family. “Thank you. That means a lot. Really.”
Phoenix gave you a tiny smile. “We’re gonna make it up to you. Just wait.”
“Yeah,” Fanboy chimed in. “We’re throwing you a party or babysitting for a month — whatever penance you demand.”
You laughed, genuinely this time. “Okay, maybe not a month of babysitting.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jake muttered.
Laughter rippled through the group, easy and warm now.
Bob peeked over your shoulder toward the bassinet. “Is Willow awake?”
You glanced back, then smiled. “She might be soon. Want to hold her?”
Coyote lit up. “Hell yeah.”
As they tiptoed toward the bassinet like overgrown kids, Jake caught your eyes from across the room. His look said told you so without a single word.
And for the first time in weeks, your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.
summary; Professor Jake Seresin never expected to fixate on a student—until you. Quiet, brilliant, and untouched. The more he watches, the more possessive he becomes. You're his now. Whether you know it or not.
word count; 13.4k
warnings; AGE GAP (reader is twenty, jake is in his thirties), SMUT, daddy kink, corruption kink, innocence kink, dom!jake, dacryphilia, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, READER IS A VIRGIN, obsessive thoughts, dumbification, spitting, cockwarming (kinda), spanking, size kink, this is lowkey dark, people are responsible for their own media consumption.
a/n; this is filthy and i apologize for horny dump on y'all. sorry if this sucks i'm still getting familiar with writing this kind of smut, so if you notice i over-described some things that was me being confused and word vomiting all over my word document. there were too many ideas i tried to fit them all, but will definitely do blurbs for these two
masterlist
Jake Seresin walked into the lecture hall like he owned it — because, in a way, he did.
Ten years in the department, full tenure, two books under his belt, and an entire building’s worth of undergrads who hung on every word that came out of his mouth. He knew what he looked like — tall, sharp, confident. He knew what the students whispered. Hot. Smart. Dangerous in a button-up.
And yeah, he liked it.
Most of them didn’t care about postwar American History, not really. But they filled the seats anyway, hoping for an easy grade or a reason to stare at his forearms when he rolled his sleeves past the elbows.
He smirked to himself as he adjusted the papers in his hand. Another semester, another group of over-eager girls and under-prepared essays.
He stepped into the lecture hall, already mid-sentence in his head, and—
Stopped.
Dead.
You were sitting in the front row.
Directly in front of him.
Plaid skirt. White button-up blouse. A ribbon tied neatly in your hair like you didn’t even realize what that did to a man with a functioning pulse. Your legs were crossed, your posture perfect, your desk already arranged — notebook laid flat, post-its stacked by color, pens uncapped and ready.
And your head was bowed.
Not in some coy, flirtatious way. You weren’t looking up at him through lashes or biting your lip to be seen.
You were just… focused. Calm. Present.
Everyone else in the room had turned to look at him the moment he walked in — eyes on his shoulders, his hands, his jaw.
But not you.
You didn’t even glance his way.
You were already writing the date in the top corner of your notes in tiny, perfect print.
And that?
That got him.
He cleared his throat and forced himself to keep walking, setting his materials down on the desk with a quiet thud. The usual whispers rippled through the room. He didn’t care. Not anymore. He only cared about the girl in the front row who hadn’t looked up once.
He started the lecture on instinct alone, the words rolling out smoothly, years of experience keeping his tone measured and confident. But his eyes kept flicking back to you — the curve of your jaw, the bow in your hair, the soft flutter of your lashes as you scribbled something in the margins of your notes.
You weren’t like the others.
You weren’t trying to impress him. You weren’t trying to flirt.
You were just… good. Sweet. Serious.
You didn’t even know how fucking adorable you looked, sitting there all buttoned-up and composed, legs crossed and lips slightly parted as you listened — not to him, but to the lecture.
And maybe that was what did it.
The restraint. The genuine interest.
Because by the time class ended, Jake couldn’t remember a single other face in the room.
Only yours.
And something deep in his chest — something he hadn’t felt in a long time — curled in quiet anticipation.
He needed to know your name.
And if he wasn’t careful, he’d need a hell of a lot more than that.
You were in the same seat.
Second row, third desk from the left.
Just like the day before.
Jake had tried to shake the way you lingered in his mind — tried to forget the way your skirt had tugged just slightly over your thighs when you crossed your legs, how your head had tilted as you wrote, like you were pulling something from memory — but it was pointless.
Because there you were again.
Same posture. Same calm energy. Same goddamn ribbon in your hair.
Today’s outfit was a pale pink blouse, collar neatly buttoned, a plaid skirt in navy and cream. Knee socks. Perfect posture. The kind of softness that didn’t feel designed to tempt, and somehow tempted even more because of it.
You still didn’t look at him when he walked in.
You were too busy underlining your notes with a pastel blue pen.
And that made something in him tighten.
You didn’t crave his attention like the others. You didn’t light up when he passed. You didn’t flash a smile or a low-cut neckline or flutter your lashes like a dozen other students had already done before class even began.
You didn’t care.
Or maybe you were just trying very, very hard not to show it.
Either way — it made him want you.
The lecture began the same way it always did — syllabus points, early framework, a few jokes to keep the room alive.
But then he asked a question.
A tough one.
A silence followed. Then, as expected, a dozen hands flew up around the room — loud, eager, obvious.
But his eyes went straight to you.
“You,” he said smoothly, pointing without hesitation. “Third seat, first row. Go ahead.”
Your head snapped up, wide-eyed. The pen slipped from your fingers.
He watched you blink, inhale sharply, lips parting as you searched your mind for the answer. He could see the nerves flash across your face, that same little crease forming between your brows as you swallowed.
“I—um. The, uh… the cause of the shift in policy was—was rooted in post-WWII diplomatic tension,” you stammered, voice soft. “Specifically the… growing divide between the U.S. and the Soviet Union in the early years of the Cold War.”
A pause.
Then: “Yes,” he said, lips curling into something dangerously close to a smile. “Exactly.”
Your cheeks flushed pink. You looked down immediately, biting your lip, and picked your pen back up like you’d said something wrong.
Jake exhaled slowly through his nose.
Fuck.
You looked so pretty when you were flustered. When you stumbled just slightly over your words. When you turned red from something he did.
He wanted to see that look again. Not here. Not like this.
Closer. Louder. Wetter.
His jaw flexed.
He shouldn't be thinking about you like this. You were a student. Twenty, maybe. Barely even an adult. And he was a professor — your professor — with no business imagining what you might look like on your knees, still wearing that fucking bow.
But you made it so hard not to.
That quiet intelligence. That unintentional sweetness. The way you never looked at him for too long, like you didn’t trust yourself to.
You were perfect in the kind of way that made men like him ruin things.
And he already knew he would.
Because after just two classes, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Not during his office hours. Not during faculty meetings. Not even at night, lying in bed with his hands gripping his cock, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it would feel like to own that innocence.
And God help him — he already knew this wasn’t going to be enough.
Just watching you from across the room?
It was never going to be enough.
You were walking out of class when he saw it happen.
Some kid — backwards hat, lazy grin, the kind who barely passed the midterms and only showed up when attendance counted — let his eyes drag down the length of your legs as you passed. No shame. No subtlety.
Jake watched from behind the podium, pretending to shuffle papers, while something cold and sharp curled in his chest.
The kid wasn’t alone.
There were two more — one leaning against the doorframe, another pretending to scroll through his phone — all of them stealing glances like you were something they could take.
Their eyes lingered on your skirt, that pretty little plaid thing you always wore. On your thighs. On the bounce of your step. And Jake knew — he knew — what they were thinking.
Because he’d thought it first.
He’d seen that skirt and wondered how far it would ride up if you sat on his desk. He’d looked at the ribbon in your hair and imagined tugging it loose just to watch it fall. He’d watched the way you blushed when he called on you and wondered what you'd sound like if he kept you flustered on purpose.
But they didn’t get to think about you like that. Not them.
You weren’t some girl at a party or a name on a group chat. You weren’t a story they could brag about over beer and noise and cheap cologne.
You were soft-spoken. Smart. Thoughtful.
You were kind.
And you were his student.
Jake’s grip on the folder in his hand tightened.
Those boys — those kids — didn’t even see you. Not really. They saw a pair of legs and a short skirt and a pretty mouth they wanted wrapped around their dicks.
They didn’t know about the way you highlighted your notes in color-coded tabs. The way your eyes lit up when you made a historical connection no one else caught. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating, or how your breath hitched ever so slightly when he spoke too directly to you in class.
No. They didn’t deserve to look at you. Not like that.
He did.
He watched you stop by the door, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes flicking up for a second — not at him, never directly — before you slipped into the hallway and disappeared from view.
Jake exhaled slowly, jaw tight.
He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t want this.
But that ribbon in your hair? The way your skirt swayed when you walked?
He was already imagining how easy it would be to press his palm flat against your lower back and guide you into his office. Lock the door behind you. Make you say his name in that same breathy voice you used when answering questions you already knew the answer to.
He knew it was wrong.
But it didn’t stop him from thinking it.
And it sure as hell wouldn’t stop him from watching the next time someone else looked at you like that.
Because next time, he might not be able to stop himself.
You were in the library when he saw you again.
Tucked away near the windows, hunched over a stack of books so tall it looked like they might topple over. Your ribbon today was white, soft satin, tied in a bow at the base of your ponytail. You had one foot tucked beneath you, a highlighter between your lips, fingers moving quickly as you copied something down into a lined notebook.
And you didn’t see him watching.
You never did.
Jake had only meant to pass through. Drop off a faculty packet, maybe grab a coffee on the way out. But then he caught a glimpse of that pale bow and that neat little skirt, and suddenly he wasn’t moving at all.
You were so good. So careful.
You read every assigned chapter before class. You came prepared, never late, never distracted. You didn’t party. You didn’t gossip. You didn’t flirt.
You were smart, painfully shy, and still untouched in all the ways that mattered.
And God help him — he wanted to ruin you.
And he didn’t mean in some metaphorical, hypothetical way. No, he meant it like something that would happen. And when it did, it would be rough. Controlled. Intentional.
The first time he touched you, it would be the kind of touch that would make you tremble. He’d talk you through it. He’d teach you. God, the things he'd teach you. He’d whisper in your ear and press kisses to your flushed cheeks and tell you how perfect you were while you came undone beneath him.
Jake didn’t do this. Didn’t fixate. Didn’t cross lines. But with you? Every inch of restraint felt thinner by the day.
And today, he didn’t walk past the table.
He stopped.
“Reading ahead?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, a touch amused.
You startled — just a little. The highlighter fell from your mouth and hit the notebook with a soft thump.
You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.
And then you nodded quickly. “Y-yes. I mean—yes, Professor Seresin.”
You said his name like it meant something. Like it tasted like nerves and reverence and something you hadn’t named yet.
Jake gave you a smile. Not the one he used in lectures. A quieter one. Just for you.
“Didn’t peg you for a library regular,” he said, even though he already knew you came here. He’d seen you. Twice now. Same seat. Same coffee order from the student café. Same color-coded system of sticky notes.
You looked down at your notebook like it might save you. “I—I usually come when it’s quiet. Helps me focus.”
“Mm,” he hummed, gaze flicking to the page in front of you. “You always this thorough?”
You blushed.
Of course you did.
Jake leaned in just a bit, resting one hand on the back of the empty chair across from you. Not quite an invitation. Not quite professional, either.
“You’re one of the smartest students I’ve had in years,” he said, voice low.
You blinked up at him, stunned, your eyes shiny like you were a child who had just given the biggest lollipop.
He knew he shouldn’t be talking to you like this — not here, not like this — but watching the way your fingers curled nervously around your pen, the way you pressed your knees together under the table upon hearing his praise? It made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years.
Possessive.
Protective.
Predatory.
You weren’t like the others. You weren’t careless. You didn’t wear revealing clothes or beg for attention or ask him what kind of wine he liked just to test the waters.
You were soft. Nervous. You fidgeted with your sleeves when you spoke. You licked your lips when you were thinking. You didn’t even realize how many eyes followed you down the hallway — or that he was one of them.
He cleared his throat.
“If you ever want to come by my office hours,” he said carefully, “we could talk more. You’ve got an eye for detail — more than most.”
You nodded, almost too quickly. “O-okay. Thank you.”
Jake smiled again. “Anytime.”
Then he stepped back, just enough to leave you looking flustered and glowing and completely undone from a two-minute conversation.
And when he walked out of the library, it wasn’t coffee on his mind.
It was the bow in your hair.
And how long he’d last before he finally reached out and untied it.
-
It had been almost a month since that conversation in the library.
Four lectures, two assignments, and not a single visit to his office.
You hadn’t come by. Not once.
Jake told himself he didn’t care. That you were just shy. That you probably didn’t want to seem like you were trying to impress the professor. That he liked that about you — the restraint. The self-discipline.
But still. You’d said okay.
And ever since, he’d watched you walk past his office every Tuesday and Thursday after class without even looking in.
It gnawed at him.
You were in his head now — had been since day one — all sweetness and blushing cheeks and that damn ribbon you wore like it didn’t mean anything. And now you were avoiding him?
Jake didn’t like being ignored.
Especially not by you.
So when he saw you outside on campus — standing under the awning of the science building, laughing softly at something some guy was saying — something in him snapped.
The kid was tall. Blonde. Baseball cap and sneakers, some letterman-style arrogance in his stance.
And he was standing too close.
Jake watched from across the quad, invisible behind his sunglasses and department-issued windbreaker, the expression on his face unreadable. To everyone but himself, that is.
Because what he was feeling?
Jealousy.
Sharp. Hot. Irrational.
He watched your hands fidget with the hem of your sweater. You were smiling, polite, nervous. You weren’t flirting — not really — but you weren’t walking away either. And that was enough to make Jake’s teeth clench.
Because what the fuck did he have to say that kept you standing there?
Jake had asked you to come see him. Invited you.
And you hadn’t even glanced his way in a month.
But now this guy? This idiot in Nikes? He got your smile?
No.
No, he didn’t like that. Not one bit.
Later that evening, Jake sat at his desk, staring at your name on the attendance roster. The cursor blinked. His hand hovered over the keyboard for less than a second before he typed:
Miss [Last Name],
I’d like to speak with you regarding your most recent essay. Please stop by my office during my posted hours tomorrow.
– Professor Seresin
Short. Professional. Perfectly appropriate.
But his intention couldn’t have been clearer.
You wanted to pretend you didn’t know the pull he had on you? Fine.
But he wasn’t going to stand back and let some boy with a half-formed thought about post-war diplomacy steal your attention.
No.
You were better than that.
You were his.
Even if you didn’t know it yet.
-
He drank black coffee and stared at his computer screen for exactly forty minutes, unable to work, until your knock came.
You stood in the threshold, clutching your bag to your chest like a prayer. Sleeves of your baby pink cardigan pulled over your fists. Ribbon today was pale blue, tight at your temple.
For a second, Jake thought you might apologize for being early, but you only looked at him with those wide, serious eyes and said, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”
He drank the moment in: the tremor in your voice, the nervous twitch of your left thumb along the bag strap, the way you hovered on the edge of his office like you were afraid to disturb the air.
He wanted to disturb you.
He gestured at the battered armchair across from his desk. “Come in, have a seat.”
You nodded and moved in, perching on the very edge of the chair. He watched your knees press together, skirt riding up just enough to show the bare curve above your knee, and something about the carefulness of the gesture — the fact that you didn’t even try to hide it — made him want to lean forward and rest a palm on the soft skin there, just to see how quickly you’d color.
He didn’t, of course.
Instead, he folded his hands on the desk, faking composure.
“I read your paper,” he said, voice low. “A few times, actually.”
Your jaw twitched. “Oh,” you said quietly. “Was it… bad?”
He fixed you with a look, letting the silence hang, letting you squirm beneath it. “No. It was excellent. Maybe too excellent.”
A little furrow appeared between your brows. “What does that mean?”
Jake smiled, slow and deliberate. “I mean, it was a little hard to believe you wrote it.”
A flash of hurt, quick and sharp, before you schooled it away. “I— I did write it."
“All by yourself.”
You blinked, lips parting. “I—” A flush crept up your neck, coloring your cheeks. “I did. Write it myself, I mean.” You looked down at the papers in your lap. “I just… I really liked the topic.”
He let his smile soften. “I know you did.” He hesitated, then pushed his chair back and stood, circling the desk. You straightened, hands tensing on your bag.
He perched on the edge of the desk beside you, close enough to catch the faint scent of your shampoo—something sweet and citrus, fresh and young. “Would you mind walking me through it?” he asked. “Your argument was good. I only want to hear it in your own words. Sometimes things get lost in translation, from mind to page.”
You nodded, silent, and fumbled for the copy of your essay in your bag. He watched as you smoothed the pages, careful not to crease them, your fingers trembling as you laid it in your lap. “Uh—should I just… talk through it?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
“Please,” Jake said, and he let his knee brush yours—just the faintest touch—then leaned back, giving you the illusion of space.
You glanced at the first page, unsure, and then you started: “I argued that the US containment policy was less about ideological opposition to communism and more about economic self-interest, especially after the Marshall Plan. I thought—well, I noticed you mentioned the importance of domestic industry in lecture, and—”
Jake watched you stumble through the explanation, your voice catching, your hands trembling as you clutched the paper. You were so fucking earnest, so desperate to be right, to be good, to impress him, and it made him want to ruin you in every way that counted.
You kept talking, oblivious to his attention, until you realized he hadn't noted it in the margins — the way your voice gathered confidence, the way you straightened as your thesis came into focus. By the end of your summary, you were almost steady, flushed but proud, the paper cradled to your chest like you were daring him to snatch it away.
He hadn't meant to smile, but he did. A real one, gentle at the edges, before he remembered himself and cleared his throat.
"You see it, then," he said. "The connections. Most students don't." He tucked a finger beneath the ribbon trailing by your cheek, almost brushing skin, and let it drop. You drew a sharp breath, the color high on your cheeks now, eyes darting to the window, the door, anywhere but at him.
He let the silence hang. It was a test. He wanted to know how long you'd last before you broke it — if you would. Most didn't. Most filled the air with nervous chatter or apologies. You just sat there.
He didn’t say a word. Just reached, slow and deliberate, and rested his hand on your knee.
You stopped breathing.
It was nothing, technically—an academic gesture, a comfort, the kind of thing professors did all the time. But there was something in the way his palm curved to your knee, warm and heavy, that made it feel like the most significant touch you’d ever felt.
He squeezed, gentle but certain.
Your heart tripped. You couldn’t look away.
"Hey," he said, voice softer now. "You’re not in trouble. You’re a smart girl. Maybe a little too smart for your own good."
"T—Thank you, sir."
Oh, that went straight to his cock. Jake thought he could cum from your voice alone. So innocent, sweet.
He couldn't help but let out a mix between a breath and a laugh. "You really have no idea, do you?"
You looked confused. Completely, utterly confused and that turned him on like he's never been turned on before.
"You sit in my classroom. Front row, wearing the shortest skirt you could've found and tying your hair all pretty in a different ribbon, every damn day." He rose from his chair with a fluid motion, circling you slowly, much like a predator sizing up its prey, eyes lingering with an intense focus. "Do you do it for me, sweetheart? Do you enjoy that I notice?" His voice was a low murmur, resonating with a mix of curiosity and something more primal.
A tingling energy coursed through you, setting every nerve on edge. Your skin erupted in a wave of goosebumps, a testament to the power of his words that seemed to resonate deep within, sending shivers cascading down your spine.
You attempted to speak, but the words seemed to tangle and lodge in your throat, stubbornly refusing to emerge. The intense, undeniable ache between your legs heightened your anxiety, and without conscious thought, you instinctively pressed your legs together, desperately seeking any form of friction to relieve the tension. He noticed, naturally. His face lit up with a wide, mischievous Cheshire Cat smile, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes.
"Do you want to be my good girl, sweetheart? Is that it?" The smirk on his lips widened, a playful yet commanding expression that seemed to dance in his eyes. "Do whatever I say?" His presence was magnetic, drawing you in with an irresistible allure that left your heart pounding in your chest.
You forced a small nod, the tiniest tilt of your head, a mere ghost of motion. But it wasn't enough for him. He craved the certainty of your words. "Say it, baby. Say you want it," he demanded softly, his voice a velvet command. His arms created an unyielding fortress around your chair, his presence enveloping you like an unwavering sentinel. Despite his dominating posture, there was an intensity in his eyes, a searing warmth that promised he would stop if that was what you truly wanted.
But you didn't want him to.
So you gathered all the courage you had in you. "I—I want i—it, Sir."
Jake yanks you up to the desk in one powerful motion, his strength both surprising and reassuring. He positions himself between your legs, forcing them apart with a commanding presence. Leaning over you, he creates a tension that makes you instinctively grip the blue fabric of his shirt, seeking solace.
His lips hover tantalizingly close before slamming into yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless. He kisses you with the desperation of a man who has been deprived, as if this moment was something he has longed for, dreamt of, and maybe, just maybe, it truly was.
His hands shot up your skirt with a fierce urgency, forcing a gasp from your lips against his. A sly smirk flickered across his face, but he pressed on, undeterred, his touch becoming more daring. His fingers danced higher, swiftly locating the waistband of your panties and yanking them down with a ruthless determination. Without hesitation, he thrust a single finger inside your soaking core, his lips trailing a fiery path down your neck as you gasped and shuddered under the onslaught of these electrifying sensations.
"Fuck, you're so fucking tight, bet no one has ever touched you down here before." He growled in your ear, drawing out a desperate whimper. "Don’t worry baby, I'll make sure my cock fits in this tight little hole."
Jake brutally forced in another finger, his movements rough and relentless, making your vision explode with stars. His free hand clamped around your throat, jerking your gaze to meet his intense stare. "I've been fucking patient, baby, I played your little teasing game. I let you sashay out of my classroom every fucking day as if you hadn't just given me the most excruciating hard-on of my life."
"I—I didn't mean—" You choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure and his brutal words.
"I know you didn't, and that fucking kills me. But I waited, baby, I fucking waited, and now I'm going to take what's mine."
He abruptly withdrew his hands from both your core and your throat, leaving a sudden void that made you whine softly, a sound filled with longing and need. Your hips instinctively pushed toward him, desperate to reclaim the connection you had lost, as if trying to chase the lingering warmth of his fingers. A low chuckle escaped his lips, rich with amusement at the needy, almost pitiful sounds that escaped yours. As he deftly undid the zipper of his pants, the metallic sound seemed to echo in the charged atmosphere, and he revealed his hardening erection with a confident ease.
Your eyes were immediately drawn to him, widening slightly as your lips parted, a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement washing over you in waves. He was impressively large, thick, and commanding, and you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him. The sight was both intimidating and mesmerizing, and you were certain that even the tip alone would stretch you to the point of discomfort. Yet, despite the apprehension, there was an undeniable allure to him, and your mouth watered in response, captivated by the raw, primal energy he exuded.
The older man takes his shaft in hand, the thick, bulbous tip glistening with anticipation. He slaps against your sensitive cunt, sending a sudden, electrifying jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, making you flinch with each deliberate tap. Then, with a deliberate slowness that makes you ache, he traces the wide, smooth head down to your entrance, where it pauses, poised to claim. He begins to push in, his eyes locked on the sight of his thick shaft stretching you, millimeter by millimeter. The sight of your body yielding to his, the contrast of his thick, veined shaft against your delicate folds, is intoxicating. A low, primal groan escapes his lips, drawn out from some deep, ancient part of him.
There's a pain that ignites like a flame, a burning sensation that makes you gasp and bite down onto his shirt, muffling your cries. Jake watches you intently, his eyes searching your face as he continues to sink his length into you, inch by thick inch. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I know it’s big, baby." he coos, his lips curving into a soft smile. "But you can take it." His voice is a warm, gentle breeze against your skin, a stark contrast to the fierce, burning stretch of his body claiming yours.
Your postwar American History professor slams against you, his heavy balls slapping your ass. He growls your name and the pet names he’s claimed you with, demanding your gaze. “Let me see those fucking eyes, princess,” Jake commands. You tear your face away from his chest, eyes meeting his.
“I’m fucking buried in you, baby. All the way in your goddamn gut,” he snarls, beginning to fuck you with harsh, shallow thrusts. You cry out with each punishing drive, pain morphing into pleasure, a pleasure that consumes you. “That’s it…” he groans, eyes wild with lust and dominance.
"It hurts," you observe, your voice catching in your throat, punctuating the sentence with a sharp intake of breath as Jake's movements become increasingly vigorous. "P—please, sir," you add, your words barely a whisper amidst the growing intensity, each sensation rippling through you like a cascade of electricity.
He nods his head and smiles at you sweetly, “That’s right, baby. That’s what happens when your teacher stuffs his fat cock inside your virgin little cunt.” His words made your walls squeeze him even more, making him groan. "Fuck, you're swallowing me, greedy whore."
“I’m gonna start fucking you now, sweetheart, and you'll take whatever I give you,” he forewarns, and you nod your head.
“Yes, sir.” At your words, Jake begins to pummel in and out of your pussy. Obscene noises come from where you’re connected to him—wet sounds and skin slapping against skin.
Jake gazes down, eyes ablaze, as his thick shaft brutally vanishes and materializes, your tightness struggling to accommodate his massive invasion. His heavy balls swing and slap against your ass, glistening with your wetness. “Drenched fucking everywhere,” he growls, his thrusts brutal and unyielding. “You're fucking loving this—I knew you would.”
His cock batters your cervix with each thrust, sending waves of pain crashing through you. But when he grinds against your sweet spot, the agony morphs into ecstasy almost instantly. “Fuck, look at your juices coating my cock,” Jake snarls, slamming forward with renewed ferocity. “You're fucking gushing, dripping down to my balls—shit!”
Jake leans down to kiss you. At first, it’s soft. But then, like the way he's taking away your innocence, it grows rough and desperate. He's in complete control, shoving his tongue into your mouth and doing all kinds of things you can’t keep up with, yet still try to.
Jake impales you, plunging into your fuckhole without mercy, his shaft brutalizing your soaked cunt. His length ravages your sensitive walls, fucking you with a savage skill. He's finally abusing your pussy with the ferocity he's been craving since he the first time he saw you.
"S-sir! It's... it's too much— I—I can't— I can't control—” You’re overwhelmed, body convulsing, senses spiraling. Jake revels in your chaos, finding your confusion fucking exquisite.
“That’s a orgasm, princess. Now, sit still and fucking beg for my cock,” he growls, and you nod, desperate.
“Drench my thick fucking cock, baby. Come on, make a goddamn mess on this dick,” he orders, punctuating his words with hard slaps on your chest and the side of your left thigh. Your cunt spasms around him, clit pulsing like a live wire, back arching sharply as you explode around his cock for the first time. “Atta girl.”
He roars as your eyes roll back, lids clamping shut like a vice while your face contorts in a grimace of raw ecstasy. Your mouth gapes open, shocked by the inferno that consumes you. Your pussy clamps down on Jake’s cock like a vise, squeezing him mercilessly, demanding more.
Jake pounds into you through your climax, barely slowing as your body convulses with wave after wave of pleasure. Your walls clench and release, milking him until he forces you through the crest, and then he resumes his relentless, brutal pace.
Your breasts heave wildly with each brutal thrust of Jake’s hips, your body jerked upwards like a ragdoll before he yanks you back onto his pulsating shaft. “Ah—ah—ah!” you cry out, mindlessly drooling with each primal grunt, eyes rolling back as coherent thought abandons you.
“Silly little girl—prancing around in miniskirts, acting like a little slut when you haven’t even known real sex,” Jake growls, gripping your jaw tightly, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. He hocks a thick wad of saliva into your mouth, commanding you to swallow it like the good little whore you were.
You obey him instantly, a twisted smile on your lips before your face contorts from the brutal sensations his cock inflicts. "Greedy little slut—your hungry pussy is devouring my thick cock," he growls, ramming his thickness mercilessly in and out of you.
"It's so deep, Sir! C– Can feel it in my belly," you cry out, and your words make Jake's cock pulsate violently within your clenching, drenched walls. Your juices gush over his cock, leaving a thick, glistening coat around his shaft and balls.
“Uh-huh—you’re just so tight, baby. I had to force it in—but now you’re takin’ it like pro.” He grunted. "My little fucktoy… This pussy is mine now—all mine, just like the rest of you," he roars, and your second orgasm crashes over you without warning, leaving you shattered and gasping.
You thrash desperately, trying to escape Jake's grasp, but it's futile. Your swollen nipples rasp against his shirt, the friction sending jolts of unwanted pleasure coursing through you. Jake's thick shaft impales you, your tightness making his movements rough and punishing. "That's it, take it," he growls, his voice a low, feral rumble. "Choke on this cock. My little whore." His mouth attacks your jaw, biting and sucking, marking you with primal intensity.
"I'm going to make you mine," he growls, eyes glinting with dark desire. "You're the perfect fit for me, crafted for my every whim. Gonna turn you into my little whore.”
Your walls clamp down on Jake's shaft, throbbing and desperate. You're drowning him in your heat, your body screaming for his release. "Daddy..." you cry out, a shivering, sweating mess, convulsing with an ecstasy so raw it's agony. Jake's jaw tightens at the sound of that word, his eyes wild, fighting back the cataclysmic explosion threatening to detonate within him but it feels like trying to stop a stampede of 1000 horses with a single thread.
"I'm your Daddy, and don't you forget it," he growls, thrusting with a ferocity that makes you gasp. Each movement is a relentless assault, as if his sole mission is to claim you completely. His focus is unwavering as he drives into you with raw determination, intent on filling you to the brim with his release before flipping you over for more. He relishes the challenge of forcing his girth inside you, feeling the tension and resistance. "You're driving me wild, baby. I'm gonna reward you for taking me so well."
At his statement, you jolt with a surge of excitement, your senses suddenly sharp despite the haze enveloping your mind. "R– Really, Daddy?" you manage to utter, your voice trembling with the thrill of anticipation at the promise of a reward.
"Promise, sweetheart. You're such a good girl for Daddy—"
"Going to fill you up, baby," the older man growls with a raw, primal intensity, his voice a rough edge of desire. "I'll stuff you so full of my cum that you'll be dripping with my seed for days," he declares, his words punctuated by a fervent string of curses, each one a testament to his overpowering need.
The sudden cessation of his hips' rhythm is jarring, an interruption as abrupt as a lightning strike. With a surge of animalistic urgency, he drives himself forward, embedding to the core with a fierce determination. The unexpected force draws a frown from you, a sharp hiss escaping your clenched teeth as the unexpected jolt of discomfort courses through you. But then, a searing warmth bursts within, his release thundering through your inner walls, saturating them with a molten, pearlescent fervor.
"There we go—now you're truly mine, princess," he growls, his voice resonating with the deep rumble of distant thunder. His smile is a languid curve, sated and triumphant, his cheeks flushed with the fiery afterglow of his climax. "And I know you love being Daddy's." His eyes, heavy-lidded and shadowed, lock onto yours with a possessive, almost primal, tenderness.
The air was heavy with the musky scent of sex, mixed with the lingering smell of your professor's cologne. It was a heady and intoxicating smell, one that enveloped you and filled your senses. Your mouth is dry, throat constricted as you try to swallow. The taste of him still lingers on your tongue, a mix of salt and musk.
For a fleeting moment, you remained motionless, struggling to catch your breath while your mind grappled with the reality of the situation. The warm sensation of your professor's release trickled from you, a stark reminder of the intimacy you had just shared, while his member remained embedded deep within you. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your gaze darting around the room, deliberately avoiding his eyes. An awareness settled over you, knowing that his intense gaze was fixed on you, observing your every subtle move, every minute reaction. This scrutiny set your skin ablaze, a fiery sensation that coursed through your body, leaving you flushed and breathless.
"I'm still buried deep inside of your pussy and you can't even look at me? Thought we were past the shyness." Jake's hands grabbed hold of your neck, forcing you to look at him.
His eyes were black as a moonless night, just as they'd been when he'd first claimed your mouth. You could feel his cock, still hard as steel, impaling you, pulsing with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.
He withdrew slowly, not out of gentleness, but to revel in the sight of his cock glistening with their mingled essence. A primal growl tore from his chest as he watched his seed spill from you, dripping down your thighs and onto his desk in a filthy, sacred mess.
A dark urge compelled him to his knees, hungry to taste you. In his mind, he had earned this right to your flesh. He had been patient, and now it was time to claim his reward. Though he had already taken your virginity, it wasn't enough. He wanted to devastate you, to leave you feeling his mouth, his fingers, his cock for weeks to come. He wanted to imprint himself on you, a brutal, carnal memory that would haunt your every waking moment.
Jake crashed to his knees, forcing your thighs apart with a feral hunger. He buried his face in your heat, growling at the sweet, intoxicating taste of you. Of course, you tasted like fucking honey—ambrosia from the gods themselves. He'd fantasized about this a thousand times, and your taste was always the same. Sweet. Maddening. Pure.
You fought to push him away, desperate to close your legs and hide the wrecked, ravaged mess that was still soaking wet. But Jake was relentless. His massive shoulders wedged your thighs open, and his arms locked around your waist like a vice. You weren't going anywhere.
"St—stop... too much, p—please," you begged, voice trembling, but your pleas crumbled into a moan as that electrifying sensation surged through your belly once more. The wet, obscene sounds he produced while devouring your pussy were utterly maddening, and your body quaked with the overwhelming intensity of overstimulation.
He ripped himself away, eyes locking onto yours like a predator's. "Don't you dare move, baby," he growled. "Daddy's not done with you yet." His words sent a brutal surge through your pussy, clenching around the emptiness. He saw it, lips curling into a feral smirk. Then he plunged back in, straight for your clit, sucking until your legs convulsed.
You shattered again, and Jake devoured every last drop, his tongue relentless. He was ravenous, a beast feasting on your pleasure, ready to spend eternity between your thighs. And you'd let him, just like you were now, offering yourself up for his use, his possession. He wouldn't stop until you were molded into his masterpiece.
He finally ceased his relentless assault with his mouth and pulled away, delivering a final, teasing slap to your pussy just to watch you squirm once more. His eyes locked with yours as he began to button your cardigan with deliberate precision, the silence between you charged and electric.
"Tell me, sweetheart," he taunted, his voice laced with a dark edge. "Do you often allow random men to have their way with you like I just did?" He tucked himself back into his dress pants with a nonchalant air. As he bent to retrieve your panties from the floor, he casually stuffed them into his pocket, while your eyes tracked his every deliberate movement, filled with a mix of wide-eyed curiosity and incredulous wonder.
Your cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson, and warmth spread across your entire face at his words. "I—I've never... you know. I—I mean, n—no one has—" you stammered, struggling to find the right words.
He silenced you with a gentle, fleeting kiss, his lips barely brushing yours before pulling away. "Oh, sweetheart, I know. I just wanted to see you all flustered," he murmured with a playful glint in his eyes.
A soft, melodic giggle escaped your lips as you glanced down, feeling a mix of embarrassment and delight. Gathering the courage, you lifted your gaze to meet his captivating green eyes once more. "Was... Was I good, Sir?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, filled with anticipation and a hint of vulnerability.
Your eyes sparkled with a tantalizing blend of innocence and a desperate craving for any morsel of his approval. It ignited a fire within him, making his desire stir once more with an insatiable hunger.
"You were absolutely perfect, baby. Such a good girl, taking everything I gave you like a champ." Jake's hands cradled your face with an unexpected tenderness, his eyes burning with desire. "Are you going to let me do it again? Let me split you wide open? Make you cum until you can't hold back the tears, stretch you nice and deep, huh? Would you like that?"
Jake observed you with a newfound eagerness, your head bobbing up and down with excitement, causing the once neatly tied ribbon in your hair to tilt askew, bouncing in time with the soft strands cascading around your face.
"Can we do it again?" you asked, your voice infused with enthusiasm, yet your cheeks still bore that familiar blush, a rosy hue that seemed permanently painted across your skin, much to Jake's amusement.
He couldn't suppress a chuckle, his hands gently grasping your hips to help you slide off his desk. He tugged your skirt back into place, ignoring the creases that formed in the fabric. "Try walking to the other side of the room first," he suggested with a playful smile, "and then tell me if you want to go again."
You tried to walk. God, you really tried — wobbling like a newborn deer with his cum dripping down your thighs with all the resolve of someone trying to pretend they hadn’t just been wrecked over a desk by their History professor. And still, you were trying to collect yourself — brushing hair from your face, smoothing the fabric of your clothes like you could piece together the composure he'd stripped from you.
You didn't make it far before your knees buckled, surrendering beneath you the moment you released your grip on the desk. Jake witnessed the exact instant when realization dawned on you—that you weren't going to make it across the room. The quivering in your thighs was too intense, and the ache that pulsed between your legs was too profound.
“You alright there, sweetheart?” Jake inquired, his voice a low, amused rumble, yet gentle, as if he were trying not to startle you.
You nodded—rapidly, too rapidly—and shifted your weight in a way that betrayed your embarrassment. “Mhm. Just… didn’t expect…” Your voice faded into silence, and you caught your lower lip between your teeth.
God, that lip. That mouth. That brilliant mind of yours, always racing ahead, leaving your words struggling to keep pace.
“Didn’t expect what, exactly?” Jake murmured, though the answer was already clear to him.
“Di—Didn’t expect it to feel like that,” you confessed, your voice barely a whisper.
"That means I fucked you way too good." His voice dripped with possessive satisfaction, a reminder that he couldn't resist repeating. "If we're doing this, you need to grasp one thing, sweetheart. You're mine, completely and utterly. From this moment on, no one else will ever get to see you like this, do you understand?"
Your knees buckled once more, this time at the mere thought of belonging entirely to him. You hadn't entered his office with such a scenario in mind, as your nature was far too reserved for such bold intentions. Yet, you couldn't deny the truth—you had often imagined Jake in contexts far removed from professionalism.
From the very first day you laid eyes on him in that classroom, you had waged a relentless battle against your own thoughts, striving to rein in the endless reveries that involved your achingly attractive professor. His presence was magnetic, with his deep-set eyes and the confident way he carried himself, and it took every ounce of your willpower to keep your mind from wandering into those tempting fantasies.
You weren't sure what he saw in you. You were acutely aware of your own shyness, the way it seemed to wrap around you like a cloak. You struggled to maintain eye contact and engage in proper conversation, yet your mind excelled in academic settings, a sanctuary of logic and equations. You figured it was your only advantage, a lifeline you clung to almost desperately. Jake, on the other hand, was someone effortlessly attractive, radiating a confidence that drew others in like moths to a flame. He was fully conscious of his allure, aware that any girl on campus would jump at the chance to be with him. So why you?
The question baffled you, but you decided not to dwell on it.
You were drawn to Jake Seresin with an intensity that was new and overwhelming, a yearning that eclipsed anything you had ever experienced before. This world of desire was uncharted territory for you. Prior to what had just transpired, you had never even explored your own body, let alone shared it with someone else. Yet here you stood, stripped of your underwear, having been thoroughly ravished and brought to the peak of ecstasy multiple times by the man who now stood smirking before you.
It was almost sacred how swiftly and clearly the words escaped your lips. "I understand, Sir."
-
The following day, as you stepped into Jake's classroom, you donned those skirts that unfailingly sent his mind into a frenzy, accompanied by a matching ribbon that you now anticipated he'd deftly untie and loop gently around your neck later in the day. You settled into your usual spot, your desk adorned with a meticulous array of color-coordinated pencils and sticky notes.
Yet, a new dynamic was at play—an electric exchange of eye contact that threaded through his lecture like a secret conversation. Every so often, you'd lift your head, your eyes seeking his, only to find his deep green gaze already fixed upon you, causing a blush to bloom across your cheeks, a silent acknowledgment of the shared understanding between you.
Once his lecture concluded and the class was dismissed, you leisurely gathered your belongings, carefully tucking each item back into your bag. Your gaze wandered over to where Jake stood, surrounded by a cluster of girls who lingered after class with trivial questions that bore no relevance to the subject. You tried to suppress a smile as he finally sent the last girl on her way, his eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intent.
"Miss, could you hang back for a second? I need to give you the pointers I made to your last essay." His lie flowed smoothly, as he pretended to rummage through his own bag, extracting a seemingly random stack of papers. Once the room was clear of others and you were entirely alone with him, he let the papers drop onto his desk, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "I want to take you to my place tonight."
Your eyes widened in surprise. "What? W—why? I—I thought we'd meet at your office."
"The thing is, sweetheart," he growled, stepping closer with an imposing presence that seemed to swallow the room. "The things I desire to do to you demand a bed—a real one. While my office has all the space in the world, there's just no way I can cram a bed in here and tie you up the way I envision without setting off alarm bells for everyone around."
You gulped. "Okay."
"Atta girl." He reached out to give your arm a light squeeze, his fingers lingering for a moment. "Be a good girl and go to your next class, then come find me in my office when you're done."
You managed to nod before turning away from him and toward the exit. You didn't want to go to your next class, not when the ache between your legs was growing rapidly as you processed Jake's words. He wanted to tie you up on his bed, and you were supposed to sit through a two-hour lecture about the American Revolution? Not fair.
The day only seemed to slow down after that. You tried so hard to focus, scribling in your notebook like a maniac, pretending there wasn't a borderline humiliating wet patch in your panties from the thought of getting fucked by your professor. And when the last class was done, you practically threw your things inside your bag without a care and made your way to Jake's office.
Your hands trembled with raw anticipation, a visceral thrill coursing through your veins. For a fleeting instant, a sharp doubt pierced through the haze of desire—what the hell were you thinking? Racing to his door, burning with the reckless urge to be taken like a desperate whore in his house, sprawled on his bed.
But then, the memory of him flooded back, an overwhelming tidal wave—the way his fingers, mouth, and cock overwhelmed you, filling you in ways you had never dared to dream possible. You weren't naive; you understood sex long before losing your virginity to Jake, but you never could have fathomed it would ignite a pleasure so consuming.
There was no room for overthinking; he was already there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his office having closed for the day. His posture was relaxed yet expectant, with arms crossed over his chest and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong, sinewy forearms. The late afternoon light cast a warm glow, accentuating the subtle play of muscles beneath his skin.
"Ready to go? I don't know about you, but I'm ready to relax a little."
You didn’t know how he managed to stay so composed on the walk to the parking lot, especially when you kept glancing over your shoulder every few steps, half-certain someone would see you slipping away with your professor. Still, you stayed close beside him, matching his pace, and murmured a soft thank you — cheeks flushed — as he opened the passenger door of his car for you.
"I hope you didn’t make any plans this weekend," he said casually, draping his arm over the back of your seat as he looked over his shoulder to reverse the car. "You’re staying at my place tonight."
"I—I am? But I didn't bring any extra clothes with me."
Jake didn’t even look at you as he pulled out of the lot, voice low and wicked with promise. “You won’t be needing any, sweetheart. I plan on keeping you naked all weekend.”
-
His house was exactly what you’d imagined — maybe even more so. Warm, quiet, and steeped in character, it felt like stepping into the private study of a man who lived and breathed knowledge. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, packed so tightly with old hardcovers and leather-bound tomes that some were stacked horizontally on top of others. The scent of aged paper mingled with the faint aroma of coffee and sandalwood. Dark leather armchairs, clearly well-worn and well-loved, faced a stone fireplace that looked more decorative than functional.
Framed photographs of ancient ruins, battlefields, and crumbling cathedrals dotted the walls — remnants of places he’d likely studied, maybe even visited. A globe sat near the window, polished and antique, and a mahogany desk in the corner was littered with yellowed papers, fountain pens, and a magnifying glass. It was the kind of house that didn’t just belong to a history professor — it belonged to him.
"You’ve read all of these?" you asked, eyes wide as you slowly scanned the towering shelves, your head tilting back to take them all in.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, you felt the warmth of him as he stepped up behind you, the quiet rustle of his shirt as his arms slid around your waist. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in like he needed the scent of you more than air.
"You can come read them whenever you want," he murmured against your skin, lips brushing just beneath your ear. "Preferably naked."
"You’re relentless," you declared with a stern edge, and he responded with a deep, rumbling laugh, pulling you even tighter against him.
"I can't switch it off, darling. Not when all I crave is to have my way with you again. Would you let me, baby? You've been driving me mad all day with those tempting short skirts of yours."
You inhaled sharply, surrendering to the intoxicating warmth of his touch as his hands roamed possessively from your waist to your thighs. "P—please, sir," you pleaded, your voice a desperate whisper. In response, he pressed his lips to the tender spot behind your ear, sinking his teeth in just enough to send electric shivers down your spine.
"I'll take care of you, sweetheart, don't you worry," he promised, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. Your heart raced with anticipation, believing he would finally let his fingers venture to the place where your desire burned brightest. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself aching with disappointment as he withdrew entirely. "But first, I'm making you dinner. We can't have you passing out on me before the fun even begins."
Jake's hand landed on your ass with a sharp, stinging slap that echoed through the room, making you gasp. He then strode confidently to the kitchen, immersing himself in the task of preparing food, his focus unwavering, as if your presence was a mere afterthought.
"Can I ask you a question?" you blurted out, your voice barely steady as you mustered the courage to trail him into the kitchen and perch nervously on a stool, eyes glued to his every move.
He paused, lifting his gaze from the simmering stove to lock eyes with you, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. "Anything you want, darling."
Your heart pounded like a drum in your chest. "Ba—back in your office, w—when you said you'd turn me into your... your w—wh..." Your cheeks flamed as red as the tomatoes he stirred with casual ease, your words stumbling to a halt in the suffocating tension.
"Whore? It's okay, you can say it." His smirk deepened, dripping with a mix of amusement and challenge, as though speaking to a child. "I can't believe you caught that. Thought you blacked out for a second."
"I—I just, I don't get what you mean," you stammered, your confusion swirling with a potent cocktail of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.
"God, you are so innocent," he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with raw desire. "Well, sweetheart, do you want me to teach you?"
"Teach me what?"
"How to be my little whore." His words were delivered with a chilling nonchalance, as if he were commenting on the day's forecast rather than proposing to unravel your very soul.
"W—what do I have to do?"
"Eat your dinner, baby. Let me do the rest."
-
After you agreed to Jake's proposal and found yourself in his office for that first heated encounter, you never anticipated the whirlwind that followed. The last thing you expected was for him to transform from a detached lover into a gracious host, cooking you dinner with an unexpected sincerity. He peppered you with questions about your life, as though you were on an intimate date, not caught in an arrangement where you were, essentially, reduced to being his fuckdoll.
Yet here you were, stumbling over your words but still managing to answer everything he asked with a nervous stutter. A fiery blush spread across your cheeks as you squirmed in your seat, every nerve electrified when Jake's hand stealthily slid under the table to rest possessively on your knee, or when he leaned in with piercing focus to tenderly wipe the corners of your mouth after each bite. You wanted to dismiss his almost parental attention as strange, but you couldn't deny the truth to yourself.
His intense gaze tracked your every move, igniting a thrilling tension. He effortlessly cut your steak after you shyly confessed you'd never eaten it before, and each time his hands inched closer, your eyes followed them, captivated by their grace. It was inexplicable how the ache between your legs intensified with every considerate gesture he made for you, a pulsing desire that grew stronger with each passing moment.
“Before we do anything else,” he said at last, once you’d finished eating, “we need to talk about a few rules.”
He withdrew his hand from your knee slowly, deliberately, then leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. The motion was effortless, confident—his spine relaxed against the chair, posture loose but commanding, like he knew exactly how the rest of the night would go.
“Like what?” you asked, voice softer than you meant it to be. It was almost pathetic, the way you were ready to agree to anything—just for the chance to feel his hands on you again, to have him close, claiming you.
"First, during sex and when we're alone, you'll address me as Sir or Daddy. You call me anything else and I'll have to punish you, alright, sweetheart?" His eyes bore into yours, demanding an answer from you.
"Yes, sir."
"Atta girl." He smirked. "Second, I need you to know you can say no to me anytime you don't feel okay with what we're doing. While I'm fucking you, we'll use something called the traffic light, you know what it is?" You shook your head. "I'll ask you for your color and you'll say green when you want me to keep going, yellow when you want me to slow down, and red when you want me to stop completely."
"I understand, sir."
"I knew you would, you're a smart girl." His words made you squirm in your seat, every part of your body begging to be touched by the man in front of you. "Last, when you're with me, no panties are allowed in the house, so hand them over."
"R—right now?" Your eyes widened, half incredulous and half scandalized at his request.
"If you make me ask again, I'll have to punish you, baby. And I'd rather not leave any marks on you just yet." His tone darkened as he opened his right hand to you. You trembled a little as you stood from your seat and slid down your baby pink panties down your legs to place them in his hand. "Good girl. Shall we begin?"
He stood and guided you toward the stairs, his hand firm on the small of your back. With each step you climbed, your skirt rode a little higher, and he watched with a dark, hungry gaze your naked ass.
Jake’s bedroom was spacious and sharp, every corner reflecting his controlled, deliberate nature. A king-size bed dominated the center of the room, dressed in dark gray sheets that looked both luxurious and well-worn, like they’d been chosen for comfort but never shared. Beside the bed sat a sleek nightstand, a single drawer nestled beneath a reading lamp and a half-finished book. The rest of the space was just as orderly—clean lines, muted tones, nothing out of place. It was a room meant for rest, maybe even solitude—until now.
He led you straight to the bed with an unyielding grip, and with a firm yet gentle shove, you fell onto it with a soft, resonating thud. "I know you've had your pussy eaten before because I did it the other day." He murmured, his eyes locked onto yours with an electrifying intensity. "But tell me, sweetheart, have you ever felt the relentless hum of a vibrator on your cunt?"
"N—no, Daddy. Never." You breathed, aching for him to come closer to you.
You watched with bated breath as Jake strode purposefully to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with a confidence that made your heart race. He retrieved a white wand vibrator, massive and imposing, and instantly, a deep, throbbing heat pulsed through you. Though you had never encountered such a device so intimately before, an instinctive shiver coursed through your body, foretelling the overwhelming intensity that piece of plastic promised to unleash.
"I'll show you how to use this on your pretty clit, princess. It'll have you screaming my name without me even lifting a finger." His voice was thick with dark desire, an electric promise as he flicked the switch and the device purred to life. He gently teased it against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, causing you to gasp and shiver.
"It tingles, Daddy," you whispered, breathless and yearning.
"Is that so? Let's see how you handle it when it's right… here." With deliberate slowness, he traced it upward, igniting a fiery trail up your thighs before pressing it against your drenched, eager pussy. Your head fell back, a moan escaping as your body instinctively tried to close itself to the overwhelming sensation, but Jake's firm grip kept you exposed. "Don't even think about it."
You fought desperately against the instinct to close your legs, driven by an overwhelming desire to fulfill his every desire. Jake reveled in the spectacle of your surrender beneath him, his eyes drinking in your submission as he increased the intensity of the vibrator, leaving you drenched with arousal. Your breath came in ragged gasps, a symphony of whimpers and moans spilling from your lips, torn between pleas for more and desperate cries for mercy as he continued his relentless assault of your sensitive hole.
"Cum for me, sweetheart. C'mon, let me taste you." His voice was a sultry command, his teeth grazing your thighs with a tantalizing bite, sending shivers through your body.
You came with a breathy moan escaping your lips, chest rising and falling rapidly as you gazed down at Jake nestled between your thighs. He discarded the vibrator carelessly and repositioned your legs over his broad shoulders, diving back in with fervor. His mouth worked magic on your most sensitive spot, the sinful sounds echoing in the room as he devoured you with the hunger of a man possessed.
"Pl—please… too much, sir," Your fingers clutched the sheets desperately, seeking an anchor amidst the overwhelming sensations. That exquisite tension coiling in your belly was all too familiar, yet irresistibly intoxicating. His mouth worked its magic, drawing gasps and needy whimpers from your lips, torn between the plea for him to stop and the desperate desire for him to continue.
"Come on, baby, give me another one." His voice was a sultry whisper, vibrating against your most sensitive spot, as his hand pressed you firmly against the mattress, ensuring you stayed right where he wanted you. Not that you had any intention of moving.
You came for the second time that night, tears of overwhelming bliss pooling at the corners of your eyes, teetering on the edge of spilling over as the intense pleasure surged through you, almost too much to bear.
Jake growled, "You're fucking pretty when you cry." His mouth reluctantly left your drenched core. He pushed himself up, now looming over you, still fully clothed. Leaning in, he licked the tear stains from your cheekbones, his tongue hot and hungry. "So fucking beautiful, so pure. So innocent, ready for me to defile."
He held his weight with one arm, his hand pressed firmly into the mattress beside your head. His other hand roamed your body, leaving a trail of fire and goosebumps before pausing at your belly button. "Color?" he demanded, his voice thick with lust.
"Green, sir." Your breath hitched, your body ached with need, and your mind was a whirlwind of desire. Jake grinned, a wolfish smile, before claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss. He trailed kisses across your face, making you squirm and giggle.
"You're going to come for me again, sweetheart." His fingers danced down to your swollen, sensitive pussy. Your legs trembled and tried to close, but he kept them open with his knee. He thrust a single finger inside you, making you gasp and arch off the bed. "Fuck, you're so tight. Can you take more?"
You nodded eagerly, desperate to please him and to satisfy the hunger within you. "I—I can take it."
"That's my good girl, my best girl, taking everything I give you." He groaned, adding another finger, stretching you, possessing you.
Jake fingered you relentlessly, his every movement a brutal assault on your senses, catapulting you over the edge into a shattering abyss again and again. His gaze, unyielding and fierce, feasted on your undoing, watching you splinter apart with each savage thrust.
"The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, baby," he growled. "You begged for this, didn't you? You craved your older professor to break you, corrupt you. Filthy little slut, teasing me with your clothes, your scent—you knew exactly what you were doing."
"Ye—Yes, Daddy! Please," you gasped, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea, your mind a chaotic storm. His words and movements were a relentless assault, scrambling every coherent thought until nothing remained but the overwhelming presence of the man above you, his fingers deep inside your pussy.
You would say anything, do anything, just to sustain this intoxicating sensation. It felt like you were drowning, submerged in the inebriating aroma of his cologne, lost in the depths of his piercing eyes, consumed by the feeling of his cock.
"That's it, baby. Cum, cum on my fingers. God, you're so pretty, wish you could see what I'm seeing right now."
You came again, your legs trembling with a delicious intensity and your eyes glazed over in a daze. Exactly where Jake wanted you—utterly undone. A needy whine escaped your lips as he withdrew his fingers, only for your eyes to widen in pleasurable surprise when he slid them into your mouth. You eagerly sucked on them, savoring your own essence, a satisfied hum escaping you as he gazed at you with eyes brimming with desire, pure and consuming.
You lay there in a hazy blur, body boneless and warm, still trembling from the aftershocks. Jake moved quietly around the room, the sound of running water drifting in from the bathroom. When he returned, the cloth in his hand was warm and gentle against your skin. You flinched slightly at the contact, a soft hiss slipping from your lips, but he was quick to soothe you with a low, “Easy, sweetheart.”
He took his time, careful and thorough, then helped you sit up with a firm, steady hand. One of his shirts—soft and oversized—was slipped over your head, the familiar scent of him surrounding you like a second skin. You sank into it, into him, and he brushed your hair back with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
"You're incredible," he said finally, voice thick with something dark and reverent. "I wasn’t lying, sweetheart—you’ve been in my head since the first damn day. Walking into my class like temptation wrapped in innocence."
Your limbs were limp, boneless in his sheets, every nerve still singing from how thoroughly he’d ruined you. The afterglow made your lips loose, words tumbling out unfiltered. "I—I didn’t show it, but I had a crush on you too," you confessed, cheeks burning. "You're so smart... I didn’t know how to act around you. It was kind of intimidating."
He let out a low, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he hovered over you. “I just told you I’ve been wanting to fuck you senseless since the moment I saw you—and you were worried I was smart?”
There was no cruelty in his tone—just wonder. Like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.
"You’re unreal," he murmured, brushing your hair back, eyes hungry even now. “So sweet, so fucking shy—do you have any idea what that does to me?”
He kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower, over your jaw, your neck. “You’re mine now. Every soft little sound you make, every blush, every part of you—mine to ruin, mine to worship.”
His voice dropped as he pressed his forehead to yours. “And I’m nowhere near done with you, baby.”
-
His shirt felt impossibly soft against your skin — and far too big. The sleeves draped over your hands, and the hem brushed your bare thighs with every quiet step you took. You hadn’t meant to wander, but the living room drew you in: all warm wood and soft lighting, shelves lining one wall from floor to ceiling.
You glanced over your shoulder. Jake was stretched out on the couch, one leg propped up casually, a glass of something dark in his hand. His gaze followed you like it always did — slow, intent, full of quiet hunger. He hadn’t looked away from you since you left the bedroom.
The bookshelf was packed. All history books. Some names you recognized, some you didn’t. You ran your fingers along the spines before stopping at one with worn edges: The Private Lives of the Tudors. You pulled it out carefully.
Jake’s voice came from behind you, warm and amused. “You’ve got a thing for scandals, sweetheart?”
You blushed immediately, ducking your head. “N-No. I mean—I just like that era. The clothes. The... politics.”
He laughed under his breath, low and fond. “Adorable,” he muttered. “Pick something you like and bring it here.”
You turned to him slowly, book clutched to your chest. “You want me to read?”
“I want you next to me,” he said simply, his voice dipping into something velvety and sure. “The reading part’s optional.”
Your cheeks flamed again, and he smiled wider, patting the cushion beside him. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re too cute when you’re flustered — I’d hate to miss a second of it.”
Heart racing, you padded across the room and sat down beside him, still clutching the book like it might save you. Jake draped an arm over the back of the couch and let his fingers play lightly with your hair, brushing against your neck now and then just to make you squirm.
He leaned in, voice just above a whisper. “Bet you blush even harder when we get to the juicy parts.”
You hid your face behind the book.
Jake chuckled, low and satisfied. “God, you’re perfect.”
You sat stiffly beside him, the book heavy in your lap, pretending to read while trying not to focus on how close Jake was — how his fingers brushed your hair, your neck, your shoulder, just to watch you squirm.
“I have an idea,” he said after a long moment, voice velvet-smooth, full of mischief.
You turned toward him slowly, unsure whether to be intrigued or terrified — probably both.
He smirked. “Let’s play a game.”
You blinked. “A game?”
Jake reached over and tapped the cover of your book. “You read to me,” he said, tone almost innocent. Then, his eyes dipped lower. “And I’ll keep myself entertained.”
Your breath caught.
“I—Jake—”
“You keep reading,” he cut in gently, “no matter what I do. If you stop... I stop.” He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Think you can handle that, sweetheart?”
Your cheeks went hot, your heart thudding so loud you were sure he could hear it. Still, you gave a shaky nod.
He grinned. “Attagirl.”
Jake took the book from your trembling hands, flipping a few pages as he settled between your legs. He helped you shift until you were lying back on the couch, the book propped open in your hands, your thighs parted around him.
“Start here,” he said, tapping the paragraph with a single, commanding finger. “Nice and loud.”
You began to read, your voice uneven, barely above a whisper. “’Despite the grandeur of court life, privacy was rare—’”
His hands slid slowly up your thighs, warm and steady. Your breath hitched, but you kept reading.
“’Even monarchs found it difficult—d-difficult to escape the eyes of—of their households.’”
Jake chuckled against your skin — low, amused, impossibly pleased. You couldn’t see him, not really, but you could feel him. The heat of his mouth, the trail of soft kisses he left along the inside of your thigh.
You bit your lip.
“Keep going,” he reminded you gently, voice vibrating through you. “Don’t stop.”
You took a shaky breath. “’Henry VIII was known for his appetite, both literal and—’” Your voice faltered as his lips pressed higher, breath warm and maddening. “—and... and otherwise.”
He hummed in approval. “History never sounded so sweet.”
As he kept going, your words grew more tangled, breathier, every syllable a challenge. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the book. Jake was relentless — not cruel, just completely, devastatingly focused. Worshipful, almost. Like he’d dreamed of this and was finally, finally getting everything he wanted.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured against you, his voice thick with desire and pride. “God, look at you.”
You tried to answer, to keep reading — but your voice cracked, and Jake paused instantly.
“Ah, ah,” he teased, pulling back just enough to make you whimper. “Rules are rules.”
You forced the next sentence out, breathless and desperate, cheeks burning from the effort — from how good it felt, how much he was making you feel without even asking for anything in return.
Jake watched you, his own breathing heavier now, eyes never leaving your face. He kissed the inside of your thigh again, softer this time, and murmured like a secret: “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”
You shook your head, eyes glazed, lips parted.
He grinned, utterly undone. “Good. You keep reading, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
And then he went back to it, dragging you under all over again — and this time, you didn’t even try to keep your voice steady.
Your voice was barely holding together, words stumbling out between shaky breaths and quiet gasps as Jake kept his promise — and his pace.
“’Royal apartments were not—mm—not designed for solitude...’” you managed, eyes fluttering shut for a second before forcing them open again. The page was swimming in front of you, your fingers white-knuckled on the book’s spine.
Jake was gentle and deliberate with every movement, every kiss, every stroke of his tongue — like he knew exactly how much you could take before your thoughts scattered again. His hands never stopped caressing you, coaxing you, steadying you when your hips twitched or your legs tried to close around him.
He paused only to murmur, “Eyes on the book, baby. You stop reading, I stop.”
You whimpered, blinking rapidly to refocus. “I-I’m trying,” you whispered.
He grinned against your skin, sinful and smug. “I know you are. You're so good for me.”
Your voice quivered again, reading now a whisper of syllables barely stitched together. “’M-many monarchs... r-relied on a network of—’”
Another flick of his tongue made you arch, voice breaking. “—trusted attendants to guard their privacy...”
Jake rewarded your effort with a deeper press of his mouth, and your whole body reacted — a shiver racing through you, your breath catching.
“You’re so sweet like this,” he muttered between kisses, lips slick against your inner thigh. “Trying so hard. You like being good for me, don’t you?”
You nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak.
He chuckled low. “I knew you’d be like this. Knew you’d melt the second I touched you right.” His voice dropped. “I’ve had to bite my tongue every day just to keep my hands off you.”
Your fingers trembled again, the book slipping slightly as another wave built low in your belly. It was too much and not enough, all at once. You didn’t even realize you’d stopped reading until Jake pulled back, and you let out a quiet, pleading noise.
He raised an eyebrow. “I warned you, baby.”
“Daddy,” you gasped, eyes wide and desperate now.
He leaned up just enough to kiss your inner knee and then trailed one finger along the crease of your thigh. “Then read,” he said gently. “Be a good girl and I’ll give you everything you want.”
You fumbled for the words on the page, voice wrecked and shaky. “’Despite the formal nature of court life, physical passion was—was often c-concealed behind—’”
Jake rewarded you instantly, returning his mouth to you with slow, deliberate strokes that had you crying out again — this time muffled into the back of your hand.
“That’s it,” he praised, his voice thick. “God, you taste like heaven. Keep going. Let me hear you fall apart.”
You tried, you really did — but your body was already trembling again, heat curling fast and sharp in your belly, and your voice collapsed completely as the words dissolved into moans. Jake held your hips steady as you writhed, grinning against you, utterly drunk on your reaction.
And when you finally broke apart — shaking, panting, head tipped back in pleasure — he didn’t stop right away. He drew it out, kept you there, lips soft and reverent as he coaxed you down from the high he’d built just for you.
When he finally pulled back, your thighs still trembling, the book had slipped to the floor.
Jake rested his chin on your knee, watching you with flushed cheeks and soft eyes, like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You,” he whispered, catching his breath. “Are so worth the wait.”
You could only nod, still dizzy and breathless.
He leaned up to kiss you — sweet, slow, utterly different from what he’d just done — and smiled against your lips.
“I hope you’re not too tired,” he murmured. “We’ve still got the whole weekend.”
Summary: Bradley is having a REALLY bad day... everything goes wrong... building until a conversation with Mav reveals why it's all getting to him. Despite it all...he discovers a new coffee shop and bakery.... and maybe... the perfect cure to a colossally bad day.
Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x OC! Eliana
Word Count: 2396 (look at me having self-control)
Warnings: Minor angst, mention of parent death, FLUFF
A/N: I don't own Top Gun Maverick characters but I do own OC characters and original plot lines. I do NOT give permission to copy, translate, sell, repost to other sites, paste into an AI Generator, or any other forms of plagiarism. DO NOT STEAL MY WORK. Don't be an asshole. Reblogs are welcomed. My blog is 18+ minors DNI.
Masterlist (and tag list if you want to join)
Bradley was having a colossally bad day. It started when he woke up and realized that he’d forgotten to get coffee at the grocery store, so he’d have to stop on the way to base, which would mean going out of his way in order to stop at the coffee shop that inevitably was always packed in the morning. This morning had not been an exception. Instead of waiting in the incredibly long line, he opted to leave and to just grab coffee from the little coffee shop and bakery down the street that had just opened.
There was no line there, which was a silver lining he supposed. With his luck though, the lack of line probably meant the coffee was horrible…or the pastries were. Beggars couldn’t be choosy though and he really did need to get going or he’d be late, which would mean a lot of pushups…or whatever punishment Cyclone deemed worthy.
Looking at the glass case filled with various pastries, his stomach grumbled, making him realize he also needed breakfast.
There was an older woman working behind the counter who looked very grandmotherly. The type that was always baking and foisting those baked goods on everyone as a love language. He assumed she must be the owner.
“Good Morning, Young Man.” She said, smiling brightly, “What can I get for you, Honey?”
“Morning, Ma’am.” He replied, with a smile, “Can I get a large coffee, one of the blueberry crumb muffins and an apple fritter please?”
“Sure thing.” She winked, moving to get the pastries first. “Do you want anything in that coffee, or just want it straight up?”
“Actually, is it possible to make that a large Cinnamon Dolce Latte?” He asked, smiling sheepishly.
“Sure thing, Honey.” She replied, handing him the small box with his pastries then got to work on his coffee.
The bell on the shop door chimed as someone else came in. The woman behind the counter looked over, smiling and let them know she’d be right with them.
“Alright, Honey,” She smiled, handing him the cup. “Here you are. That’ll be $11.98. I hope the coffee and pastries help make your day go smoother than your morning.”
Bradley pulled out a twenty from his wallet and handed it to her.
“That obvious, huh?” He chuckled.
“I’m old, Honey.” She laughed, “I’m good at reading people. You have a good day and come back and see us again.”
She handed him his change and he dropped a $5 bill into the tip jar, smiling.
“I’ll try.” He said, “And I will definitely come back.”
Bradley enjoyed the best cup of coffee he’d ever had in his entire life along with the most incredible muffin and Apple Fritter while he drove to base.
Unfortunately, he did in fact arrive late, and was made to do 200 pushups on the hot tarmac. His brief reprieve from the bad day was over.
By lunch his day had only gotten worse and his mood had deteriorated. He’d been in such a hurry to get out of the house in order to get coffee, he’d forgotten lunch, which meant he was stuck eating whatever the mess hall was serving…something he tried to avoid.
“Bradshaw!” Nat called from where the rest of the squad was sitting. He made his way over to the table and sunk down into the seat with a sigh. “Rough day?”
“Yeah.” He replied quietly as he started to choke down the tasteless food.
“We’re going to The Hard Deck tonight” She said, “You can shake it off there… or drink it off.”
“We’ll see.” He responded, “If the afternoon is anything like the morning was, I think I’ll just go home, order in, then pass out and forget this day.”
“Aww, come on now, Rooster.” Hangman piped up, “Best way to cure a bad day is with some drinks and a round or two of darts or pool.”
“Or entertaining the bar with live music on the piano.” Bob suggested, earning a glare from Hangman.
“There are days that not even The Hard Deck can fix.” Bradley mumbled, shoveling in the last of the horrible food.
The squad shared shocked and somewhat worried glances around the table. They’d known Bradley to have rough days before but he’d never taken it quite so hard before. He usually had a little more resilience than this.
“I’ll see you back in the hangar.” He said, getting up and lifting the tray to drop off at the collection station on his way out.
The rest of the day was drawn out and as grating on Bradley’s nerves as the morning had been. Cyclone was in a particularly pissy mood and seemed to take it out on the Daggers, which only soured Bradley’s mood more. He wasn’t really sure why this bad day had gotten to him as bad as it did, but he was more than ready to get home and forget it ever happened. By the time he landed after afternoon flight maneuvers and made his way inside the hangar, he didn’t even have the energy or will to shower and change on base. He grabbed his stuff from his locker and headed out to the Bronco.
“Rooster.” Maverick called, causing Bradley to groan. It wasn’t that he was against talking to his godfather, or spending time with him. Things have been really good between them lately. He just… wasn’t in the mood tonight. He really just wanted to go home.
“Mav, it’s been a really long….really shitty day.” He sighed, “I just wanna go home. Can we talk tomorrow?”
“That answered that question then.” The older man sighed, “I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you yet today… I just… I wanted to see how you were doing… given what day it is…”
“What day is it?” Bradley repeated, his mind searching for what Mav was talking about. Then it hit him like a kick in the gut. The reason he’d felt off all day and why all of the small things seemed too big today. “Shit… it’s July 22nd.”
“Yeah…” Mav confirmed, offering a sympathetic smile. “I’m free if you need me tonight, kid. We can grab dinner… or beers.”
“I think I just need to be alone tonight, Mav.” He replied quietly, “But can I get a rain check for dinner or beers?”
“Absolutely.” Mav said, “Anytime. And, if you change your mind later… you can call me. It doesn't matter what time.”
“Thanks, Mav.” Bradley smiled softly. “I’ll see you later.”
Bradley headed to his Bronco and got in. He sat there for a moment, processing and taking a minute to think before he put the key in the ignition and drove out of the parking lot. One thing was for sure, he definitely wasn’t going to The Hard Deck tonight.
On his way home, Bradley detoured, deciding he needed more sweets from the bakery and coffee shop. He would drown his sorrows in sugar tonight.
He found a parking spot next to the bakery and pulled in. Like this morning, there wasn’t anyone inside. Bradley made a mental note to tell everyone about the place to bring them more business. From what he had tried this morning, it was definitely amazing and he’d hate to see it go under.
The older woman from the morning wasn’t there. Behind the counter now, was the most breathtaking woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid that hung over her shoulder. There were a few tendrils that had escaped and were hanging down, framing her face. She looked up when he walked in and her smile lit up the whole room. Her eyes sparkled under the lights of the bakery as she looked at him.
“Hello! Welcome to The Sugar Magnolia Cafe.” She said. Her voice sounded as beautiful as she looked. “I haven’t seen you in here before, is this your first time in or have you been here already?”
“I … um… was actually just here this morning.” Bradley admitted, feeling his ears and face heat up. “There was another lady behind the counter… very sweet. Helpful.”
“Oh! Nana was helping me out this morning. She’s actually helping me out front here most mornings while I’m in the back.” She replied, smiling, “I’d be lost without her.”
“She was very sweet.” Bradley said, smiling back at her. “My morning wasn’t going so great…. But she definitely brightened when I came in.”
“I’m glad to hear that!” She said happily, “I’ll make sure to tell Nana. Did your day improve?”
“Actually…. No.” Bradley sighed, “Which is why I came back after work. I decided to drown my sorrows in sugar tonight.”
“I’m so sorry.” She replied, “I’m glad you came back. I’ve got just the thing to help.”
She went into the back and Bradley took a moment to take a deep breath and pull himself together. She came back out with a pie and some plates.
“Have a seat.” She smiled warmly, setting the pie and plates on the counter. She walked around and over to the door then flipped the sign to closed and locked the door. “You came at the perfect time. I just finished this beauty. I’m testing a new one out before adding it to the menu. Wanna be my taste tester?”
“I’d love to.” Bradley smiled, sitting down at the counter. “I’m Bradley by the way. Figured you should know my name if I’m going to be your taste tester.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Bradley.” She said, sitting down next to him. “I’m Eliana, but everyone calls me Eli.”
“It’s really nice to meet you too Eli.” Bradley replied, smiling at her. “This pie looks amazing…”
“Thank you!” She beamed, “It’s my great grandma’s recipe, Caroline’s Lemon pie. Tastes like sunshine.”
Bradley feels a lump form in his throat. He has to look away and blink, his eyes stinging from unshed tears. The emotions had come up from nowhere. It was almost like his mom was reaching out to him though.
“Bradley…” Eli asked, gently, “Are you ok?”
He turned back, looking at her and offering a small smile.
“Yeah…” He replied, his voice raspier than before, “I’m Ok.”
“Wanna talk about it?” She asked, reaching for the pie and slicing it. She used a serving spatula to place a slice onto a plate and slid it over to him, along with a fork.
“Today was… a really bad day.” Bradley said quietly. “Nothing really big happened…just…a lot of small things that got to me more than they normally would. After work… on my way out, my godfather caught me to check on me… and it hit me what today is. Explains why all the little things felt so much bigger today.”
“What’s today?” She asked softly, sliding a slice of pie onto her own plate.
“The anniversary of my mom dying.” He said quietly, looking down at the pie.
“Oh, Bradley.” She replied, looking over at him, “I’m so sorry, That would make a day extra crappy.”
“Thanks” He said, giving her a small smile, “Yeah… she was… incredible. Her name was actually Caroline…. But everyone called her Carole. She was always so bright … yellow was her favorite color. And… lemon pie was her favorite dessert.”
“There was a reason I made it then today.” Eli answered, offering a sweet smile, “Your momma must have known you’d need it. It was the divine sugar gods.”
Bradley laughed, picking up the fork and taking a bite of the pie. His eyes went wide and he had to fight back a groan at the first taste of lemony perfection that hit his tongue.
“What do you think?” Eli asked, “Would your mom have loved it?”
“Holy Shit, Eli, this is absolutely fucking amazing.” Bradley said, immediately shoveling another bite into his mouth. “My mom would have gone crazy for this pie… wouldn’t have devoured it herself, not even sharing it with me!”
“Really?” She asked, her smile so sweet, it rivaled the pie. “Should I add it to the menu?”
“If I say ‘no’.... Will I get it all to myself?” Bradley asked.
“What if… I made you one just for you?” She asked, laughing, “Then can you share the others with my customers?"
“I guess that’s a fair deal.” He smiled, “Thanks for letting me taste test this Eli.”
“You’re welcome,” She replied, “I’m really glad you came back in tonight.”
“Me too.” He said, his eyes on hers. “Eli?”
“Yeah?” She said, looking over at him.
“Would you by chance want to get dinner sometime?” He asked, feeling heat flood his face again.
She blushed, smiling back at him.
“I’d love to.” She replied softly.
They finished their pie, talking and laughing. Bradley learned that Eli…much like lemon pie….was like sunshine. He helped her clean and close up the bakery, then headed out with her, walking her to her car.
“Thanks for making the day better, Eli.” Bradley said, once they’d reached her car.
“I’m happy I could help.” She replied, “I’m really glad you came in tonight.”
“So am I.” He smiled, “Are you free tomorrow for dinner?”
“I am… it’s actually my day off from here.” She said, “I let Nana and my other part time help run things here and I take the day to run errands and get stuff done that I normally can’t while working all day here.”
“Perfect.” He replied, unable to stop smiling, “Can I pick you up at 6?”
“I can’t wait.” She answered. “Hand me your phone, I’ll put my number in.”
She put her number in his phone then handed it back to him. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him. He was shocked for a moment, but quickly recovered and hugged her back. She smiled up at him when she stepped back.
“Goodnight, Bradley.” She said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sweet Dreams, Eli.” He replied, “I can’t wait.”
What started out as a colossally bad day, may have just turned into the best day of his life. Bradley headed back to his Branco. When he got inside, he sat there for a moment. He looked up towards the sky through the opened top of the Bronco.
“Thanks, Mom.” He whispered, smiling.
***
A/N: Thoughts?? LET ME KNOW!! I've been in a bit of a writing slump. This was my attempt to bust loose.....
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.
The next day, you stood poised in a gown that blended rustic charm with timeless elegance.
Your mom stood behind you, hands gently resting on your shoulders as she looked at your reflection in the mirror. “Y/N, this dress is gorgeous. This is you.”
You studied yourself in the mirror for a beat, the soft fabric flowing perfectly, the light catching just enough sparkle to make your heart flutter. A smile spread across your face.
“I have to agree,” you said softly, your voice filled with something between disbelief and joy.
Your mom’s eyes welled with tears, though she tried to blink them away with a soft laugh. “Jake’s going to be speechless.”
You turned slightly, watching the dress move with you, the hem whispering across the floor. “Do you think it’s too much? I mean… it’s not a courthouse wedding, but it’s not exactly a ballroom, either.”
She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Honey, this is your day. It’s supposed to feel like magic. And you—” she paused, smiling through her emotion, “you look like you walked straight out of one of those dreams you used to tell me about when you were little.”
You looked back at your reflection, taking in the fullness of the moment—the dress exuded effortless elegance and bohemian charm. It featured a fitted bodice with a halter neckline that accentuated your shoulders and collarbone, and a deep, yet tasteful, sweetheart-style plunge that added a hint of allure. The bodice is subtly structured and cinched at your natural waist with delicate lace detailing, enhancing the silhouette.
From the waist down, the dress flowed into a full-length A-line skirt made of soft, sheer lace fabric with a beautiful floral pattern. The lace overlay created a dreamy, ethereal effect, with scalloped edging that just grazed the floor. The semi-sheer nature of the lace skirt allowed for graceful movements, while the inner lining provides coverage and comfort.
Your fingers lightly grazed the floral embroidery on the dress, grounding yourself.
“You're really okay with this, Momma?” you asked, looking at her through the mirror
Your mom met your gaze in the mirror, her eyes soft with emotion. She nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear like she used to when you were little.
“I’ve never seen you this sure, sweetheart. Not since you were a little girl running through those pastures with Jake chasing after you.” She smiled gently. “If this is what you want—if he’s what you want—then yes. I’m more than okay with it.”
You smiled, a soft laugh escaping as memories flooded back—dusty afternoons, tangled hair, and Jake always a step behind, grinning like a fool as he chased you through the pastures.
Never in a million years did you think you’d end up marrying the annoying ranch kid from next door—the boy who used to put frogs in your boots and steal your ribbons just to get your attention.
And yet… here you were. Standing in a wedding dress, heart full, and knowing deep down he’d been yours all along.
You turned around, meeting your mother’s eyes before glancing at the saleslady, excitement bubbling up in your chest.
“This is the one,” you said, grinning. “I’ll take it.”
The saleslady smiled warmly. “I’ll get it ready for you.”
You nodded, still beaming, as you stepped down from the platform and made your way into the changing room, your heart racing with a mix of nerves and joy.
“Your father told me you talked to him the other day,” your mom said as she sat down in the chair, her voice calm and patient.
“I did,” you replied simply.
A faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’m proud of you, Y/N. I know how upset you were about everything. But facing him—that took strength.”
A few minutes later, you stepped out of the dressing room, now back in your jeans, cowboy boots, and a gray tank top. Your hair was still up in its ponytail, but there was a new light in your eyes—something steady, like peace settling in.
“I also found out he apologized to Jake,” you said simply, your voice calm but laced with meaning.
Your mom looked up at you, surprise flickering across her face before she nodded slowly. “Good. He needed to. For both of you. You know he loves you, Y/N. Your his little girl."
You looked at her. "I get that, Momma, but why didn't you guys tell me he was sick?"
Your mom’s expression softened, the surprise in her eyes giving way to something heavier—regret, maybe, or sorrow.
She let out a quiet sigh. “Because he didn’t want you to look at him differently. He wanted to hold on to being your strong, stubborn daddy for as long as he could.”
You sat beside her, trying to process the weight of it all. “I get that, Momma… but I wish he’d let me in sooner. I wish you had.”
She reached for your hand, her voice thick with emotion. “We should have. And I’m sorry. We thought we were protecting you—but maybe we were just protecting ourselves.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We also wanted you to finish school.”
“I will,” you said with a soft smile. “Just have to figure out where.”
“Scotland sounds lovely,” she said, a hopeful glint in her eye.
You chuckled. “It does… but it’s a little far from my soon-to-be husband.”
Your mom pulled you into a warm embrace, her arm draping around your shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ve got a wedding to get ready for.”
You leaned into her hug, your cheek brushing her shoulder, the scent of her perfume bringing back a thousand memories—baking cookies on snow days, late-night talks in the kitchen, her humming as she folded laundry. For just a moment, you let yourself be that little girl again, held safely in your mother’s arms before stepping into a new life.
When you pulled back, there were tears in both your eyes, but they were the good kind—the full-heart kind.
“Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling both heavy and light at once. “Let’s do this.”
She smiled, brushing a thumb across your cheek like she had when you were small. “You’re going to take his breath away.”
You laced your fingers through hers as the two of you stepped out of the store, the hush of the dressing room fading behind you. Outside, the world felt fuller—alive with the soft hum of wedding preparations: the rustle of lace, the scent of fresh flowers, the distant echo of laughter and music.
And just beyond it all, waiting with the same quiet patience he’d shown since the days he chased you through sun-drenched pastures and tied ribbons in your hair, was the boy who had grown into the man you were about to marry. The one who had loved you for what felt like forever—and was ready to call you his bride.
You stood in front of the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at you—yet knowing deep down she had been there all along, waiting for this very moment.
Your hair had been styled into soft, romantic waves that cascaded down your back in golden layers, each curl catching the light like spun silk. Delicate braids framed either side of your face, gently swept back and secured at the crown, creating an effortless half-up look that felt both elegant and timeless. Nestled into the braids was a shimmering hairpiece—an intricate design of silver leaves, pearls, and crystals that looked like it had been plucked straight from a fairytale. It glinted softly, adding a touch of magic without overpowering the natural beauty of your hair.
The dress… oh, the dress. It hugged your body with the lightest touch, the lace straps resting gently against your skin. The bodice was sheer in places, delicately embroidered with floral patterns that traced over your back and down to your waist, like ivy climbing a garden wall. The lace was soft and whisper-thin, allowing glimpses of your skin beneath while still offering the grace of tradition. Every stitch felt like a story, every thread a promise.
You took a slow breath, your fingertips brushing lightly over the fabric, over your heart, where everything felt real—tender, full, and suddenly breathtakingly close. You didn’t need to say it aloud. You knew.
You were ready.
“You look beautiful, Y/N,” your mother said softly, her voice catching just a little as she took in the sight of you in the mirror. Her eyes lingered on the lace details of your dress, the way it fit you so perfectly, as if it had been made just for this day.
You smiled gently, emotions tightening in your throat. “Thank you,” you whispered.
Just then, a knock echoed through the room.
Your mom turned quickly, crossing the floor in a flutter of quiet excitement. “Who is it?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob.
“It’s me,” came the voice from the other side—low, familiar, and unmistakably your father’s.
When your father stepped through the door, it took you a moment to recognize the quiet pride in his eyes behind the familiar lines of his face. He wore a crisp white western-style shirt, the subtle embroidery along the yoke catching the light as he moved. A silver bolo tie with a polished turquoise stone rested at his throat—something he’d only worn once before, at your high school graduation.
His tailored black vest fit snug across his chest, the brass buttons gleaming beneath the soft lighting. His dark denim jeans were freshly pressed, a silver belt buckle polished to a shine—etched with the family ranch brand he’d worn with pride his whole life. On his feet were his best cowboy boots, worn but cared for, the tooled leather telling years of stories in every crease.
A tan felt Stetson rested in his hands, not on his head—a quiet sign of respect as he looked at you. His eyes shimmered just slightly, a mix of emotions swirling behind them: pride, regret, love, and a kind of awe only a father can feel when he sees his little girl all grown up.
“You… you look like your mama did the day I married her,” he said quietly, voice a little rough.
And for a moment, the world stilled—just the two of you, in the quiet before the vows.
Tears welled in your eyes. “Daddy, please don’t say that! Now I’ll have to redo my makeup,” you whispered, stepping closer into his arms as he wrapped you gently, holding you close.
His arms tightened just a bit, as if holding on to that moment could keep time from moving forward. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Always have been.”
You pressed your forehead to his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered, voice trembling but full of love.
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a soft smile breaking through the bittersweet weight between you. “Jake is not going to know what hit him.”
You smiled at him. "Probably not. He's only know a tomboy all of his life."
He chuckled softly, the sound warm and full of pride. “Well, I reckon that tomboy’s about to become the most stunning bride he’s ever seen.”
You laughed, the tension easing just a little. “Let’s hope he’s ready for all of this.”
Your dad’s eyes twinkled as he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He better be. Because you’re worth every bit of it.”
He extended his arm, and you gladly took it as your mother handed you the wedding bouquet. “Shall we get this wedding started?” he said with a smile, leading you out of the room.
The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting the whole field in a warm, golden light. A soft breeze stirred the tall grass, carrying the scent of wildflowers and sweet hay as friends and family gathered on weathered wooden benches, their whispers fading as music—gentle and slow—floated from a single fiddle.
At the edge of the clearing stood a rustic cedar arch, aged to a silver-gray patina and draped in flowing ivory linen. Clusters of roses, baby’s breath, and soft blue thistle clung to its beams, wild but graceful. Beneath it stood Jake, his white dress uniform pristine against the backdrop of golden light. The gleam of his medals caught the sun, but his usually confident expression was nowhere in sight.
Instead, his jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, trying to steady the emotions building in his chest. His eyes—those sharp, knowing green eyes—searched the tree line until the soft shift in the music pulled them toward the worn footpath leading through the open field.
And then he saw you.
You appeared, your arm looped through your father’s, barefoot and radiant. Your white lace dress floated around your calves, the delicate hem brushing the wild grass. Your hair was loosely curled, a few strands pinned back with tiny flowers that matched the wild bouquet in her hand. Sunlight caught her like a halo, and for a breathless moment, Jake forgot how to breathe.
His lips parted slightly. A disbelieving smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, eyes blinking back the sting of tears he hadn't expected. She was everything—every letter, every memory, every dream—and somehow even more beautiful than all of it combined.
You glanced up at him as you walked, your heart pounding. Your father squeezed your hand gently, his own eyes a little misty, but his smile steady with pride. “You ready?” he whispered.
You nodded softly. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
Jake’s gaze didn’t waver. As you stepped closer, the stoic pilot stood still no more—his smile broke fully, filled with wonder and something deeply reverent. He had faced war, flown through storms, and stood in front of commanding officers without flinching. But nothing had ever made his knees feel weaker than the sight of you walking toward him.
And when your father placed your hand into Jake’s, Jake took it as if it were the most sacred thing in the world.
“You look…” he breathed, eyes locked on hers. “You’re beautiful.”
You smiled through tears. “You clean up alright yourself, Lieutenant.”
The two of you laughed quietly, the rest of the world slipping away beneath the soft rustle of the breeze and the wide, endless sky.
As the officiant stepped forward, the gathered guests hushed, the final notes of the fiddle giving way to a silence rich with anticipation. The breeze shifted again, tugging gently at the linen draped across the arch, like even the wind wanted to be part of the moment.
Jake never let go of your hand.
He held it like he’d been waiting years—through silence, heartache, and impossible miles—just to feel it again. His thumb brushed across your knuckles, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing every line of your skin.
You took a breath and glanced up at him, your voice steady as you whispered, “You okay?”
He let out a small, quiet laugh. “I’ve flown combat missions with less adrenaline than I’ve got right now.”
You squeezed his hand in return. “You’ve got this.”
The officiant smiled, eyes soft with the kind of warmth only time and love can bring. “We are gathered here today…”
But Jake only heard pieces. Because the truth was, he was already promising you everything—with his silence, his hands, the unspoken vow in his eyes.
And when it was time—when the vows began—it wasn’t about perfection or poetry. It was about the two of you, standing side by side, beneath a sky the color of every dream you’d ever had.
“I don’t care where we live,” Jake said, his voice catching just once. “Texas, California, Scotland, a damn aircraft carrier—I just want to wake up with you beside me. That’s it. That’s my whole world.”
And when it was your turn, your hand trembled slightly in his, but your words were sure. “I loved you before I ever said it out loud. Before the letters. Before the goodbye. I loved you through every year apart. And I’ll love you through every year to come.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in the field by the time the rings were exchanged.
When the officiant gave the final nod and declared, “You may kiss your bride,” Jake didn’t hesitate. He pulled you close and kissed you like the world had finally given him back something it once took away.
The crowd erupted in cheers, the fiddle picked up a brighter tune, and somewhere behind you, horses neighed softly as if they, too, were celebrating.
But for Jake and for you, there was only this—your hands, your hearts, and a future finally unfolding, golden and wide beneath the open sky.
rooster doesn't care (except he does) ; bradley "rooster" bradshaw [part 2]
pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader
word count: 11.2k words (woops)
summary: you told him to let go, and he did—at least, that’s what you thought. but now, with the quiet pressing in and your chest aching for the way he used to hold on, you start to regret every word you said. you miss him, even the clingy parts, maybe especially those. and somewhere out there, he’s missing you too. one night, soaked from the rain and heavy with everything he never said, he shows up at your door. the power cuts out. the distance disappears. in the dark, you find his mouth, his hands, the truth. you lose yourselves in it, in each other, and when the morning comes, you wonder—was it love, or just what the storm brought in?
warnings: smut (soft, emotional, detailed, consensual), angst, slow burn, friends to lovers, mutual pining, sunshine x grump dynamic, reader is cold and emotionally repressed, rooster is clingy and hopelessly in love, one bed trope, hoodie lore, crying rooster hours, yelling because she cares, post-ejection hospital scene, rooster chokes on jello, thunderstorm cuddles, power outage, forced proximity, quiet confessions in the dark, emotional intimacy, body heat science, rooster being annoying on purpose, reader slowly melting, unresolved tension, rooster finally letting go, second chances, heartache turned comfort, soft love after long silence.
note: thank you so much for all the love on part one, i really didn’t expect it to hit so many of you the way it did. i appreciate every single comment, message, and little scream you guys sent my way! here’s part two—hope it breaks you just the right amount.
part one
masterlist
your call sign is sunbeam.
You found yourself looking for him.
Just... quick glances.
A flicker in the mess hall.
A scan of the benches during warmups.
Your eyes went to the door automatically whenever it opened, searching for the familiar shape of him, the stupid hair, the cocky strut, the dorky grin.
But he never looked back anymore.
And every time you saw him—standing with Phoenix, shoulders slouched, expression carefully neutral—you felt a crack form in the wall you’d built so high around yourself.
A fracture you didn’t know how to fix.
One afternoon, you were late to the locker room.
Training had gone long. You’d stayed behind to check reports. You expected the space to be empty.
It wasn’t.
Rooster was there. Alone. Sitting on the bench, half out of his flight suit, towel draped around his shoulders. He looked tired. Not in the usual post-flight way, but somewhere deeper—like the quiet had settled into his bones.
You froze.
He didn’t look up.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t say your name.
Not even a glance.
You changed quickly. Quietly. Sat on the opposite end. You didn’t know why your chest felt tight. You didn’t know why your hands felt cold.
For once, you wanted him to say something.
Anything.
Make fun of your laces.
Ask if you wanted tacos.
Tell you some bizarre fact about moon landing conspiracies or why birds might not be real.
But he didn’t.
He just stood, grabbed his duffle, and left.
Didn’t even glance over his shoulder.
The door clicked shut.
And the silence stayed with you.
Later that night, you opened your locker and found something tucked just beneath your spare gloves.
It was small. Folded.
A sticky note.
Your heart jumped.
You opened it.
Blank.
No words.
Just that familiar yellow square.
And yet it said everything.
You stared at it for a long time.
Longer than you wanted to admit.
And for the first time since you told him to let go—you wished he hadn’t listened.
It wasn’t sudden.
It was quiet. Gradual. The kind of shift you don’t notice at first—not until it’s already done. Not until you’re standing in the cold wondering when the sun stopped rising in the direction you were used to.
Bradley stopped looking at you.
Not out of anger. Not because he was trying to be cruel. It was the kind of distance that came from someone who finally got tired of running toward a wall that never moved. He stopped hovering, stopped orbiting. Stopped throwing himself into your gravity like it would save him from crashing.
And maybe, once upon a time, you would’ve called that peace.
But now?
Now it just felt hollow.
He still spoke your callsign—Sunbeam—but it sounded like protocol now. Cold. Clean. Like a switch had been flipped somewhere deep inside him. Like the warmth had been surgically removed.
“Sunbeam takes left flank.”
“Sunbeam, status check.”
“Copy that, Sunbeam.”
Nothing behind it. No trace of the man who once said it like it was a secret between only you and him. Like it meant something more than syllables and orders. Like you meant something more than airspace and flight paths.
You caught yourself watching him more than you used to.
In meetings, you found your gaze drifting. Just a second too long on the line of his jaw, on the tired curve of his mouth. In the locker room, you noticed the way he didn’t sit near you anymore. Not even close. He didn’t hum under his breath. He didn’t drop coffee by your locker. He didn’t meet your eyes.
And when you passed him in the hallway, he nodded. Just nodded. As if you were someone he used to know, but hadn’t seen in years.
You should’ve said something. Anything. But your throat always closed up at the worst possible moments.
So instead, you listened for him. Waited for some trace of the old Bradley to slip through.
But he never did.
And it was starting to eat at you.
You didn’t mean to say it like that.
It was a drill day. Nothing special. The sun was too hot, the sky too bright, the air humid and heavy in your flight suit. Everyone was gathered at the edge of the tarmac, running checks, prepping for launch.
You were standing with Bob, double-checking your wing alignment, when you caught sight of Rooster across the way.
He was bent over a panel, sleeves rolled up, jaw tense with focus. Sweat slicked the back of his neck. There was something tired in his posture, something heavy in the set of his shoulders.
He hadn’t spoken to you directly all morning.
You hated it. You hated how much you missed the way he used to fill the silence without even trying. How he used to make the world feel smaller and louder all at once.
You told yourself it was fine. You deserved this. You’d asked for it.
But when Mav came over the radio and started assigning pairs, you felt it—something rising in your chest before you could stop it.
“Rooster and Bob, you’re first in the air. Sunbeam and Hangman on standby.”
And that was when you said it.
Soft. Reflexive. Just under your breath, but audible enough to betray you.
“Rooster…”
You said it like it used to be. Like it meant Bradley. Like it was fond. Like it was yours to say.
And he heard it.
You knew he did.
Because he stilled.
Only for a second. The wrench in his hand paused. His spine straightened. A flicker—barely there. But you saw it.
And then—he moved.
Didn’t turn. Didn’t look at you.
Just finished what he was doing, handed the tool to Bob, and walked toward the bird.
No reaction. No acknowledgement.
No warmth.
He didn’t speak to you for the rest of the day.
Not a word.
Not even a glance.
And that night, when you sat at the Hard Deck nursing a drink you didn’t want, you heard his laugh from across the bar. It was soft. Short. He was talking to Phoenix and Coyote. A real smile tugged at his mouth—brief, crooked, tired.
But it wasn’t for you.
Hadn’t been in a long time.
You stared at the condensation on your glass. The music was too loud. The world felt far away.
And for the first time, you didn’t feel proud of being unreadable.
You just felt unseen.
The Hard Deck was warm with low noise—music, clinking bottles, laughter humming just beneath the chatter. It was a regular night, but the way you sat alone at the corner of the bar made it feel like a movie scene you didn’t audition for.
You nursed a bottle you hadn’t really touched. The condensation slipped down your fingers, gathering in small pools on the bar top. You’d been sitting there long enough that Penny had stopped checking in, which was saying something.
“Careful, darlin’,” came a voice beside you, smooth and smug. “People might start thinking you’re brooding.”
You didn’t have to look to know who it was.
Hangman.
Jake Seresin, in all his drawling, golden-boy glory. Leaning against the bar like it was built just for his elbow. Wearing that smirk like it was part of his uniform.
“I’m not brooding,” you muttered, eyes still fixed forward.
“Sure you’re not,” he said, sliding into the seat next to you, his own beer already in hand. “Just staring off into space with all the mood lighting of a noir detective. Very subtle.”
You didn’t respond.
He didn’t seem to mind.
He let the silence sit for a moment, like he was waiting for the exact right beat to pounce. And then:
“Y’know, I gotta ask… when did you start looking like someone ripped the moon outta your sky?”
You turned your head slowly. Eyebrow arched. “You practicing poetry on me now?”
“Maybe,” Jake grinned. “But only because you’ve got the energy of someone who’s haunted and refusing to call the exorcist.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to your drink. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m accurate,” he corrected, taking a sip. “It’s been what? Two, three weeks now? Since Rooster shut up and started pretending you don’t exist?”
You stiffened. Just slightly.
Jake noticed.
“Oh-ho,” he said, leaning in just a bit, voice low. “So you have noticed.”
You didn’t answer.
Jake exhaled like he’d won a bet. “Knew it. Because for someone who always claimed you didn’t care, you’re sure staring at the guy like he walked off with something important.”
You stared ahead, jaw tightening. “He’s being professional.”
“He’s being gone,” Jake said bluntly. “C’mon, Sunbeam—he used to orbit you like it was his whole job. Now? Man’s flying radio silent. No jokes. No coffee. No dumb chicken metaphors. Hell, he hasn’t even argued with me all week and I’ve tried.”
You were quiet.
Jake swirled the label on his bottle. “I gotta say, it’s impressive. You broke the guy clean. I didn’t think it was possible.”
“That’s not what I was trying to do,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.
Jake stilled.
He tilted his head. “No?”
You pressed your lips together.
You hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Hadn’t meant to admit that part of you missed it—the chaos, the noise, the way he filled a room like he was made for it.
You missed hearing your name in his voice. Missed how he used to grin when you rolled your eyes. Missed being annoyed, because even when he drove you up a wall, at least you knew where you stood with him.
Now? You didn’t know a damn thing.
Jake watched your silence carefully. Like he knew he was walking a line, but couldn’t help himself.
“You didn’t want him to stop,” he said, quieter this time.
You didn’t move.
“You wanted him to back off, sure. Maybe stop hovering. But you didn’t want him to disappear. You just… didn’t know how to ask for what you did want.”
Your fingers curled tighter around the bottle.
Jake didn’t smirk now. He wasn’t teasing anymore.
“Lemme guess,” he said, voice low and even. “You thought he’d never take the hint. That he’d always come back. No matter how many times you told him to go.”
You finally looked at him.
And Jake—cocky, arrogant Jake—met your gaze with something surprisingly soft.
“You thought he’d never give up on you,” he said.
The words landed like a gut punch.
You looked away again, jaw clenched, throat tight.
He wasn’t wrong.
And that hurt more than you wanted to admit.
“I didn’t think he’d listen,” you said quietly.
Jake nodded, like that explained everything.
“He always listened,” he murmured. “You just didn’t notice how much until he stopped.”
You didn’t reply.
Jake sat back, finishing the last of his beer. He stood, stretching like a cat, then gave you one last look—something bordering on sympathy, but wrapped in his usual smirk so it wouldn’t feel too raw.
“Just sayin’, Sunbeam,” he said, tossing his bottle in the bin. “Some silences ain’t peaceful. Some of ‘em are just... empty.”
Then he walked away.
And you were left sitting there.
Staring at your untouched drink.
With no sound but your own heartbeat.
And the echo of his voice in your head.
He should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
This whole pretending act—playing the part of someone who didn’t ache when you walked into a room, didn’t burn when you looked through him like he was nothing but another squadmate in a sea of uniforms—was never going to work. Not really. Not for someone like him.
Bradley Bradshaw was a lot of things. A damn good pilot. Loyal to a fault. Stubborn as hell. But he was never good at hiding the way he felt. Not when it came to you.
And now?
Now the weight of all that silence was starting to crush him.
He sat alone in the locker room, elbows on his knees, hands raked through his curls like he could physically keep himself from falling apart. The room was empty—everyone else gone home or out drinking, the buzz of the Hard Deck miles away. Just him and the dull hum of fluorescent lights, the distant whir of a fan, and the thunder of his own heartbeat in his ears.
He didn’t know what made it snap.
Maybe it was hearing Jake talk about you earlier, loud and smug and familiar. Maybe it was the way you didn’t even glance his way when you walked past after training. Or maybe it was that stupid, soft way you’d said his callsign the day before—Rooster—like you didn’t even know you’d said it differently, like it wasn’t the first warmth he’d heard from you in weeks.
Whatever it was, it cracked something in his chest.
He let out a breath that sounded too close to a sob.
This was pathetic.
He was pathetic.
He’d spent years being your shadow, your anchor, your idiot golden retriever, and when you finally pushed him away, he told himself he could handle it. Told himself he’d rather be near you in silence than lose you completely. Told himself he could be mature, respectful, professional.
He was so damn tired of pretending.
He missed you. God, he missed you. And not just the way you used to be together, not just the teasing or the quiet looks or the rhythm you’d found in the sky.
He missed your voice. The way you’d call him out without hesitation. The dry humor. The rare smirks. The way you’d roll your eyes but still take the coffee he brought you. The way you used to say his name like it meant something.
It used to feel like you were his gravity. Now, he was drifting. Unmoored. Lost.
He slammed a fist into the locker beside him, the metal ringing through the room. His knuckles stung, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I can’t do this.”
Because he didn’t want to move on. Didn’t want to keep acting like you were just a teammate. He didn’t want the silence. Didn’t want this distance. Didn’t want this version of his life where you were close enough to touch but so far removed it made him feel like a stranger in his own skin.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He could feel it coming now—tears threatening at the edges, his chest tight with the pressure of all the words he never got to say.
I miss you.I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to be too much.I didn’t think you’d ever actually want me to go.I thought you knew I’d follow you anywhere.I thought that mattered.
He’d been so proud of himself. So convinced he was being strong by backing off. Thought that maybe, if he gave you space, you’d come back to him on your own.
But you didn’t.
And now he was sitting here, unraveling alone in a locker room, like some lovesick idiot with no clue how to fix what he never meant to break.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered to the air, voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to stop loving her.”
There it was.
The truth.
It wasn’t about pretending anymore. It never had been.
Because no matter how many times he looked away…
No matter how cold he forced his voice to sound…
No matter how many nights he told himself it was time to move on…
He couldn’t.
Because you weren’t just someone he loved.
You were the only person he’d ever been afraid to lose.
And right now? He didn’t know if he already had.
The sound of the locker room door creaked open slow.
Rooster didn’t move.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. His hands were still gripping the edge of the bench beneath him, head hanging low between hunched shoulders, breath shallow and uneven.
He’d hoped he’d have longer.
Just ten more minutes alone. Ten more minutes to sit in the wreckage of his own feelings and fall apart quietly without anyone seeing the pieces.
But life never gave him that, did it?
A pause. Then the familiar click of boots across the tile floor.
"Well," drawled a voice he knew too well, "this is a new look."
Bradley didn’t answer.
Hangman stopped a few feet away. Jake Seresin, cocky and loud and impossible to ignore. Except tonight, he wasn’t either of those things. His voice was calm. Measured.
Not mocking.
Just... there.
“Didn’t peg you for the locker-room-crying type,” Jake added, gently this time. “Not saying I’m judging. Just surprised. You usually save your dramatics for the bar.”
Bradley exhaled. A quiet, hollow breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. More like a broken echo of one.
Jake stepped closer but didn’t sit.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Rooster shook his head.
“Didn’t think so.”
A beat of silence stretched between them, and Jake finally took a seat on the bench across from him. No smirk. No posturing. Just sat there like a mirror image—legs wide, arms resting on his knees, head tilted like he was looking at something unfamiliar.
“You’re not okay,” Jake said quietly.
Bradley still didn’t respond.
Jake let out a breath, leaned back slightly. “You know, I always thought you were ridiculous with her.”
That got a twitch. A flick of the eyes. Not much, but enough.
Jake shrugged. “The way you followed her around. The way you talked about her like she personally hung the stars. Hell, we used to bet on how long it would take you to crack a smile when she walked in the room.”
Rooster’s hands clenched tighter. His jaw locked.
“And then she told you to back off,” Jake continued, still soft, still not cruel. “And you did. Instantly. Like flipping a damn switch.”
Bradley’s voice finally scraped out, low and hoarse. “She told me to let go.”
“I know.”
“She meant it.”
“Maybe.”
That word made Rooster’s head snap up, finally—eyes glassy and red, voice rough with held-back emotion. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Give me hope.”
Jake held his gaze. “I’m not. I’m just saying... maybe she didn’t think you actually would.”
Rooster scoffed. Shook his head. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” Jake agreed. “It’s not. But you and I both know she’s not made of stone. You think she doesn’t miss it? The coffee? The dumb jokes? You saying her name like it’s a secret she forgot she told you?”
Rooster looked away, throat tight. “It doesn’t matter. She said what she said.”
“And you listened. Like a good little soldier.”
“I had to, Jake. I—” his voice broke, and he raked his fingers through his hair, overwhelmed. “I didn’t want to make her hate me.”
Jake let that sit. Let it land.
“Thing is,” he said after a beat, “I think she already knew how much you loved her. That was never the problem.”
Rooster closed his eyes. “Then what was?”
“I think,” Jake said slowly, “the problem was you never gave her the space to figure out how she felt. You were always so sure. Always there. Always loud.”
“And now I’m not,” Bradley muttered.
Jake nodded. “And now she’s not sure what to do with the silence.”
Bradley didn’t say anything for a long time.
When he finally spoke, it was a whisper.
“I don’t know who I am when I’m not loving her.”
Jake’s breath hitched—just slightly. And when he spoke again, his voice was quieter than it had ever been.
“Then maybe it’s time you find out.”
Another long silence. Heavier than the rest.
Jake stood slowly, the bench creaking beneath him. He didn’t offer a hand, didn’t clap a shoulder, didn’t joke.
He just looked down at Rooster—broken, unraveling, still trying to catch his breath in a war he’d lost to himself.
“I know I talk a lot of shit,” Jake said, calm and serious. “But for what it’s worth? I always thought the way you loved her was kind of beautiful.”
Then he walked out.
And for the first time that night, Rooster let the tears fall.
Not loud. Not shaking.
Just quiet.
Heavy.
Real.
Three days pass. Long, quiet, stretched thin.
Three days where you don’t see much of Rooster—not really. He’s around, sure. At briefings. On the tarmac. In the hall. But he doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t hover. Doesn’t try.
And for the first time since he stopped orbiting you, the silence starts to bother you.
You try not to let it. You tell yourself you’re fine. That it’s peaceful. But the truth? It feels wrong.
So when Maverick reads off the pairings at the end of the morning brief, you almost don’t catch it.
“Rooster and Sunbeam—you’re up first.”
The room quiets just enough for the beat to echo.
You blink. Glance across the table.
Rooster’s already looking at you.
He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t wink. But his eyes are bright again—less storm, more sunrise. There’s a flicker of something familiar behind them. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you do not want to think about.
You nod once.
So does he.
And just like that, you’re walking toward your jets side by side again.
It’s quiet for a minute. The air between you is heavy with all the things you haven’t said in weeks, and yet there’s something... lighter, too. Like the tension that used to choke your throat is finally starting to thin out.
“I, uh...” Rooster starts, adjusting his gloves. “Hope you don’t mind flying with me again.”
You glance sideways, mildly. “I’ll survive.”
He chuckles under his breath. “That’s a better reaction than last time.”
You don’t answer.
He doesn’t push.
But the edge of his smile grows a little anyway.
The flight is clean. Smooth. Almost unsettling in how natural it feels. Like you never stopped flying together. Like your birds missed each other more than you did. You fall into rhythm fast—his voice on comms is warm, calm, and this time, careful. Like he’s figured out how to match your silence without smothering it.
"Sunbeam, you got eyes?"
“Always,” you reply.
He hums. “Still like hearing that.”
You roll your eyes instinctively, but it’s a little softer this time. Less annoyance. More... muscle memory.
And when you both touch down, it’s weird. Because you’re still sweating, still processing, still tired—but you’re not irritated. Not bracing for him to say something ridiculous.
Instead, he just walks beside you. Doesn’t crowd you. Doesn’t throw out a million questions or jokes. He lets the quiet sit.
“Nice flying,” he says simply.
You glance at him, and for some strange reason, you don’t look away right away.
“You too.”
He beams.
God help you, he beams.
And that’s the first crack.
The rest of the day is strange.
Because Rooster is still Rooster—but not the one who used to cling like ivy. He jokes with the others. Smiles more. Talks a little louder. But he’s not performing. Not showing off.
And when you walk into the locker room later, he’s sitting on the bench like always—but this time, when he looks up and sees you, he just nods.
No joke. No sun pun. Just... acknowledgment.
You nod back.
And when you sit across from him, you feel something strange settle in your chest.
Something warm.
Something dangerous.
The next day, it’s the same thing.
You’re paired again.
You don’t question it. Mav’s clearly on a mission and you’re not about to call him out for whatever matchmaking scheme he’s cooking up. But it doesn’t feel forced.
It feels like muscle memory again.
Rooster’s voice on the comms is back to its familiar rhythm.
“Sunbeam, you ever think about how dumb this name is?”
You snort. “You gave it to me.”
“Yeah. Worst mistake of my life.”
You tilt your head. “That’s the worst?”
There’s a pause.
“Okay, second worst.”
“What’s first?”
Another pause.
Then, quietly: “Letting you think I ever wanted to be anywhere else.”
You blink. Your heart stutters.
But before you can reply, the radio goes quiet again.
Back to work.
Back to formation.
But your grip on the throttle isn’t as steady now.
Not because of nerves.
Because something else entirely.
That night, you catch him at the Hard Deck.
He’s surrounded by the squad, grinning, a beer in hand. Laughing at something Phoenix said. You watch him from the bar, unseen.
And for a moment, you feel like you’re looking at him for the first time.
Not as the leech.
Not as the golden retriever.
Not as the boy who followed you through every deployment.
Just… Bradley.
Just a man who changed. Quietly. Steadily.
A man who pulled away not to punish you—but to heal himself.
And somehow came back brighter.
You don’t say anything that night.
You just sit a few stools away, nursing your drink, listening to the sound of his laughter. Familiar. Comforting.
This time, it doesn’t grate.
This time, it makes you smile.
Just a little.
But it’s a start.
It starts small.
A coffee cup on your locker bench. No note. No dramatic gesture. Just the drink he knows you like, still warm, sitting there like it belongs.
You spot it, glance around the room. He’s across the hangar—laughing with Bob, goggles pushed back into his curls, half-listening to Phoenix rant about something that went wrong with her bird. He doesn’t look over. Doesn’t wait for your reaction.
And somehow, that’s what makes it land harder.
You drink it.
You don’t tell him you do, but the next morning, it’s there again.
He talks to you now, but it’s different.
The words come soft, casual, like sunlight warming up steel. He slips them in between mission briefings and hallway passings and cockpit checks. No more cloying metaphors. No more jokes that beg for your eye rolls. Just... him.
Real.
Relaxed.
And it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this without the try-hard energy. Without the need to make you laugh or look or react.
He tells you about a bird he saw on the roof of the mess hall yesterday—“just sat there like it owned the place, strutted around like Hangman with feathers.” You snort into your protein bar, and he doesn’t comment. Just smiles to himself and keeps walking.
Another day, he mentions that the clouds looked like spilled marshmallows during warmups. “Kinda dumb, I know,” he adds. But you shake your head once, and he grins at that.
You start replying more.
Not much.
Not dramatically.
But where there used to be silence, now there’s space for something else.
Like when he walks beside you after training and says, “You flew like hell today.”
And you shrug. “You didn’t crash into me, so I’ll give you a pass.”
He laughs, loud and real. “You missed me, admit it.”
You sip your water bottle. “I missed quiet.”
But you’re smiling. Just a little. And he sees it.
He doesn’t point it out.
He just bumps your shoulder once, gentle. Like a nudge you barely feel until it’s gone.
It builds, day by day.
You don’t mean to notice the way his voice lights up when he talks to Bob. Or the way he always saves you a chair during debriefings now—doesn’t announce it, just places his folder on the seat beside his and acts like it’s nothing.
You don’t mean to notice when he’s not there, either.
Like yesterday. When he didn’t show up to warmups.
No call. No excuse. Just... absent.
Your eyes flicked to the hangar doors too many times. You told yourself it was routine concern. That it didn’t matter.
Then you heard he’d just overslept. Slept right through his alarm.
You rolled your eyes. But your chest eased up the moment you heard it.
The squad starts to notice.
Phoenix eyes you both during drills. Bob smiles a little too knowingly when he catches you sharing a quiet exchange near the lockers. Even Hangman raises a brow once, muttering something like, “Look at you two being civil. World’s ending.”
You tell them to shut up, obviously.
But you’re not cold about it anymore.
And Rooster? He just shrugs and grins, shameless as ever. “Guess she’s finally seeing I’m irresistible.”
You scoff.
But you don’t walk away.
It’s a week later, after a long training run, when it finally clicks that something has changed.
You’re both sweaty, exhausted, grounded after a near-flawless simulation. You pull off your helmet, shake the heat from your neck. He’s already waiting near your bird, watching you with that familiar tilt to his head.
“Hell of a flight,” he says, voice low and fond.
You nod once, out of breath. “You didn’t suck.”
“That’s basically a love confession coming from you,” he quips.
You glance at him.
He’s beaming again—but not in that loud, desperate way he used to. It’s softer now. Worn-in. Patient.
You blink, slowly.
And then, without thinking, you say it.
“You’re being yourself again.”
He stills for a moment. Not alarmed. Just surprised.
You think maybe he’ll joke it off. Make some crack about having “gone through a phase” or how he’s always been the picture of maturity.
But he doesn’t.
He just looks at you—really looks—and shrugs.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “Guess I stopped pretending not to care.”
You nod once. Then walk past him, heart doing something stupid in your chest. You’re not ready to say anything else. Not yet.
But when you glance over your shoulder, he’s still smiling.
And this time, you don’t look away.
It’s late when it happens. Post-training dusk, the kind of hour where the sky starts folding in on itself—blue fading to gray, clouds smeared across the horizon like ash. The tarmac’s mostly empty. Everyone’s either inside the hangar or already headed home.
You’re still in your flight suit, sleeves tied around your waist, tank clinging to your back with sweat. The heat of the day’s begun to die down, but your skin still hums from the adrenaline.
Rooster’s next to you, crouched down beside your bird, checking a loose panel you mentioned earlier. You didn’t ask him to stay. He just did. As if it were second nature.
He doesn’t talk. Just works.
You don’t talk either. You just watch.
And it’s weird, because for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not trying to keep your guard up. You’re not waiting for him to say something stupid, or loud, or clingy. He’s just… here. Present. And it feels good.
There’s a comfortable rhythm to it. His hand brushing over the metal, your eyes following the path of his movements. The soft clinking of his tools. The sound of him breathing.
And then, quietly, he says, “I like this.”
You blink. “What?”
“This,” he says again, without looking up. “Us. Like this.”
You don’t answer right away. The words settle around you like dust.
He finally glances over. “You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know.”
You meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you looks away.
It’s not intense. It’s not some cinematic, eye-locking, music-swell moment.
It’s just real.
Simple.
Sincere.
And that’s what makes your chest go tight.
He looks down again, lips twitching. “Sorry. That probably made it weird.”
“It didn’t,” you say, surprising yourself.
He pauses.
Then—just barely—you see the tension leave his shoulders.
“You ever wonder,” he says softly, screwing the panel closed, “if we’re just bad at timing?”
You inhale slowly. “I think we’re bad at talking.”
He huffs a small laugh. “Yeah. That too.”
Another beat passes.
Then he stands.
You’re facing each other again, the wind picking up just enough to brush his curls over his forehead. You’re still silent, but it’s not cold. Not tense. Just charged. Like the air before a storm.
He reaches down to hand you your helmet.
You reach out at the same time.
Fingers brush.
Only for a second. Maybe even less.
But it’s enough.
It jolts through you like static—your skin buzzing, pulse skipping, breath catching just enough to feel.
And when you look up again, he’s staring at you like he felt it too.
Neither of you moves.
The silence stretches.
Then slowly—like he’s afraid to spook you—he shifts just a little closer. Not touching. Not invading. Just... nearer. More real.
And softly—so quietly you barely hear yourself—you say, “I know.”
His breath hitches.
And still—you don’t move.
The sky cracked open at 1432.
You remember the exact time because you were watching from the control tower, your gear still half-on from the earlier sortie, helmet tucked under your arm, eyes lazily tracking jet trails like it was just another routine afternoon.
Until his bird dropped out of formation.
It happened fast. Too fast. One second, Rooster’s voice was on the comms, steady and playful—“C’mon, Payback, bet you ten bucks I get back before you do”—and the next, static.
Then a garbled sound. Alarms. Movement.
“Mayday, mayday, this is Bravo Zero-One, engine failure, I’m going down—”
You didn’t realize you’d started running until you were halfway down the stairs.
Didn’t realize you were yelling into the nearest radio for updates until someone grabbed your arm to stop you from bolting across the tarmac.
The next few hours were a blur—Mav’s grim face, the rescue team scramble, the painful stillness of waiting for a chopper to return. You tried to play it off, arms crossed, jaw locked, face blank.
But your hands were shaking.
And when they said he was alive, you didn’t even pretend to be relieved. You just nodded once, muttered “of course he is,” and walked off before anyone could see the way your shoulders slumped.
You didn’t visit him right away. Couldn’t.
Not because you didn’t care. But because you did.
Too much.
You needed time to get your rage under control.
Spoiler: it didn’t work.
Two days later, you’re storming into the Naval hospital wing like a hurricane with one target.
You’ve already threatened two nurses with a glare alone, snapped at the front desk when they said visiting hours were almost over, and slammed the door to his room open so hard it bounced off the wall.
Bradley Bradshaw is sitting up in bed, wearing a faded hospital gown, one arm in a sling and an IV taped to the other. He’s balancing a cup of sad-looking green jello in one hand, plastic spoon halfway to his mouth.
He looks up just in time to see you standing there, fists clenched, eyes blazing.
“Hi,” he says around a mouthful, smile sheepish. “Miss me?”
You explode.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”
He flinches so hard he chokes on the jello.
Literally.
He starts coughing violently, the cup rattling in his grip as he tries to breathe and also not die. You do not rush to his aid. You cross your arms and wait, face thunderous, foot tapping with fury.
Finally, red-faced and wheezing, he clears his throat and croaks, “Damn. Sunbeam. You do talk.”
“Don’t test me,” you growl, storming across the room. “You ejected, Bradshaw. You crashed. You could’ve—you—I swear to God if you say one more dumb thing I will end you myself!”
“Noted,” he rasps, wiping his mouth, eyes wide like you’re a wild animal in aviators. “Okay. Wow. So, uh, how’ve you been?”
“I’ve been losing my mind, you absolute moron!”
His brows shoot up. “Oh?”
“Don’t ‘oh’ me!” you snap, pacing now. “Do you have any idea what it was like hearing you go down? Listening to your comms cut out like that?! I thought—I didn’t even know if you—”
Your voice breaks. You swallow hard.
Rooster’s grin fades.
The silence stretches.
You stop at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, fists still clenched like you're ready to punch a hole through the hospital wall.
“You’re not allowed to die,” you mutter, low and sharp. “You got that?”
His throat bobs. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I got it.”
You glare at him a moment longer, then snatch the jello cup from his tray and stab your spoon into it before plopping it back down.
He watches the jello jiggle.
Then, softly: “...That was actually kind of hot.”
You throw the spoon at him.
He yelps and laughs and winces at the same time.
And for a second—just a second—you almost laugh too.
Almost.
It’s late when the knock comes.
You’re halfway through reheating leftovers in the microwave, thunder rumbling outside like the sky’s trying to shake loose, rain hammering against the windows with the kind of fury that drowns out even your thoughts.
You weren’t expecting anyone.
The knock sounds again—three short raps, too polite to be a neighbor, too specific to be a stranger.
You sigh, set your fork down, and pad barefoot to the door.
When you open it, Rooster Bradshaw is standing on your front step, soaked to the damn bone, curls dripping into his eyes, jacket clinging to him like seaweed.
“Hi,” he says, voice sheepish and hopeful. “Can I crash here? It’s, uh… really raining.”
You stare at him for a beat. His sneakers squish when he shifts his weight. He looks like a drenched golden retriever someone forgot in the backyard.
You step aside without a word.
He lights up like Christmas.
“Thanks, Sunbeam,” he says, stepping in and peeling off his jacket like it personally betrayed him. Water pools onto your entryway floor. “I swear I didn’t mean to get caught in this. Weather said light drizzle—drizzle, my ass.”
You close the door behind him, deadbolt clicking. “Take your shoes off. You’re dripping all over the rug.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says immediately, already toeing off his soaked sneakers. “Sorry, I should’ve brought a towel or—”
You disappear down the hallway before he can finish. When you come back, you toss a towel at his chest and drop a bundle of clothes on the coffee table.
He blinks down at the hoodie sitting on top.
It’s gray, a little worn at the sleeves, the red cartoon chicken on the front still intact after all these years. College issue. Dumb, ridiculous. He’d gotten it from a novelty stand during one of those campus events you always rolled your eyes at.
He gave it to you after a bad exam week. Said you looked like you needed something stupid to wear.
You never gave it back.
Rooster reaches down slowly, like the thing might vanish if he touches it too fast.
“No way,” he breathes, grinning wide. “You still have this?”
You cross your arms. “It’s warm.”
“That’s why you kept it?” He gasps like you just told him you were secretly married. “Not because it reminded you of me?”
You raise an eyebrow. “I forgot it was yours.”
He places a dramatic hand to his heart. “That hurts. That actually hurts. You wound me.”
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” you mutter, already heading back to your food.
“Still cold, still heartless,” he calls after you, towel draped over his head. “You’re lucky I find that so charming.”
Fifteen minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom in the chicken hoodie and a pair of sweats you forgot you owned. His curls are towel-dried and fluffy, his cheeks pink from the hot shower, and the hoodie’s a size too small—years of muscle added since college making it stretch a little too snug across his chest.
He spins once in place. “So? Do I look cozy or what?”
You glance at him, unimpressed. “You look ridiculous.”
“Exactly,” he says, beaming. “Full-circle nostalgia. This is emotional closure, Sunbeam.”
You say nothing. Slide over your plate of food without meeting his eyes.
He blinks. “Is this… for me?”
You shrug. “I wasn’t that hungry.”
His voice softens immediately. “You’re lying.”
You say nothing.
He smiles anyway, taking the plate and plopping onto your couch like he’s lived here for years. He digs in, humming in exaggerated delight between bites.
You don’t join him. You curl up in the armchair across the room, scrolling on your phone like you’re completely unfazed by the fact that Bradley Bradshaw—drenched, dramatic, and now hoodie-clad—is lounging in your apartment like he belongs.
But your eyes flick up every so often.
And every time they do, he’s already looking.
Still smiling.
Like rain or not, he’d walk through a thousand storms if it meant being here, in this quiet moment with you.
In your home.
In your hoodie.
And for once, you don’t tell him to shut up when he won’t stop humming between bites.
You just let it happen.
It happens halfway through his monologue about college dorm horror stories. You’re seated on opposite ends of the couch, him folded like a human golden retriever into the hoodie he hasn’t stopped mentioning, and you—with your usual detached expression—are pretending to care by occasionally grunting at the right moments.
He’s mid-sentence. Something about a raccoon, a vending machine, and someone named Kenny.
“—so then Kenny’s dumbass actually climbs into the—”
click.
Darkness.
Total.
Immediate.
And followed instantly by a loud, echoing “AAAAHHH!” from the idiot beside you.
There’s a beat of silence. Rain still hammers outside. The room is pitch black.
You blink once into the dark. “...Really?”
“I panicked!” Rooster says, voice a little too high-pitched. “That was a panic yell. Completely normal. Totally justified.”
You sigh. “Power’s out.”
“Yeah, no kidding, Sunbeam.”
There’s some shuffling as he fumbles around the couch. You hear him knock something over with his elbow. “Okay, okay, it’s fine, we’ve trained for worse. Carrier landings in storms. Midair refuels in pitch black. I can handle—OW.”
A thud.
You squint through the dark. “Did you just fall?”
“I tripped. Over your couch leg. Which, by the way, is criminally low to the ground.”
You exhale slowly through your nose, standing. “Stay there. I’ll get a flashlight.”
“Too late, I’m already blind. I see nothing but regret and betrayal.”
You don’t respond. You grab your phone from the counter, flick on the flashlight, and shine it toward the couch.
Rooster’s on the floor, tangled in the throw blanket he insisted wasn’t for “aesthetics,” hoodie slightly lopsided, curls a wild mess, and eyes squinting up at you like you’ve just rescued him from a cave.
“Oh thank God,” he says dramatically. “My savior. My light. My guiding star.”
You don’t dignify that with a response. You just point the flashlight at the hallway. “Go change. I have candles.”
He groans as he rolls up, clutching his side. “If I have a bruise, you’re legally responsible. This couch is a health hazard.”
“I warned you about moving,” you say flatly.
As you start lighting candles in the kitchen, he shuffles over and slumps dramatically onto the floor beside you, cross-legged, eyes fixed on the flickering flame like a caveman discovering fire.
“This is romantic,” he announces.
You shoot him a look.
He grins. “Like a period drama. Forbidden love. War-torn letters. Unspeakable yearning.”
“You’re literally just sitting on my kitchen tile.”
“Tragic,” he whispers, clutching the hoodie to his chest. “We’ll never survive the blackout.”
You light another candle and place it on the counter, ignoring him.
He watches you in silence for a second. Then, softer, “Hey. You’re not... freaked out by this stuff? Storms? Power going out?”
You glance at him. “No.”
He nods, like that makes sense. “Of course. You’re too cool to be scared.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m just not dramatic about it.”
He hums thoughtfully. “I kind of like that about you.”
You pause, briefly, at the cupboard. “That I’m not dramatic?”
“That you’re steady,” he says. “You’re always... there. Even when everything else is nuts.”
You don’t respond. Just hand him a mug of warm tea you made with your still-hot kettle before the power went. He takes it like it’s the holy grail.
“I love it here,” he sighs. “Even in the dark. Especially in the dark.”
You settle back on the couch, curling up with a blanket. “You’re not sleeping in my bed.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “Couch is fine. Floor is fine. Bathtub, if necessary. But—hey.” He points to his chest. “This hoodie? Prime bedtime real estate.”
You toss him a pillow without looking.
It hits him in the face.
“Worth it,” he mumbles happily, snuggling into it like a satisfied cat.
And as the storm howls outside and the room flickers with candlelight, you say nothing. Just sip your tea, steady and quiet as always.
But you don’t kick him out.
And when you hear his breathing slow from the floor, hoodie tucked under his chin, a smile twitching at his lips even in sleep—
You don’t smile back.
But you do pull the blanket higher.
Just a little.
The thunder wakes you with a crack so loud it sounds like the earth split in two right above your apartment.
You jolt upright on the couch, heart thudding in your chest. For a second, you forget where you are—then you feel a heavy weight slump against your side and remember, unfortunately, Bradley Bradshaw is still here.
He groans sleepily, curls smashed flat on one side, cheek red from the floor. “’S too early for the apocalypse,” he mumbles, blindly groping for the blanket you yanked off him in your panic.
You stand up and stretch, squinting into the darkness. The candles are long out, the power still hasn’t returned, and the storm outside sounds even worse than it did earlier. The wind whistles through the walls, and rain taps frantic fingers on the glass.
“It’s freezing,” you mutter, rubbing your arms.
Bradley, still horizontal, lifts his head like a meerkat. “We should cuddle.”
You stare at him.
He grins sleepily. “For body heat. Survival. Science.”
“You’re on the floor.”
“And I’m suffering,” he says dramatically. “Come on, Sunbeam. We’ll both freeze out here. Just one night. One innocent cuddle. I’m very warm. Extremely warm. Practically a human space heater.”
You sigh like you’ve just been asked to sacrifice something deeply personal.
He sits up, eyebrows raised, clearly expecting you to say no.
Instead, you turn and walk toward your bedroom.
Bradley scrambles after you like a golden retriever invited on the bed for the first time in its life.
The room is pitch black. You can barely make out the shapes of your furniture in the darkness. The sheets are cool when you slip under them, and you’re already regretting not having more blankets.
Bradley climbs in beside you with entirely too much enthusiasm, pulling the comforter up to his chin and letting out a dramatic sigh of bliss.
“Ohhh my God,” he whispers. “This is so much better. This is paradise.”
You turn away from him, facing the wall. “You say one word and I’m kicking you out.”
“I say lots of words,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
Silence falls between you again. Except now, it’s close. His warmth seeps into your side, slow and steady. His breath is quiet. Measured. You can feel him smiling even though you can’t see it.
And then, after a long minute, your voice breaks the silence.
“You know,” you say quietly, “you snore when you’re on your back.”
He gasps. “How dare you.”
“You also kick.”
“I do not—”
“You kicked me twice.”
“That was the floor attacking you.”
You shift slightly. He does too, until his arm brushes yours.
“You always talk this much when you’re nervous?” you ask.
He goes quiet for a second. Then, softly: “Only when I’m really happy.”
You hate the way your chest tightens at that.
He shifts again, clearly getting comfortable. You feel his hand resting lightly between you—near but not touching. A silent offer. No pressure.
You sigh once. Then slowly—very slowly—you reach over and pull his arm across your waist.
A beat.
And then you feel it.
Bradley melts.
Not figuratively. Not just emotionally. Like, full-body sigh, soft little hum, cheek pressed to your shoulder like he’s home for the first time in years.
You roll your eyes into the darkness. “You’re smiling like an idiot.”
“I am an idiot,” he whispers against your neck, grinning into the hoodie you’re still wearing. “You’re just now figuring that out?”
Another thunderclap rolls over the building, louder than before.
You don’t flinch.
But his arm tightens around your waist.
And you don’t pull away.
Not even a little.
It’s late.
You don’t know how much time has passed since you both drifted into that heavy silence. The storm still murmurs outside, but softer now—like it’s finally tired, like the sky itself is worn out.
The room is cold, but he’s warm against your back. One arm curled around your waist, chest rising slow and steady behind you, breath tickling the strands of your hair he can’t help nudging closer to.
You should be asleep.
You’re not.
Neither is he.
You know it by the way his fingers twitch slightly against your shirt, like he’s trying not to move, not to disturb you. Like he’s thinking too loud in the dark.
Then, just when you think maybe he’ll leave it alone—let the moment pass and fall into dreams like always—
His voice comes, low. Barely more than a whisper.
“Hey.”
You don’t turn. You don’t answer.
But he knows you’re awake.
“I don’t know when it started,” he says quietly. “Or maybe I do. I just didn’t want to admit it. Back in college, I think. You were so… you. You didn’t need anyone to like you. And I was always—loud. Trying too hard.”
He laughs, but it’s soft. Bitter in the way memories sometimes are.
“I thought maybe I’d grow out of it. The way I felt. Like it was just this thing I’d get over. You’d disappear from my life and I’d move on. But every time we end up in the same room, I’m back to that dumb kid who followed you around like a lost duck.”
You breathe in, slow. Quiet. Still facing the wall.
“I don’t want anything from you,” he says. “I swear, I’m not saying this to make things weird. I just—I couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t matter. That you didn’t matter.”
His voice shakes just slightly. He swallows.
“I love you,” he says.
Like it’s the truth he’s been carrying around forever. Small. Simple. No strings.
“I love you,” he repeats, softer. “Not in the way I thought I would, either. Not some fairytale. I love the way you roll your eyes when I talk too much. I love that you’re quiet. That you don’t fill the space just to fill it. That you wear that dumb hoodie like it doesn’t mean anything. I love that you let me in—just a little. I love you even when you don’t say a word.”
Silence again.
Heavy.
Holy.
He exhales, like the weight’s finally off his chest. “Okay,” he murmurs. “That’s all. You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”
He settles back like he means to sleep. Doesn’t try to touch you more than he already is. Doesn’t beg for a reaction.
And that’s what makes your heart ache.
Because it’s real.
Because it’s him.
Because you weren’t supposed to feel anything at all.
And now you do.
You don’t speak right away.
His words linger in the dark like smoke—soft, fragrant, impossible to ignore. You hear them on a loop, quiet echoes of things you never thought he’d say out loud.
You love the way you don’t fill the silence.
It stings. Not in a bad way. In the way truth sometimes does—warm and aching all at once.
You swallow. Roll over slowly.
He’s already watching you.
The shadows barely touch his face, but you can see the flicker in his eyes. The way he’s scared, even now. Like he’s still ready for you to say nothing. To shut him out like you always do.
You hate that look.
“I heard you,” you say quietly.
His breath catches, but he doesn’t speak.
You let the silence stretch a little longer. Just enough to make sure the words don’t come out careless. Just enough to mean it.
“You’re right,” you say finally. “You’ve always been loud. Always everywhere. Always following me around like a damn puppy.”
He chuckles under his breath, sheepish.
“But I never told you to stop.”
That silences him.
“I could’ve,” you add. “Could’ve shut you down years ago. Could’ve transferred out, requested new partners, pushed you away harder. But I didn’t.”
His eyes are wide now. His fingers twitch against your waist again—like he wants to reach, but won’t.
And you’re still not smiling. Not swooning. Just looking at him like you always do—steady. Clear. Unafraid.
“I’m not good at saying things,” you admit. “I don’t do big speeches or confessions. But… I missed you when you weren’t there.”
The storm rumbles again, far off in the distance.
“I didn’t think I was allowed to,” you say. “Not with the way I treated you. Not with the way I am.”
His hand lifts slowly, brushes your hair behind your ear. Gentle. Careful. Like you’re something rare.
“You don’t have to be any other way,” he whispers. “Not with me.”
You let out a slow breath. “I don’t love easily.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not going anywhere,” you say. “So… if that counts for anything—”
“It counts for everything,” he says, too quickly, too earnestly.
And finally, finally, you let the corner of your mouth twitch.
He pulls you closer. Not all at once. Just enough.
You bury your face in his chest and breathe him in—detergent and rain and something that smells like home.
Neither of you says anything else.
But there’s no need.
Because for once, it’s not about the words.
It’s about staying.
And this time, you both do.
The room feels warmer now.
Not just from the body heat—though Rooster was right, he is annoyingly effective at radiating warmth—but from something else. Something quieter. Thicker. Like the air between you two has finally shifted from years of teasing and tension into something... safe.
His hand is tracing slow circles on your back now, lazy and gentle, like he’s not even thinking about it. Just a rhythm he slipped into, like breathing.
You don’t stop him.
“You ever think,” he murmurs into your hair, “how wild it is that we ended up here?”
You hum. “Define ‘here.’”
“In your bed,” he says, smile audible in his voice. “Wearing the chicken hoodie I gave you in college, post-near-death experience, while a literal storm rages outside.”
You lift your head just enough to look at him, eyes half-lidded and dry. “I think the wild part is that you’re still talking.”
He grins wide. “There she is.”
You settle back against him with a quiet sigh. The silence stretches again, not awkward—never awkward now—but soft. Settled.
He speaks again, this time quieter. “I used to rehearse it.”
You blink. “Rehearse what?”
“Telling you how I felt,” he admits. “Back when we were just... whatever we were. Friends. Teammates. You glaring at me in the break room. I’d run through it in my head like, a million times.”
You snort. “What were you gonna say?”
“Oh, you know. Something stupid. Classic Bradshaw lines. Like—‘Sunbeam, I’ve loved you since the moment you insulted my playlist choices in the cafeteria line.’”
You make a face into his chest. “They were bad.”
“They were themed!”
“You had a playlist called ‘Aviator Vibes Only.’”
“And it slapped!”
You laugh—actually laugh—and he freezes for a second, like he’s afraid he imagined it. Then you feel him smile against your temple, wide and full and a little bit victorious.
“I used to think you hated me,” he says after a beat, softer now.
“I did,” you say. Then, more honestly, “Sort of. Not really. I just… didn’t know what to do with you.”
“I’m a lot,” he admits, shrugging a little.
“You are,” you agree. “But you’re also... constant.”
He goes quiet.
“I didn’t realize how much I counted on that until you weren’t there,” you say. “Until the crash. Until the hoodie. Until now.”
You lift your eyes again, watching him in the dark.
“I don’t say things much,” you continue. “But I feel them. You make it hard not to.”
He brushes his nose against yours. “I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”
You lean into him, letting his warmth wrap around you completely.
“You better not snore tonight,” you murmur sleepily.
“I make no promises.”
“If you kick me, I’m pushing you off the bed.”
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
“You’re a walking space heater. Of course I will.”
He laughs again, low and content.
And when your breathing slows and your fingers curl gently into the fabric of his hoodie, he whispers one last thing.
“I love you, you know.”
This time, you whisper back.
“I know.”
You don’t know how long you stay like that—tucked into him, fingers curled lightly in the sleeve of the hoodie he gave you back when neither of you knew what this was becoming.
The storm outside has softened into a lazy drizzle, but the quiet between you feels louder now. Every breath. Every shift of fabric. Every pulse.
Bradley hasn’t said anything since your last whisper. But you feel him. In the way his thumb brushes just under your shirt hem. In the way his cheek is resting against your temple. In the way his heartbeat stutters when your hand moves—just slightly—against his chest.
You tilt your head back slowly, barely enough to look at him.
He’s already watching you.
Eyes soft. Half-lidded. A little scared, but not in a way that wants to run—more like he’s afraid to break the moment.
You stare at each other for a long second. Breathing. Just breathing.
Then you say, almost too quiet, “You’re staring.”
His smile is slow. “So are you.”
You open your mouth to deflect, to tease, to bury the feeling under something safer—but then he leans in.
Slow. So slow it’s like he’s giving you every second to stop him.
You don’t.
You close the distance.
It’s nothing like you imagined. Not fire and fireworks. Not instant passion.
It’s warm.
Soft.
Steady.
Like a sigh between two people who’ve been holding something in for too long.
His lips mold to yours like they already knew how. He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear—but also like he trusts you won’t.
Your hand slides up into the curls at the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His breath hitches. You feel him smile against your mouth.
He pulls back just barely, forehead resting against yours. “That okay?”
You nod once. Voice gone. Chest full.
He kisses you again.
Slower this time. Like he’s memorizing the shape of it. Like he’s etching it into the part of his heart that’s always been reserved for you.
You pull him closer, hoodie and all.
And when you both finally part, barely breathing, he laughs.
Quiet. Wonderstruck.
“I’ve waited so long to do that,” he murmurs.
You don’t say anything.
But you kiss him again.
And that’s answer enough.
It starts with your breath on his lips.
Barely parted, both of you still half-tangled in sheets and stormlight, the world outside dim and forgotten. Your fingers are still in his curls from the last kiss, and he hasn’t moved more than an inch—hasn’t dared.
But now you do.
You move first.
Your mouth brushes his again, slower this time, less hesitant. And when he responds—when his lips part just slightly to deepen the kiss—it’s like something long-caged breaks loose between you.
Bradley sighs into your mouth, relief spilling out of him like warm wind. His hand slides over your hip, tentative and slow, asking instead of taking. You shift forward in response, and suddenly your legs are pressed against his, knees bumping under the blanket.
His touch never roams far. It’s not rushed. Not greedy. He kisses you like he wants to memorize you, like he’s finally allowed to love you the way he’s always wanted—without needing to hide behind jokes or looks cast across briefing rooms.
“You sure?” he whispers against your lips, already breathless.
You nod. “Stop asking.”
He exhales a soft laugh, but it stutters when your fingers slip beneath the hem of the hoodie he gave you. The cotton lifts easily, and he helps you pull it off without a word—eyes never leaving yours.
“You still wear it,” he murmurs, eyes scanning your face like it’s something holy.
You shrug, breath catching. “It’s warm.”
Bradley smiles. His hands cup your face gently, brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones. “You’re warm.”
The kiss that follows is deeper. Hungrier. His hands trail down your sides, fingertips brushing over skin like he’s never known softness until now. You sigh into him, sliding your palms over his bare chest, feeling muscle twitch under your touch.
The hoodie’s gone. So is hesitation.
He touches you like you’re breakable—but wanted. Like he knows you can handle anything, but still treats you like you deserve softness. You do.
You pull him closer—body to body, skin to skin—and everything shifts. There’s a hitch in both your breaths, a heat blooming low between you, quiet and pulsing. The room stays dim, shadows flickering from the storm outside, but the warmth here is overwhelming.
You tilt your head, whispering into his jaw, “Don’t overthink it.”
“I’m not,” he says. “I’m just—” He swallows. “I want to remember this. All of it.”
And then he moves—hands guiding, mouth worshipping, breath steady as he kisses down your throat, your shoulder, everywhere your body lets him in. You arch into him, not dramatically—just a slow unraveling, like the steady peeling back of walls that have stood for too long.
Clothes fall away in pieces. Not fast. Not frantic. Like a ceremony. Each movement says I know you. I see you. I want all of you.
And when he finally enters you, it’s quiet. A slow joining. No sharp gasps or rushed words—just the sound of rain on glass and two people breathing in sync. His forehead rests against yours. His hand finds yours in the dark.
It’s full. Deep. Close.
He moves like he’s trying to tell you everything he’s never said. You let him.
And when you look up at him—sweat-kissed, jaw clenched from holding back, eyes wild and full of you—you see it all. The years. The longing. The love.
You whisper his name once.
That’s all it takes.
The rhythm falters, shudders. He lets go. You follow. And the world is nothing but the heat between you and the quiet in his chest when he holds you through the after.
Neither of you speaks for a long time.
And when you finally do, it’s barely a whisper.
“Still warm?”
He laughs—messy, breathless, in love.
“You have no idea.”
You don’t know how long you lie there in the quiet after. Long enough for your breathing to slow, for the sweat to cool on your skin. Long enough to feel the weight of what just happened settle into your chest like something permanent.
Bradley’s still beside you, one arm folded beneath his head, the other tracing lazy circles on your bare back. His eyes are half-lidded, but he hasn’t stopped looking at you since you let him touch you like that.
He looks undone. And worshipful.
You should be exhausted.
But something simmers under your skin now. A low, hot hum that hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s grown sharper. Louder. Like the part of you that spent years trying not to need him is suddenly starving.
Your fingers drift down his stomach, slow and featherlight, and you feel him twitch under your touch. His jaw clenches. His breath catches.
“Again?” he says softly. Not teasing. Not smug. Just... hopeful. Just wrecked.
You nod.
That’s all it takes.
Bradley moves like a storm this time—low and intense, all heat and reverence and hunger. His hands slide over your hips like they’re familiar territory now, like your body was a map he memorized long ago but only now gets to trace without fear.
He rolls you beneath him with careful strength, lips finding yours again—deeper now, wetter, full of need. The kiss drags something from your chest you didn’t know you were holding. You gasp against him, fingers clawing into his back, and he groans low in his throat.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters against your jaw, voice rough.
You pull him down, mouth finding the curve of his shoulder, and this time you bite. Not hard—just enough. Just enough to feel his whole body shudder.
It’s messier now.
Hotter.
The pace isn’t slow and exploratory anymore—it’s familiar and greedy and real. Your legs wrap around his waist like instinct. His mouth is everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, your chest—like he’s trying to kiss every part of you that’s ever known loneliness.
He presses into you again, deeper than before, and your breath breaks apart. There’s no space between you now—just skin on skin, sweat, tangled limbs and open mouths.
He groans your name like a prayer. You arch into him, chasing the friction, biting back a sound that threatens to escape.
He thrusts harder.
You meet him.
The rhythm builds, wild and aching and perfect. Each time his hips meet yours, it knocks something loose in you—something you hadn’t let anyone touch before. He feels it. You know he does.
His forehead presses to yours, and you can feel his breath on your lips.
“I love you,” he whispers again. “Every version of you. Even when you hated me. Especially when you didn’t.”
You grip his hair, pulling him down into another kiss, all teeth and heat.
And when you come apart beneath him this time—it’s not silent. You cry out his name, fingers digging into his shoulders like you’re anchoring yourself.
He follows fast. His mouth opens against your neck. Shuddering so hard you feel it in your bones.
When it’s over, he collapses gently beside you, arms pulling you close, chest heaving against your back.
You’re quiet for a while. Only the sound of rain and breath and the soft shift of sheets between you.
Then, without looking at him, you murmur, “That hoodie better not go missing.”
He chuckles hoarsely, pulling it off the floor and draping it over you both.
“Baby,” he says, voice rough, kissed with sleep. “That hoodie belongs to you now. Just like I do.”
You don’t say anything right away. You just stare at him—at the way his lashes rest heavy on his cheeks, at the hoodie he gave you months ago now draped across your bare legs like it never left. Like he never left.
Maybe you didn’t really hate how he clung too close.
Maybe you didn’t hate the late-night calls, the way he’d wrap around you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.
Maybe what you hated was how much it scared you to need him back.
Your fingers brush through his hair, slow, unsure. He hums, half-asleep, and that hoodie still smells like him. Like memories, and airports, and something softer than you ever let yourself believe you deserved.
You whisper, barely audible, like you’re admitting it to yourself more than to him: “Maybe I belonged to you first.”
And maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Two months before deploying was a bad time to start a relationship. Especially when Bradley would be gone for six months. Returning the day after his 41st birthday, Bradley hoped to spend the day with his girlfriend, but a prior commitment makes that impossible. But that doesn't mean she can't show him how much she cares.
After finishing the sequence to turn off the jet engine, Bradley relaxed against his seat and closed his eyes. In just a few seconds, he would set foot on American soil for the first time in six months.
This deployment hadn’t been the worst. It was his first major one since receiving orders from NAS Oceana to Miramar, and cruising around the Pacific was a welcome change from the Middle East deployments he’d been on in the past few times. And as much as he missed his buddies from Virginia, he’d at least had Coyote, Omaha, and Halo for company.
The time, however, could have been better. Bradley hadn’t been looking to get into a relationship before a deployment. He’d seen too many people get the dreaded Dear John treatment and received one of his own - but he also hadn’t expected to meet you.
He’d never been happier to have a broken coffee machine than that morning he’d had to detour to a local spot not too far from his house. It was always on his mind to stop there when he ran errands, not when he was already running late for work and had to fight the morning rush. But as soon as he walked in and spotted you in line, Bradley thanked the coffee gods. Standing behind you, he cleared his throat and asked if you had any suggestions. The sleepy, surprised look you gave him when you turned, coupled with how you adjusted your glasses, made him smile.
Especially when he’d managed to get your number after helping track down the last open outlet and holding the table while you grabbed both coffees from the pickup window. The teasing smirk you’d given him after seeing the phone number on his cup had allowed him to say he was single and ask if you were in a relationship. He’d asked for your number when you said you weren't.
It had been a bit of a surprise to be handed your business card after you’d scratched out one number and written another above it, and he felt a moment’s hesitancy at seeing that you were a wedding planner. Nothing against the career, but he’d taken a few women to weddings and almost universally regretted it when it prompted the ‘Do you see marriage in our future?’ questions. Going out with a woman who was always at weddings might be more trouble than it was worth.
Bradley wasn’t against marriage. He’d seen how happy it made his parents and a couple of his buddies. He’d also seen a lot of them fall apart over this time in the military and was holding out for something like he’d seen with his parents. A few of his former partners called him a commitment phobe - and the options were certainly getting slimmer now that he was 40 - but Bradley preferred to look at it as being selective. And he wasn’t in a rush. He enjoyed being alone. It was nice to come home from a long day at work and have everything exactly where he left it. To know that the leftovers he’d been craving all day would still be in the fridge. And he sure as hell hadn’t found someone willing to deal with his job. A lot of women liked the idea of dating a guy in the military - and those wings on his uniform drew a special crowd - but the reality wasn’t something they were prepared for. It wasn’t easy being in a relationship with someone whose job would call them away for months at a time, where he couldn’t talk about large parts of his day. Who might move every few years if they weren’t lucky enough to shift squadrons on base. Embarrassingly, his longest relationship was still his high school girlfriend - they’d managed about two years before going separate ways for college.
But even with those reservations, he still asked you to dinner and was surprised when you told him that you weren’t available on the weekends but could meet up for drinks during the week. And to say that the date had started poorly was an understatement.
After agreeing to meet up, he waited at the bar you’d suggested, anxiously tapping his fingers on the sticky countertop as you texted and apologized for running late, and that you were trying to find parking. He was halfway through his beer when you walked in, and it took a moment for him to recognize you. At the coffee shop, you’d worn leggings, an oversized hoodie, and a smile that made him think about lazy days on the couch. But today? He would have thought you were a lawyer or some bureaucrat with the pencil skirt, sky-high heels, and a scowl that made him straighten as though he was in front of an admiral. He lifted his hand to get your attention, and your lips smoothed into a pleasant smile when you spotted him. Tossing your purse onto the bar, you sat on the stool and apologized, “I’m so sorry I’m late. My last appointment ran so far over.”
“No problem. Everything okay?”
“Nothing that can’t be handled with a stiff drink,” you replied before muttering, “and a tranquilizer dart for the mother of the bride.” Smiling at the bartender, you ordered a Manhattan, which surprised him. He would have pegged you for a martini girl in that outfit, not a whiskey one. With your attention on the bartender - it seemed like you were a regular at the place - he seized the opportunity to take you in. He felt underdressed in his jeans and Hawaiian shirt, especially when he caught the designer label on your purse. When you paused and glanced down at your wrist, he saw your smartwatch indicating that you had an incoming call, but you sent it to voicemail.
“Do you need to get that?” he asked, lifting his glass to his lips when you turned to look at him.
“Nope, I’m officially off the clock.” You reached for the bowl of peanuts he’d been working through and tossed a few into your mouth. “So, how was your day?”
“Not too bad. Spent it doing paperwork. Yours?” Taking a deep breath, you pasted on a tired smile.
“Long.” Your lips parted to speak when Bradley heard your phone vibrating in your purse as the watch lit up again. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
“You sure you don’t need to get that?”
“I’m sure.” His eyebrow rose when you removed your watch and dropped it into your purse, taking out a phone and tapping the screen a few times before putting it away and hanging the bag off the hook under the bar. When the bartender dropped off your drink, you took the glassware by the stem and lifted it toward him. “Here’s hoping for a better evening.”
The conversation had been stilted for a little while. When he heard your purse vibrating, you continued to ask him about growing up in Virginia while reaching into the bag and pulling out a second phone, eyes briefly leaving his to glance at the screen and do something before putting it away. It was the standard first date conversation - where are you from, hobbies, siblings, family nearby, etc. You made a couple of sarcastic barbs that made him chuckle, and he watched you run your fingers through your hair. Slowly, his hand migrated to the back of your chair as you turned to face him fully, your heel resting on the foot ring of his stool. The only hard line you’d drawn was when he asked about work. “I’d prefer not to talk about work if it’s okay,” you shrugged. “I feel like it’s all I do.”
The answer had surprised him, but he agreed. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his job, but in his experience, women always wanted to know what he did. Especially if they saw him in uniform, like you had at the coffee shop. When the bartender asked if he wanted another beer, Bradley glanced at you briefly, debating spending another thirty minutes or so before heading out.
“Your call,” you shrugged, catching the look. The whiskey had loosened your tongue and put a pretty flush in your cheeks, but he could tell by the set of your shoulders and the subtle way you lifted your glass to mask a yawn that you were tired. It seemed like the date was starting to turn around, and he could see glimpses of the flirty woman from the coffee shop, but he’d also caught you glancing at your bare wrist to check the time.
“Raincheck?” he asked. There was a brief flicker of disappointment on your face before you smiled and nodded to the bartender.
“We’ll close out. Separate tabs, please, Jacks.”
“I can get - ”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off. The bartender gave a mocking salute, glancing at Bradley like he was crazy before walking away. Bradley watched you finish your Manhattan and eat the cherries off the cocktail pick while finishing his beer. The awkwardness was back, and he was starting to regret not just agreeing to another drink. “So, anything fun planned for the rest of the week?”
“Not really,” he shrugged. “Just some exercises at work and hanging with friends. You?”
“Not much, just a comedy show Friday night.” That topic held you over until the checks came, and you were already slapping your card down when Bradley reached for yours.
As you stepped outside, the sun started to set, and Bradley asked where you’d parked. He motioned for you to lead the way when you pointed up the street. “This was - ”
“So I know - ” Bradley looked at you as you spoke over one another and smiled when you blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. When you stopped beside a small SUV and turned to face him, he watched you lift your chin to meet his gaze. Even in your heels, you still had to look up at him. “This is me.” You cleared your throat, fingers tightening around the strap of your purse. “I had a good time tonight.”
“Me too.” The way you raised an eyebrow made him chuckle awkwardly.
“I’m also very aware that we got off on the wrong foot - I promise, I’m not usually late or this stressed out on a date. I… I’m gonna leave the ball in your court if you want to do this again. You’ve got my number. And if you do want to go out again and give this another shot, I promise not to schedule you after meeting with my most difficult client and their wedding designer.”
“Wait, aren’t you the wedding designer?”
You scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose, keys clinking in your free hand. “Oh, absolutely not. I’m just the planner for this one - I handle the logistics, contracts, and budget for the wedding, while the designer is primarily concerned with the aesthetics of the ceremony and reception. This one is the bane of my existence and doesn’t seem to care about the budget and managed to get the bride and her mother on her side, which is freaking out the groom since they’re going way over… ” Grimacing, you scrunched your nose and held up a hand. “Sorry, I said I didn’t want to talk about work, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear about wedding drama.”
“Sounds more interesting than what I deal with at work.” The memory of Bob and Fanboy’s hour-long conversation over lunch about their D&D campaign flashed through his mind, and he winced.
“Still,” you shrugged. After a moment of silence, you sighed. “I hope to hear from you soon, Bradley. But no hard feelings if I don’t.” There was another awkward beat before you gave a weary smile and unlocked your car. “Have a good night!”
“Night,” he replied, taking a step back as you circled the vehicle. Once you were safely inside, he waved and turned to make his way back to the Bronco.
“You’re kidding, right?” Nat glared down at him as he huffed a breath. His muscles burned as he lowered the weight, finishing up the last few reps of his chest presses.
“No,” he grunted. “It was awkward as fuck.”
“Which she apologized for and told you why! You’re not exactly a joy to be around after a bad day in the air, either, Rooster. She could have just rescheduled.”
“Maybe she should have.”
“And then you would have thought she was flaky. You’re lucky she didn’t ghost you.” The bar wobbled, but Nat made no effort to help him stabilize it. Belatedly, Bradley realized it probably wasn’t the best idea to try to go for a PR when debriefing his best friend on the date. “Weren’t you the one who was just bitching about being 40 and still single and how none of the women you go out with seem like long-term relationship material?” He chose not to answer that, even though they both knew it was true. “And now you go out with a woman who is age-appropriate for once” - he ignored that barb, remembering the disgust she’d taken no pains to hide the few times he went out with girls in their early 20s - “has her own business, actually communicated what was going on with her, wasn’t a tag chaser, AND sounds confident as hell, and you’re not interested in at least giving her a second chance after having what sounded like an off day? After you were excited about meeting someone not on a dating app, for once?”
Huffing out a breath, he pushed the bar up again, a grunt forcing itself from his lips. “Maybe this was just a sign not to start shit before deploying.” His eyes darted from the ceiling to Nat’s face, and she rolled her eyes. Bradley’s arms shook, and she reluctantly helped him settle the bar back onto the weight bench rack. Sitting up, he grabbed his towel and scrubbed the sweat from his face. “So you’re saying I should give it another shot?”
“I’m saying that if she’s as hot as you said when you first met her and gave you any sign she’s interested in women, you should give me her number.” He chuckled. She folded her arms over the bar and pinned him with a serious look. “It’s your call, Rooster. But at some point, being ‘selective’ just means you’re looking for issues with someone. And you’re sure as hell not perfect, you can’t expect others to be.”
Later, standing in his kitchen and warming up leftovers, Bradley mulled over Nat’s words. Taking out his phone, he scrolled through your text thread, chuckling at some of the snarky remarks and flirty messages you’d sent over the week it had taken to set up the date.
Maybe he’d been too harsh in deciding not to call or text. After all, there’d been some time during the middle of the date when he’d enjoyed himself; it was just the ending that had been awkward as hell. As the microwave went off, his thumb hovered over the screen.
Nat dropped Bradley off at his house with a hug and a promise to meet up later that night for drinks to celebrate his belated birthday and homecoming. As much as he appreciated having his best friend greeting him after his deployment, he’d felt a pang of envy seeing his fellow pilots rushing to meet their husbands and wives, kids, and family members. Officially 41 as of yesterday, Bradley wanted that.
Dropping his duffle, he dug into the pocket of his flight suit for his apartment keys, bracing for the stale, dusty air. Nat dropped by to check up on the place while he was gone, but it was never enough to keep it from feeling like a mausoleum when he came home. The first day home was always the worst until he opened the windows and cleaned up a bit. A loud growling sound made him realize he probably should have had Nat stop for food on the way home because he wasn’t sure what he’d left in the pantry.
But when the door swung open, there was no musty smell. Instead, something floral tickled his nose, and the scent of something sweet made his stomach growl again. Frowning, Bradley grabbed his bag and stepped inside, venturing further into the apartment. Following his nose to the kitchen, he stopped short at the sight of a vase of flowers on the island - orange and yellow ones that looked like the ones on his favorite shirt, with pink and purple ones dotting the arrangement. A plate of cookies sat beside it, an envelope propped against it with his name written on it.
A smile tugged at his lips as he strode toward them, snatching up the envelope with one hand while tugging at the plastic wrapping. Holding a cookie between his teeth, he opened it to quickly read the birthday card before flipping it to see your handwriting.
Welcome home! I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to see you, babe. I’ve missed you so much, and I can’t wait to see your handsome face in person - the video calls don’t do you justice.
I hope you don’t mind, but Nat gave me her key so I could put a couple of things together for you. Kick back and relax, enjoy stretching out on your comfy bed, and I’ll see you tomorrow.
Welcome home, birthday boy - I’ve missed you <3
Setting the card down, Bradley licked the melted chocolate from his lip and devoured the cookie that didn’t taste store-bought. His thumb ran over the soft flower petals as he demolished another three, feeling a mixture of awkwardness and happiness at getting his first bouquet. Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he turned to the fridge and opened it, hoping that he’d find a soda or maybe a beer.
Rather than the empty shelves he’d left, they were full, including a couple of his favorite bottles and cans of beer and a bottle of your favorite champagne. A sticky note hung off the closest beer. Enjoy a cold one, flyboy. But what really drew his eye was the package of filet mignon steaks resting on a plate with another note.
Dinner for tomorrow night. Nat texted me when she dropped you off. Food is on the way.
A flush tinged his cheeks as he grabbed a beer and closed the fridge, his hand slipping into his pocket to grab his phone. Bradley knew that you didn’t carry your personal phone with you during events, but that didn’t matter. Your text thread was pinned to the top of the messages, and he quickly typed out a text.
Thanks for the surprises, baby. Can’t wait to see you.
To his surprise, his phone rang just a minute later as he sipped his beer and looked over his cleaned kitchen and living room, not a speck of dust in sight. Grinning at the sight of your picture, he answered quickly. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you whispered back. “Welcome home.”
“Thanks - you busy?”
“Well, the ceremony’s about to start and I only have a minute before I have to calm down the venue manager after the MOB and designer screamed at the poor woman for having the audacity to use the folded napkin design they chose.”
“Asshole.” He could hear your eye roll when you chuckled. “Just wanted to say thanks for the cookies and the beer and the flowers. And cleaning. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I feel so bad that I’m not there with you, so this is the least I can do.”
“What, you didn’t think the clients would move their wedding so you could spend the day with me?”
“I’m not sure why I never bothered to ask,” you hummed, and he laughed at your sarcastic tone.
“Don’t worry about it, baby. You had the weekend booked long before we met.” Almost a year and a half, to be exact. Bradley heard your many, many regrets about booking the wedding, given all the drama that came with it. It was the biggest one you’d taken on, and you regretted the stretch into society weddings. “You coming over after?”
“I’m not getting out of here until late and have to be out the door early for the brunch, so - ”
“Please?”
“I… I figured you’d want to sleep.”
“Yeah, with you.” There was silence on the other side of the line, and Bradley ran a hand through his hair. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that, though you’d been dating for about nine months, only two and a half of that had been in person. And as much as he’d enjoyed the regular emails, care packages, and actually keeping his video calls rather than trading them away so he could see you, in a lot of ways, this was still a new relationship. “Baby - ”
“Shit,” you hissed, and he heard someone calling you in the background. “I’m so sorry, I have to go. Your food should be there soon, and I told them to knock and leave it at the front door.”
“Thanks. I - ” He heard someone shriek your name.
“Fuck, I have to go. Have fun tonight, and I’ll talk to you later. Love you.” The call disconnected, and Bradley slowly pulled the phone from his ear to stare at it, wondering if he’d actually heard what he thought he had.
That small, four-letter word had been danced around quite often over the last few months. The first time he’d typed it out without thinking, fingers treading the unfamiliar path on the keyboard, he’d stared at it for a minute before hitting the backspace key. It had almost slipped out at the end of the video calls, especially when he caught you working late in your home office, glasses perched on your nose, and wearing one of the t-shirts he’d been missing since the first time you slept over. Or when you answered while driving, your phone propped up on the car dashboard so he could look at you as you hurried to find a parking spot, lower lip trapped behind your teeth unless you were yelling at idiot drivers.
Your emails had always ended the same - ‘I miss you, come home safe’ followed by a heart and your name. Video calls ended with a blown kiss and some variation of being happy to have seen him. He hadn’t gotten any indication that those four letters had been on the tip of your tongue.
Sighing, Bradley dropped the phone onto the counter and let his head fall back, a smile tugging at his mouth as he rubbed his eyes. This time, the fluttering in his stomach had nothing to do with hunger.
The second date had gone so much better. Bradley had gone in with low expectations, and the memory of Nat’s smug smirk was at the forefront of his mind. When he pulled up to the place you’d suggested, he was surprised to see you standing by your car, head lowered as you looked at your phone. Gone was the uptight bureaucrat - he was definitely into the jeans and sneaker look, and the slight hint of cleavage your top showed. A hint of doubt played across your face as you looked up and around the parking lot, disappearing the moment you spotted him stepping out of the Bronco.
Your smile was a bit shy as he neared, and he watched as you slipped your phone into your back pocket. “Hey,” he said, jogging the last few steps across the parking lot.
“Hey,” you replied, lifting your hand to adjust your glasses. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yeah,” he smirked, noticing that you weren’t wearing your smartwatch but a regular digital one. “Have you ever been here before?”
“Nope, but it sounded like fun. Ready?”
“Sure.”
And it was. The place was a combination of an indoor putt-putt course and a bar, with a food truck parked outside by the patio. Once you’d checked in, the two of you moved to the bar and ordered a drink. You ordered some fruity beer while Bradley ordered his regular. Drinks in hand, you made your way to the course, and he motioned for you to go first.
It became clear pretty early on that golf wasn’t your forte, while Bradley had skills. Around the third hole, he let slip that he went golfing pretty much once a month with some of his coworkers, and you jokingly demanded that you should have a handicap to make things a bit more even. It was on the tip of his tongue to start correcting your form and grip, but he stopped himself and instead spent the time enjoying watching you wiggle your ass while settling into your stance.
The beers went down easily as you teased one another with friendly trash-talking, and a waitress got you refills by the sixth hole. Bradley smiled when he caught you swaying your hips and silently singing along with the music as he took his turn. When you asked for pointers, he found you fit quite nicely in his arms as he stood behind you and adjusted your stance and grip. Your ass grazed his cock, and he forced himself to focus on the feeling of your hand in his as he encouraged you to tighten your fingers around the putter, eyes darting to your lips when you looked over your shoulder at him.
On the eighth hole, he got a hole-in-one. His fingers curled around yours, holding a beat longer than necessary when you slapped palms. He spent the extra time checking you out and caught you doing the same as he teed off on the final course.
The sun was setting when you turned in your putters and headed outside to grab some street tacos. Bradley followed your lead and switched from beer to soda, quickly tapping his credit card when you tried to pay. The trash-talking continued as you waited for the food, laughing as you accused him of cheating. You flushed with pleasure when he suggested hitting a driving range for your next date to continue to work on your swing, which he found adorable.
Your foot brushed his ankle as you ate, and he moved so his knee slotted between yours. This time, you were open to talking about work. Still, you didn’t go into too much detail about your job, just that you did, on average, 20 weddings a year with extra consultations for couples who just wanted to run their wedding plans past a professional. When he told you he was a pilot - that detail hadn’t come up in your previous date - your eyebrows rose, and you seemed more interested in what it was like to fly than his actual job. No one had asked him before what it was like trying not to pay attention to how pretty it was while also focusing on the mission.
And before he knew it, Bradley glanced at his watch and saw it was almost nine. When you glanced at the time, your eyebrows shot up before meeting his gaze. “Wow, I didn’t realize it was so late. Guess time flies when you’re having fun.”
“It does,” he agreed. After a bit of reluctant discussion, you both decided to call it a night since he had work and you had a meeting early the next morning. Bradley’s hand brushed yours as he walked you to your car, and you struggled not to hook your pinky with his while he thought about tossing his arm over your shoulder and tugging you close. When you stopped by your car, you turned to stand in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes. His eyes dipped to your lips, watching you roll them together before your tongue darted out to wet them. “I had fun tonight,” he said, voice a bit huskier than a moment before.
“Me too. I was a bit surprised that you wanted to meet again. I got the feeling our last meet-up didn’t end well.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up at the glint of insecurity in your eyes before he shrugged. “Kinda threw me at first, but I’m glad we did this. Would you, uh… wanna meet up again sometime?” He couldn’t help but match your smile, especially when you reached out to place your hands on his biceps and pushed onto your toes to brush your lips against his cheek. His hands automatically went to your hips to hold you steady and stayed there when you dropped back onto your heels.
“I’d love that.” Your fingers flexed on his arms, and he was leaning down to chase your mouth before he could think. But his brain caught up before he kissed you, his gaze darting from your parted lips to your eyes, which were wide with surprise before one of your brows rose in a challenge. His grip on your hips tightened as he stepped into your space, the tip of his nose brushing yours in gentle encouragement. The moment your head tilted back just enough, Bradley’s lips descended on yours.
He’d intended for it to be a sweet kiss goodnight, but intention flew out the window when your hands migrated to grip the lapels of his shirt. He felt your smile against his mouth as your fingers twined in the fabric, and he chuckled when he pulled away just far enough to have you chasing him. Hooking his fingers in your belt loops, Bradley guided you back so that your thighs pressed against the car bumper, before giving in to the tension on his neck from your grip on his shirt. You sighed against his mouth, opening for him when his tongue traced the seam of your lips.
It took all of his strength not to slot his thigh between yours and to resist moving his hands to your ass. But there was a niggling prick of guilt that kept him from going further. “Gotta tell you something,” he murmured against your mouth. You froze, the hands that had just been holding him close now pushing him away.
“Oh god, are you married?”
“What? No,” he said quickly, brows furrowing. “I’ve never been married.” Your shoulders sagged slightly, one hand releasing his shirt to push your glasses up your nose. “I told you I’m single.”
A rueful smile tugged at your lips as you shrugged. “Sorry. It’s just… better safe to double-check than be sorry later on.” And, as much as he was hurt by the assumption that he would cheat on his hypothetical wife, he understood. So, rather than get pissed, he untangled his left hand from your jeans and held it up.
“Wanna double check? Since you’re the marriage expert.”
“Wedding expert,” you corrected, glancing at him before taking his left hand and putting on a mockingly serious look. You squinted while studying it, turning and bending his wrist to examine it from all angles. “No indent or tan from a ring. But you could be one of those guys who doesn’t wear a wedding band.”
“Bradshaw men wear wedding rings.” He could still picture his father’s ring on the necklace his mother wore every day of her life.
“Good to know,” you said. Hesitating a moment, you let go of his hand. It curved around your cheek as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours, pressing you back against the car. When his kisses were getting bolder, you whispered against his lips. “Want to check my hand?”
“Nope, I trust you,” he replied. He felt your smile and chuckled, only pulling away at your gentle push against his chest.
“You had something to tell me?” That soft question made him pause, and Bradley let his forehead drop onto yours briefly before straightening. His thumb traced your kiss-swollen lower lip before he forced himself to take a step back, reluctantly pulling his hands away and shoving them into his pockets.
“I’m deploying soon.” Your quiet ‘oh’ made him grimace, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Yeah. In about two months.”
“For how long?”
“Six months.” Your eyebrows shot up, and he felt his stomach sink.
“That’s… inconvenient.”
“Yeah, he repeated, shrugging. “So… uh… I’m not sure if you wanted to… I’d understand if you didn’t…”
Smirking, you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head until he met your eyes. “Are you saying you’re leaving the ball in my court if we see each other again?” His hand lifted to brush the hair from your face, trailing down to trace the shape of your jaw before kissing you again.
“Guess I am.”
If he hadn’t believed it before, Bradley knew that he loved you the longer he was home. Taking his duffle into the bedroom, he saw that his bed was made - he usually stripped the sheets before leaving - with the blankets turned back and a note on the pillows.
I replaced yours with the same ones from my place that you liked. Yours are in the closet in case you want to keep them.
He remembered the first night he’d spent at your place. Unlike his apartment, you had a home. Though younger than him, he’d felt somewhat intimidated stepping inside and seeing how grown-up everything was. Your furniture was newer and a pretty green color, rather than his beat-up leather couches that had seen one too many moves. The kitchen was big, and not a single one of your glasses had a chip in it. Hell, watching you make a Sazarac at the wet bar - letting ice sit in the low ball glasses while you muddled the sugar, water, and bitters, then winked and shot the absinthe used to wash the glasses - made him reluctant to invite you to his shitty one bedroom. Most of the time, he liked his place. Sure, it wasn’t the greatest, but he’d needed a place to drop his stuff after getting orders back to California. It was in the back of his mind to start looking for a house, but the idea of selling it in a few years when he got new orders kept him from pulling the trigger.
And later, when he’d tumbled into your bed, he’d let out an involuntary groan when his back hit the mattress. In the process of unzipping his pants, your hands froze on his waist, watching his eyes press closed tightly as he shifted under you. A giggle escaped as you sat back on your heels, watching an embarrassed flush creep up his cheeks. “You good?”
“This mattress is like a fuckin’ cloud.”
As he warmed up the walk-in shower for a post-sex rinse, he watched as you tossed two fluffy towels into a white thing and hit a button. Warm towels right out of the shower weren’t something he’d ever experienced, but a part of him wondered about buying one for his place before realizing it would take up too much space. But the huge towels - “bath sheets”, you’d offered when he asked about them - were definitely something he would invest in before having you come over.
It was the best night of sleep he’d had in years. And not only because he was curled around you, your hair tickling his nose and making cute little noises in the middle of the night.
The idea of bringing you into his apartment had been intimidating as hell. He’d done his best to clean and make it look not as outdated as it was, but there was no getting around it. But you hadn’t said anything, just laughed and sipped the wine he’d offered, watching him from the couch as he moved around his kitchen, making the lemon chicken recipe he’d already made twice earlier in the week to make sure it was perfect.
For two months, you’d made sure to split the time evenly between your places, even though Bradley offered to go to yours more often. When you’d pointed it out, he’d dodged the real reason and shrugged, saying that your schedule was more unpredictable than his and he didn’t mind the drive. But you’d insisted on an even split, forgoing your towel heater and garage to deal with visitor parking and shitty water pressure.
On the carrier, he’d dreamed about coming home to your place and using your shower. Sleeping in your bed after surviving the shitty rack for six months. Hanging out in the backyard, with steak grilling and you in his arms while relaxing on the patio furniture. Watching you move around your walk-in closet naked. Standing side by side and brushing your teeth, and smiling when you’d scrunch your nose at him while swishing mouthwash.
So finding your towel warmer in his bathroom was a surprise. He chuckled at the note you’d left on it.
This is only a loan - I expect it back, Bradshaw. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you lusting over it.
When he went to drop a towel into it, he saw that you’d already done it and he just needed to press the button. By the time he got out of the shower, enjoying the slightly better pressure than the carrier, his late lunch had arrived: a burger he’d mentioned wanting to have when he got home, and a milkshake. After sending a quick text to thank you, he started a load of laundry and collapsed onto the couch to eat, the television droning in the background.
When a text came through the Daggers group chat saying that Payback and Fanboy were headed to the Hard Deck, Bradley got ready, knowing that you’d be working late. A few beers with his friends wasn’t a bad way to kill time until you got home.
The first time he took you to the Hard Deck, Bradley showed up solo. You’d let him know that you had an appointment with a client that'd run late. He’d offered to pick you up, but you’d declined, reminding him it would be bad form to show up to his going-away party late.
But seeing you walk through the door, wearing a pair of jeans and a black button-down with those heels, work bag on your shoulder, made him wish he’d insisted. The time it took him to walk across the bar was too long to kiss you. To taste the wax of your lipstick and smell your perfume. To feel your hips in his hands, your fingers on his chest. He’d be without you for six months, and thirty seconds already felt too long.
Taking the bag from your shoulder and suppressing a surprised look at how heavy it was, he led you to the bar to get you a drink. Penny shook your hand, smiling when Bradley held your bag out of reach when you tried to set up a tab, insisting that everything was going on his.
And when he noticed other men looking at you, Bradley felt a thrill of satisfaction that you were tucked under his arm, his hand in your back pocket. You laughed with his friends, and Nat shot him a knowing look when you stepped away to check out the jukebox with Bob. “And you weren’t gonna call her,” she smirked, elbowing him in the stomach.
He wasn’t sure how to make it up to his best friend for making him get his head out of his ass.
Especially when you’d cleared your schedule for the next day, making sure you were available to see him off on the flight line. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a girlfriend when going on deployment, but it felt different this time. Sure, you’d only been together for two months, but you’d gotten serious fast. Bradley had never discussed marriage and kids with someone so early in a relationship, not that you wanted to get married anytime soon, but just to share your thoughts. You’d carefully broached the topic of finances, and he knew that you were still paying off your house, car, and student loans while he was debt-free. You knew about his parents and how much he wanted to find a relationship like theirs. He loved the nights you spent on the couch or in bed, just talking, trading lazy kisses that gradually turned more passionate. Laughing at stupid movies or hiding your face in his shoulder at the horror movies you put up with.
But, even as he kissed you goodbye and stole one last glance at you before climbing into his jet, Bradley wasn’t sure it would last. He wanted it to, but two months didn’t feel like enough time to build a solid foundation. The military was hard on relationships, and six months was a long time to be away from home.
Claiming the last visitor’s parking spot, you turned off the car and let yourself slump back into your seat. The wedding that had been the bane of your existence for over a year was finally over, with only the brunch the next morning left to get through. While the paycheck would be nice, it had been more pain than it was worth to deal with all of the personalities. Granted, the ceremony was gorgeous, but if you ever had to work with their wedding designer again… you’d probably turn down the job. Taking on three smaller weddings for the same profit would be worth it in terms of savings on headache medication and massages.
It didn’t help that your feet and back were killing you. When you showed up to the ceremony in your customary black dress and flats, clearly identifying yourself as staff rather than a guest, the maid of honor had pulled you aside after you caught a nasty look from the bride. The woman apologetically shared that the bride didn’t think you looked professional enough and wanted you to change. Rather than fight it, you’d given the poor woman a tight smile and left the bridal suite.
Your outfit was practical. The dress had pockets, and you needed to be quick to get around the venue. Plus, the flats meant you could move around discreetly in the background without anyone hearing you coming if something needed to be fixed. But if the bride thought you weren’t professional-looking, fine. There was nothing you could do about your dress, but you swapped out your comfortable flats for heels. It slowed you down as you hurried from one place to another, running on your toes to try and limit your noise while trying to keep the flower girl from dumping the basket of petals and keeping the ring bearer from getting shoe prints on the bride’s long veil that dragged behind her. And, later at the reception, sprinting to stop someone from grabbing the wrong glass that would send the oversized champagne tower toppling over.
If given the choice, you would have much rather spent the evening with Bradley. It had killed you not to be there when he got home. To make up for it, you’d woken up early yesterday to go to his apartment. Nat had gladly given you the key when you’d explained that you wanted to surprise him, and you were glad you had. The apartment was musty when you walked inside, a thin layer of dust covering everything. While the place aired out, you ordered groceries to be delivered and set about cleaning. You weren’t sure how he would feel about replacing his pillows, no matter how much he told you he was always tempted to steal yours, so you placed his old ones in his closet to decide what to do with them. From your car, you grabbed your towel warmer, which Bradley insisted on using whenever he was over, and a couple of candles to try to make the place smell better. The cookies baked while you arranged his flowers in the new vase, hoping that they wouldn’t droop too much overnight.
It was strange being in his space without him, and you missed him so much. Six months of calls had kept you going, but you missed the scratch of his mustache on your skin. His laugh, warm in your ear. His big hands on your body. The smell of his cologne.
And now, sitting outside of his apartment, you were nervous to go inside. What if things had changed since he’d been gone? Would he think your surprise was weird? After getting ready for the rehearsal dinner at his place last night, you’d made sure to pick everything up, but still worried that he wouldn’t want you in his space so soon after getting home. It didn’t help that you’d slipped and used the ‘L’ word earlier. It had been on the tip of your tongue for months, but you were conflicted about using it when you’d only really spent a few months actually together. There was no way to gauge whether he felt the same over the phone. You’d tortured yourself while watching the bride and groom exchange their vows, promising to love one another forever, wondering if your boyfriend even loved you.
Steeling yourself, you forced yourself out of the car and grabbed your emergency kit from the trunk. You’d need to leave early in the morning to get a change of clothes, but at least you’d have your toiletries with you. Stifling a yawn, you glanced at your watch and saw it was already three in the morning - you’d need to be on the road again in three hours to make sure you got to the venue on time. Keeping your pepper spray in hand, you walked to Bradley’s apartment, hearing the clip of your heels on the concrete and wishing you’d swapped them for your flats. Especially as you stood outside his door, waiting for him to answer after knocking. A minute passed, and you shifted your weight, glancing at your phone to reread his text.
Can’t wait to see you. Missed you, baby.
But as time dragged on, you felt the nerves creeping in. You still had his key - Nat had told you just to give it back to him rather than return it to her - and you debated using it or going home. Hesitantly, you unlocked the door and stepped inside when you heard the television on.
Kicking off your heels by the door next to his boots, you tiptoed into the dark apartment and smiled. Bradley had fallen asleep on the couch, head resting on the arm, and was snoring loudly. Setting your bag down, you walked over to him and perched on the sofa beside him. Carefully, you ran your fingers through his hair, the curls shorter than the last time you’d seen them. He’d complained the whole deployment about the barber on the carrier cutting his hair too short and how much he was looking forward to getting back to his regular guy. When you leaned forward to kiss his cheek, Bradley snorted and jerked awake. Surprised, you slipped off the couch, feet and knees protesting as you stood quickly. His voice was hoarse when he said your name, a smile quickly appearing on his face. In a flash, he was on his feet, towering over you and tugging you into his arms. The remnants of your lipstick stained his mouth as he kissed you, and you laughed against his lips when he lifted you off your sore feet. Once safely back on the ground, his fingers buried in your hair, knocking more strands loose from the messy bun you’d tossed it in while supervising the venue clean up. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” you echoed.
“Can’t believe I fell asleep.”
“I can. It’s late.” Shaking his head, his eyes swept your face before stealing another kiss.
“I wanted to see you. Shoulda stayed up.” You cupped his cheek, running your thumb over his mustache.
“You’re exhausted, Bradley. And you’ve done nothing but complain about how uncomfortable your bed was for the last six months - I’m not surprised you passed out.” He smiled devilishly, his hands leaving your back and resting on your ass.
“The worst part of the bed was that you weren’t there.” Blushing, you rolled your eyes, tongue-tied at his statement. When he ducked his head to kiss you again, you quickly turned away to yawn.
“Sorry,” you apologized, swiping away tears and forcing your eyes wide. Bradley only smiled softly, concern etched on his face.
“Come on, baby, let’s go to bed.”
And, despite your protests that you wanted to talk, he led you to the bathroom, pausing to grab your bag. He set you on the counter while turning on the shower and tossing two towels in the warmer. Reaching behind you, he dragged the zipper of your dress down your back as you plucked things out of your bag. The material pooled around your waist when you shrugged off the sleeves, and Bradley pressed his lips to the red indents your bra had made on your shoulders as you cleaned your face with a wipe.
Fingers explored, relearning one another as you stood under the shower spray. When your hand closed around his hard cock, Bradley shook his head, kissing you and gently removing it. “You need to sleep, baby.”
“Waited a long time,” you whined. A smirk crossed his lips as he pressed your body wash and loofa into your hands.
“Exactly. One more night isn’t gonna kill us.”
“It might,” you muttered, turning away from him. Bradley crowded your space, wrapping his arms around you to cup your wet breasts and kissing your neck. You tilted your head back onto his chest, sighing as he pinched your nipples. “Bradley…”
“Ignore me,” he said. And you did your best, washing around his hands that slid along your body. But any time you tried to touch him, his teeth would nip your skin.
After taking his time drying you with a warm towel, Bradley slid into the clean sheets with you, not bothering to dress. “What time do you need to get up?” he asked. When you told him, a flicker of disappointment crossed his features, but it was quickly pushed away. His hand slipped under the covers, cupping your ass and tugging you closer. You could feel his cock against your stomach as he held you, and you dragged your fingers along his back, drawing nonsensical shapes. Exhaustion hit hard, and you felt yourself drifting when his lips sought yours again in the dark.
“Night, baby. Love you.”
Surprised, you tensed in his arms and felt him do the same. “Bradley?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you mean to say that, or was it a slip?” His fingers were gentle as they brushed the hair from your face.
“Meant it.” Relief flooded your system as you captured his lips.
“Love you too.”
Bradley stood by the grill the next day, unashamedly watching you as you lay on the patio furniture. A sated smile was on your lips, and he felt a primal satisfaction at seeing the marks he’d left on your skin after fucking in the shower and your bed. With the wedding done, he had your undivided attention, and he was taking advantage of it.
The filets would be done in a few minutes, but that didn’t stop him from closing the grill and moving to your side. Your hand lifted, resting on his hip as he stood over you. “Steaks are almost done. Corn will take a bit longer.”
“I wish you’d let me make it. It’s your birthday dinner,” you pouted. Shaking his head, he sat beside you and braced on the back of the wicker couch to lean down and kiss you.
“Relax. I love you for offering, but I wanna do it.” A pretty blush rose on your cheeks, and he grinned. He knew that, eventually, the thrill of saying those three little words would lessen, but for now, he loved how they tasted on his tongue.
It was almost as good as the Sazerac he plucked from your hand, stealing a sip.
Author's Note: This has been living in my drafts since last year, when I meant to post it for Bradley's 40th birthday. Realized what yesterday was, and decided to dust it off and write the second half of it. I love Etta James' 'A Sunday Kind of Love' and it felt like the perfect way to describe Bradley's partner taking care of him, a relationship that's relaxing and peaceful. But also, the parallel with Sunday being the last day of relaxation before the week hits and life gets busy again - like right before a deployment.
Anyways... I hope you enjoyed this!
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Summary: Love can survive a lot of things, no matter how early it begins.
Warnings: brief mention of suicide, Carole remarries
Requested: No
Word Count: ~8,400
A/N: If at times this feels off in some way, that may be because this is (up until "present day") based off of a real-life friendship of mine.
*gif is not mine*
__
I met the most important person in my life when I was just nine years old. Of course, I didn’t know it at the time. We never do, right? These monumental moments in time just happen like any other Tuesday, and we can’t comprehend the significance of them until much later.
I don’t remember my third grade teacher introducing him, but surely she would have. He was a new kid, mid-year. A nearly unheard of instance in our little suburb just outside the city.No, I don’t remember anything about his uneventful arrival into my life until the day he found me at recess and first spoke to me.
3rd Grade
I sat on the swings, toes barely grazing the mulch due to my short stature. I had friends - well, a friend, but she wasn’t there that day. So instead of running around, doing whatever she wanted to do, I’d brought out the instruction manual for my sister’s copy of The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. You know, the thick little booklet that used to come with games once upon a time? I hardly noticed him approaching.
“Is that from Zelda?” he asked. I looked at him cautiously. Nine is when you begin to realize that just because a question is asked innocently, it doesn’t mean teasing won’t follow your answer.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“You play video games?” He seemed incredulous. Not that he didn’t believe me, more like he couldn’t.
“Yeah, lots of them. Why?”
“Everyone else I’ve asked doesn’t even have a game system at all.” I feel his pain.
“I know,” I reply sadly. “What do you have?”
I also don’t remember my mom and Bradley’s mom getting together to make play date arrangements, but it happened. One day that summer, his mom took us and Bradley’s baby sister, Genevieve, to the zoo. Bradley and I walked along the edge of the sidewalk on the way from the parking lot like gymnasts on a balance beam; just two kids who couldn’t be still, even when literally walking. Right inside the zoo was one of those wooden cutouts for pictures. This one made both people look like otters. Carole absolutely made us take a picture in it.
Later that same summer when my parents said I could choose a friend to take to the theme park with me, I chose Bradley. He’d never been to an amusement park like that before and he was in heaven. My mom and dad took turns riding the roller coasters with him. I was too scared. My mom still tells the story of how he was terrified, begging to get off before the first drop. Yet when the ride ended, he asked if they could go again.
My parents rented us a double innertube so we could stay together in the water park. Bradley’s hair had gotten really long that summer, and the lifeguard at one slide said, “Ready, ladies?”. Bradley indignantly shouted, “I’m a boy!”
“Sorry, I didn’t look down far enough!” the lifeguard shouted as he shoved our tube down the slide.
4th Grade
When school began in the fall, I was thrilled to discover Bradley was in Mrs. Wells’ class with me. For the first time since Kindergarten, I’d been separated from my best school friend, Riley. Riley didn’t live in our town. She actually lived just over the border in the neighboring state, but her mom was a teacher at our school, so she went there. We’d had multiple sleepovers at her house that summer. Always hers, rarely (if ever) mine. While my family lived in a modest ranch-style home in a typical subdivision, Riley lived in a five-bedroom, four-bathroom monster of a house in one of those subdivisions where the perfectly manicured lawns could have housed a horse farm. Her basement was finished and she had four times as many dolls as I did, even though I had two big sisters worth of hand-me-downs, while she was the oldest with just one little brother.
Riley’s parents and mine had met with the principal because of how much Riley and I had started fighting. We’d get together on a Friday evening for a weekend together, excited to see each other. By Sunday morning though, we were at each other’s throats. It only took a few hours apart before we were begging to plan the next weekend together.
In fourth grade, the kids from both classes were mixed up and then split into two teams: the cardinals and the blue jays. Each class had reading and science with our regular teachers. The cardinals had math with Mrs. Newsham while the blue jays had social studies with Mrs. Wells, then we switched. I was a cardinal, and so were Bradley and Riley. That was how mine and Riley’s parents wanted it. We still got to spend part of the day together, but not all of it.
That made reading and science easy classes, because it was just Bradley. If I needed a partner, I knew he would choose me and I would choose him. Math was easy too, because Bradley was so good at math and Riley and I weren’t as good. I didn’t like partnering with Bradley, because I slowed him down. He said he didn’t care, but he was just as happy to work with Ben.
Social studies was harder. When Mrs. Wells announced that we’d be designing board games about the Lewis and Clark Expedition, I immediately looked at Bradley. After all, games were our thing. We played video games together all the time, and a board game wasn’t that much different. But when Mrs. Wells said to choose a partner, Riley grabbed my arm immediately. Her grip was so tight, it hurt. I barely got to shoot a backwards glance at Bradley before she dragged me to a corner and got out her cool new markers. She wouldn’t let me use my markers because they didn’t color the same as hers, but I also wasn’t allowed to color with hers in case I ruined them, until Mrs. Wells came by and made her share.
We still had play dates, mostly at his house. We liked that he had more than one video game system in his room. At my house, I had to share. Even though we could walk to both of our houses from school, they were in opposite directions, and it was easier for my mom to come pick me up than it was for Carole to pick Bradley up, because of Genevieve.
“Bradley? Can you guys come down here for a minute?” Carole called up the stairs to Bradley’s room in the finished attic one day. We raced to the staircase and down into the kitchen.
“Yeah, mom?”
“Can you guys play with your sister for a bit? I need to put some laundry out on the line. Oh, and-“ She looked at me. “Your mom called and said no one can make it to pick you up until later. I’ll make you guys some grilled cheese for dinner when I come back in.”
In the living room, Genevieve was sitting up at the plastic bin of her toys. She gave us a gummy grin when we sat down to play with her. Digging through the bin, I came across a thick book with a brown cover and a gilded silver design around the border.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a photo album,” Bradley replied.
“Why is it in here?” I asked, flipping through the pages. Newborn photos of Genevieve. The pictures of Bradley holding her for the first time. Pictures of aunts, uncles, cousins visiting baby Genevieve. The baby photos soon fade into newer photos. I am taken aback when I come to a page with two photos side by side. On the left, Bradley and I, teetering on the sidewalk outside the zoo. Arms out for balance, each leaning in the opposite direction. On the right, the photo of us in the otter cutout.
“To teach her who people are. Like our family and stuff,”
“You have to teach babies who people are?” I ask, still staring at the photos of myself.
“Yeah. You didn’t know that?” I ignore the question and ask another one of my own.
“But I’m in here?” I lean the album towards him so he can see. Bradley just shrugs.
“Kids, I’m home!” Bradley’s dad shouts from the kitchen.
“Hi, dad!” Bradley calls back.
“I hear you’re staying for dinner?” he asks me.
“Yes,” I nod politely.
“Well, the chef better get to it then!” he jokes, reaching for a pan.
Over our dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and chips, I look from Bradley to his dad. They look so alike: the same dark hair, dark eyes. The same chin, even. I’ve barely finished my sandwich when my mom knocks at the back door. Carole greets her and she apologizes for having me stay later than planned. I gather my backpack and make my way out to the car.
In the car, I try to make conversation with my mom.
“Mom, who do you think I look more like - you, or dad?”
“I don’t know. I think you’re a pretty good mix of us both, actually.”
“Bradley and his dad look so much alike. It’s pretty crazy.” There’s a sudden change in the energy around us, like I’ve said something wrong. My mom’s face changes too.
“Oh, sweetie…” she begins awkwardly.
“What?”
“Bradley’s dad…is actually his stepdad.”
“Huh?” I ask, completely confused. No one has ever told me that, and they’re practically twins.
“Yeah. Bradley’s real dad died when he was little. Carole met who you know as Bradley’s dad not long after.” There’s a moment of quiet as I process this information.
“But he calls him dad?” I reply, still feeling as though this has to be one big joke…right?
“What do you expect him to call him?” mom snickers.
“I don’t know. Jocelyn and Courtney don’t call Uncle David ‘dad’?” I say, referring to my cousins who call their stepdad by his first name. Since he’s the only person I can remember my aunt being with, I call him uncle.
“Yes, but your cousins were a lot older when your Aunt Chrissy married David. Bradley probably doesn’t have that many memories of his dad because he was so young.”
My almost-ten year old mind tries to grasp this concept, losing a parent so young you don’t even remember them hardly.
“How did he die?”
“I don’t know, honey. Something that happened while he was in the Navy is all I know.”
“That’s really sad,” I pause. “Why didn’t Bradley tell me?” I wonder aloud.
“He probably doesn’t want you to feel sorry for him.”
That night after I’ve taken a shower, I sit at my mom’s vanity while I wait for her to come brush out my hair. Looking around, I see the picture frames on the walls. There are numerous years-old versions of my big sisters looking back at me. None of myself. I think again of the pictures of me in Genevieve’s album. I think about how Carole took the photos of us, had them developed, paid for them, and put them in that album. Those pictures had only been taken a few months ago, and she had a baby to take care of. There’s a feeling in my chest that I can’t name, and it somehow feels both happy and sad.
—
I am the only girl invited to Bradley’s 10th birthday party, and it’s both cool and weird. Cool because it makes me feel tough and special for being invited, even though I’m a girl. It’s also weird because most of the other boys in class were invited too. I’ve known them all - except Bradley - since kindergarten, but I don’t really know them at all. I haven’t been to anyone’s house or spent time with them outside of school since Harry invited the entire kindergarten to his Scooby-Doo sixth birthday in his backyard.
I arrive late and Carole has me color in a coloring sheet from the pizza place of what pizza I want before dashing upstairs to the video game tournament the boys have going. They’re all better than me, but it’s still fun just watching them. Bradley and I don’t usually play these kinds of games with fighting and shooting.
Once, when I was jealous that Bradley’s town on one of our games was so much better than mine, he explained how I could get mine that way. It sounded like a lot of work.
“I can do it for you if you want,” he said.
“How?”
“Bring your memory card to school tomorrow. I’ll work on it and give it back when I’m done.” I do like he said, and Bradley gives it back in just two days, with everything unlocked and tons of money in my virtual account. I try to thank him endlessly, but he keeps brushing me off. He acts like he’s embarrassed, but there’s a hint of a smirk that tells me he likes it.
That was the year that Bradley and I both tried really hard at our science fair projects and it paid off. When our teachers released us into the gym filled with tables and tri-folds after the judges had been through, Bradley and I were both shocked to find blue ribbons attached to each of our projects. I had been worried that my hypothesis was too boring, and he had been worried that his board didn’t look nice enough. I guess we were both wrong. I looked over just in time to see Riley rip a purple participation ribbon off of her board.
That meant we had to take our projects up to the state park center for the regional competition, which was all fine and dandy…until our parents told us we’d have to go for a special “judging day”. We had to get dressed up in fancy clothes and stand in front of our projects while judges and donors and stuff walked around and asked us about our projects. We were both nervous as could be, but got a little less nervous when we saw that our projects were just a few boards down from each other.
I laughed and got a really dirty look from Bradley when his mom dropped him off at the park center that day wearing a collared dress shirt, a beige plaid tie, khaki pants, and clunky brown dress shoes. He looked ridiculous. Not because he looked bad or anything, but because he never dressed like that, ever. Not even for school concerts.
“What?” he snapped. I was too deep in laughter to respond immediately.
“You…” I begin. I take a deep breath before continuing. “You look nice,” I say, still recording from laughter. He looks taken aback. I’m sure after all that laughter he wasn’t expecting that. His eyes trail up and down me in my black skirt, white fake-velvet shirt with the flowy sleeves, and the necklace my mom only lets me wear when I have to be fancy. My hair is pulled back on top and even curled a little on the ends.
“You-you look nice too,” he replies awkwardly.
Well-dressed adults start wandering amongst the rows. They ask us questions like, “What inspired this project?” or “What was the biggest challenge in conducting this experiment?”. I try to think of good answers but feel like I’m failing. Everytime I look at Bradley though, he’s smiling and the adults seem very charmed by him. They smile back and even chuckle at whatever it is he says. We learn that it wasn’t required to come today (thanks, mom), and no other kids show up at the projects between Bradley and I. Whenever the aisle is clear of any grown ups, we scooch closer to talk. Once, he spots adults coming our way so we quickly scoot apart. As soon as I get in front of my project, a lady who looks like a really fancy grandma stops in front of me with a knowing glint in her eye.
“Is that your friend?” she asks, bent down so she’s closer to my level.
“Um…yes,” I reply, surprised she isn’t asking about something science-related.
“He’s very handsome,” she says, winking at me. I stammer, unsure of how to answer her. I’m a kid, for goodness’ sake. I’ve never once thought of Bradley as handsome or cute or anything like that, and I wasn’t about to start now.
“Well, anyway,” the woman says, straightening up and finally asking me something science related.
Thankfully, neither of our projects win at the regional fair.
__
That summer between 4th and 5th grade was amazing, if only because I got to spend so much time with Bradley. We’d both been invited to an “enrichment camp” for students with exemplary grades. It was at a high school, and it made us feel grown up. On the first day, the bus had been later than my parents expected. Too late for my dad to wait around for me to get on before he had to be at work. Instead, he started dropping me off at Bradley’s house. He and I would walk down to his bus stop and go to camp from there. His mom stayed home, but both of my parents worked, so I spent afternoons there too.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked him one day out of the blue. Bradley lay next to me on an old quilt. The sun shone and a light breeze blew through the honeysuckle by the garage and the white, sun-bleached linens on the line.
“I don’t know,” Bradley says. There’s a sense of finality to his words, like he holds no anxiety about the pressure to figure out what he wants to do once he graduates from high school.
“I think I want to be a teacher,” I say. We are both speaking to the sky, heads tilting towards one another occasionally.
“Why?” He asks with a tone that conveys just how crazy he thinks I am.
“Think about it - I would get to be with kids all day, so I don’t have to be a boring adult. I could buy school supplies every year. And I’d get to have summers still. I can’t imagine having to work all day, every single day except like, holidays and stuff.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So, what about you? There’s quiet for a minute while Bradley thinks.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a construction worker or something,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he turns his head towards me. “Why?”
“I guess I thought you’d want to be in the army or whatever like your dad,” I reply, thinking of the pictures I’ve seen of Bradley’s stepdad standing next to tanks in camouflage. He’s quiet for a minute.
“No,” he says determinedly. I don’t say anything. “I know you know,” he practically whispers.
“What?” I ask.
“I know you know about my real dad.” The atmosphere feels charged, and I’m too nervous to say anything. “My real dad died because of the military. And my dad gets really sad when he talks about what it was like when he was deployed. People die in the military and I’m not gonna be one of them.”
I think about the soldiers my Girl Scout troop and I are making care packages for, filled with cookies and little toothbrush things and other stuff to make them feel more at home. Against my will, I imagine Bradley in a camouflage outfit and boots, trying to sleep with a rock for a pillow. I prop myself up on my elbows.
“Do you promise?” I whisper. Bradley props himself up too.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Do you promise you won’t change your mind? You’ll never, ever join the military at all? Not the Army or the Marines or anything?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I don’t want you to die,” I whisper. We look at one another and an understanding passes between us. We don’t have to say anything for the realness of it to settle in.
“Okay,” he finally says softly. “I promise.”
—-
A few weeks later, our music teacher, Mrs. Christensen, drops a bomb.
“Boys and girls, I have exciting plans for our class today. You all are headed to the state capital next month on your field trip, and while you are there, you’re going to dance to our state song in the rotunda of the state capital.” We look around at one another, confused. I think most of us picture dancing the way we do to a Britney Spears song, but in a fancy building instead of our bedrooms or basements. Mrs. Christensen fields a question about what a rotunda is and then explains that we’ll be doing a “waltz” that is very simple to learn…but we each need an opposite gender partner to dance with. Anxiously, I spin around to look at Bradley. Wide eyed, he nods. We both know there’s no one else we would ever partner with. Not in a yucky boyfriend-girlfriend way, but because we know we won’t make fun of each other.
We spend the class learning where to put our hands and how to do the steps. The boys snicker when Mrs. Christensen says they’re supposed to lead, but quickly shut up when we try the steps with music for the first time and they realize how hard it is.
When the day of the field trip arrives, my dad comes along as a chaperone; the first field trip one of my parents have ever been able to come along on. He brings his big camera and I beg him not to take pictures of Bradley and I dancing, but he doesn’t listen, as evidenced by the printed photos that appear on the fridge after the trip: Bradley’s hand on my side (I refuse to call it my “waist” because - ew) and mine on his shoulder, both of us holding the other hand up and out to the side. I felt like we spent the whole time looking at our feet so we wouldn’t trip, but my dad caught one picture where we were actually looking at each other instead.
I’m not even mad that he took it.
5th Grade
Fifth grade marked a major change for me. For the first time, Riley didn’t even go to our school anymore. Her parents switched her to a school closer to home so she could make friends before middle school. Bradley and I were in the same class. Also in our class was a new girl named Alyssa, and Bradley’s friends from before: Harry, Auggie, and Scott. Together, the six of us spent recess pretending to be characters from our favorite TV show. Bradley played the main hero: funny, brave, and super protective. I played the main girl character: a tough-as-nails, girl-power type. He didn’t even get mad when I teased him, because it was exactly what the character would do. When I fell on accident during a pretend battle, he’d leap in front of me to keep the fictional monster or enemies from “killing” me. Once, a boy named Jon joined our game as one of the bad guys and took it a little too far, actually pushing me to the ground and standing over me so that I couldn’t get up. Bradley ran over and shoved him off. I worried he’d done it too hard and was about to get in trouble with a recess monitor, but he didn’t. He reached down to help me up and asked if I was okay. I got the funny feeling he wasn’t playing the game anymore.
Fifth grade was also the beginning of actually having homework for Bradley and I - Mr. Mills didn’t even let us do our homework in class for a little bit like our other teachers had, which usually ended up being plenty of time to get it done for fast workers like Bradley and I. We had spelling homework due every single week, the same assignment but with different spelling words. It became a standing plan that on Tuesdays, Bradley and I would walk to his house, do our homework at his kitchen table and let Carole read over it, and then run upstairs to play. Except now we had a new rule, and I had an annoying thought that my mom was to blame. The new rule was that the door to Bradley’s room had to stay open. The rule was the same at my house, and it had started one day after Bradley had come over. I was showing him my new video game, a computer game where you get to be a virtual person and live your life. It reminded me of a dollhouse, but way more fun.
“So what, you just make a human and live their life?” Bradley asks.
“Yeah, but you can make more than one. I like making families.”
“What if you don’t make a family? Can they have one later, like get married and stuff?”
“Yeah. Here, these are two people I made but they don’t have kids or anything.” I say, clicking on the save file. We play around with the two characters for a while, not talking much.
“This is getting kinda boring,” Bradley says.
“Wanna make a baby?” I ask.
“Sure,” Bradley shrugs.
My bedroom door, which was only open a crack, suddenly flies open. My mom is staring at us with a crazy look in her eyes.
“What are you guys doing?”
“Playing a game?” we both say, and I point to the game’s case on my computer desk. My mom lets out a breath and walks away, telling us to keep the door open.
5th grade was also a big year at our school because it was the year of D.A.R.E., which stands for “Drug Abuse Resistance Education”. It’s basically a dumb class we have to do instead of PE once a month where we learn not to do drugs. Duh.
But we also got to do these weird things with the 6th graders they called “D.A.R.E. Dances”. Our PE teacher said it was to “keep us busy so we don’t go buy drugs” or something. My mom and sisters said it’s a tradition leftover from the days when kids would literally be out roaming around town for so long that TV channels would air commercials asking parents if they knew where their children were. When mom wasn’t listening, my sisters made it clear that kids definitely still roamed around town getting into trouble, but only if they could drive themselves.
The dances were held at the Sav Center, a local banquet hall that my parents said hadn’t hosted anything remotely cool since the 1970’s. It certainly looked like it on the inside. The main room was like a gym and smelled like it too. Every other room smelled musty and old.
They kept the room dark, with boppy music and colorful lights dancing around the walls. Mostly, the boys and I (Alyssa hadn’t been able to get a ride) hung out in a corner, nursing cans of Sprite and talking. At the second dance we went to, a slow song came on. The kind of song couples dance to at a wedding. A few sixth grade couples make their way to the floor, arms wrapped around each others necks. The teachers chaperoning close in tighter on the dance floor.
Harry nods to Bradley and I.
“You guys should go dance,” he says. Not teasingly, just matter-of-factly. Auggie takes a sip of Sprite before speaking.
“He’s right.”
“Why?” Bradley and I ask in unison.
“It’s what guys and girls do I guess. Plus it’ll make us all look really cool, and you guys can do it without it being all gross and stuff,” Scott adds.
Bradley and I look at one another before shrugging and going a little further away. Far enough so we could still hear if our friends started teasing us, but not so close that we aren’t even on the dance floor. We assume the dance position Mrs. Christensen taught us last year and sway to the beat of the music. We don’t make eye contact for most of the song, until the very end. Something familiar and comforting settles around us. As the song ends, our arms drop but Bradley’s hand lingers on mine for just a second. It feels like static electricity, but I couldn’t tell you why.
We walk back to our friends who nod curtly in approval. Scott gives a small smirk and looks at Bradley, who shoots him a dirty look back. The next song, a favorite of our grade, begins playing and we race each other to the dance floor so we can jump around and yell like idiots.
__
The rest of the school year probably would have passed in a blur of school, birthdays, and play dates - which we now called “hanging out”, or tried to anyway - had Timothy not strut onto the scene. Tim was a new kid and he seemed more like he was from a different planet instead of a different city.
If the rest of us were just kids, Tim was definitely a “pre-teen”. Tim cared about boyfriends and girlfriends and crushes and all kinds of stuff like that, but no one else in the 5th grade did. He was always trying to get people he thought liked each other to “pair up”. Bradley and I mostly laughed about it, right up until the day we became his targets.
It started after silent reading one day. Since Bradley and I both had good reading grades, we were part of band during silent reading. We were the last two to return to class that day, because it took us longer than anyone to take apart our instruments right: trumpet for him, flute for me. We were both renting our instruments from the school and were trying to be super careful with them. He wanted piano, but that wasn’t an option at our school. Tim whispered to me as I got to my seat to get ready for science.
“Were you and Bradshaw making out or something?”
“What?!” I exclaim, which garners a stern glance from Mr. Mills, who was writing on the board. “What are you talking about?” I whisper-yell at him across the aisle between the desks.
“You two were the last ones back. What took so long?” He asks, and his tone irritates me. Like he’s trying to prove that we did something inappropriate, and it’s gross. I choose to ignore him, but I should have known that would be far from the last of it.
The next day at recess, Tim starts up again. Bradley and I had been on the swings, just talking.
“Hey Bradshaw, when are you going to take your girl on a real date?”
“Shut up, Tim,” Bradley replies.
“Careful, Bradshaw, or a real man is going to take her away from you,” Tim answers back, looking at me in a way that makes my skin crawl. The look on my face springs Bradley into action. He leaps off the swing and gets dangerously close to Tim’s face.
“I said knock it off. No one here is like that, just go back to whatever weird town you came from already!” he snaps before walking away. I hop off the swing and follow him up the play structure nearest us. It’s one central landing high in the air, with two slides from each side and another slide up a higher tower.
Unfortunately, Tim follows us too. Now he’s chanting an immature song involving Bradley and I kissing in a tree. Yuck. Bradley goes down the tallest slide to get away from him, and I try to evade him by going down the slide to the left. Tim chooses to follow me, his chanting getting louder and louder. I start running around the playground, up various structures and down slides, trying to make sharp turns and unexpected climbs to get away from him, but Tim is able to keep up, all while still chanting at me. After several rounds of the song, we’re all getting tired. Bradley has climbed back up the main structure again and is about to go down the tallest slide at the top of the tower. I have just reached the landing when something inside of me snaps and I round on Tim.
“Fine!” I scream. “Fine! I like Bradley! Whatever! Just shut up about it already!” I shout, lying just to see if that will make him leave us the heck alone. There’s a sudden hush, and Tim gives me a triumphant smile before laughing and running away, shouting about me liking Bradley like he just won a sweepstakes.
I turn to face Bradley apologetically, but his face looks like a mixture of anger and disgust.
“Bradley, wait!” I shout, but he’s turned and disappeared down the slide just as the whistles blow to tell everyone to line up. When I get to the line, Bradley is already in it, arms crossed. He’s like, 3rd in line, so I can’t talk to him without getting into trouble. I take the next available spot in line, feeling guilt, embarrassment, shame, and all kinds of unpleasant feelings wash over me.
That afternoon, the walk to Bradley’s house is excruciatingly awkward and mostly silent. I think Carole notices the awkwardness, but doesn’t say anything. Upstairs in Bradley’s room, he looks out to make sure his mom didn’t follow us before carefully pushing the door closed until it’s just barely open, to avoid getting in too much trouble.
“Did you tell the truth today?” he asks.
“No!” I say with force but quietly so Carole doesn’t realize we have the door sorta shut. “We’re just kids. I don’t like anyone like that, I just wanted Tim to shut up.” The look on Bradley’s face is hard to read. I can’t tell if he looks relieved, worried, confused, or what. I decide to go with relieved, because why would he feel any other way?
That night as I’m trying to fall asleep, I end up doing some “reflecting” as Mr. Mills would say, even though I don’t really want to. My brain just does it.
Do I like Bradley? I don’t think so, not the way my big sisters like their boyfriends or my mom likes my dad. I don’t want to kiss him - ew - or anything else like that.
But I think about it - if Bradley and I are still friends when we’re all grown up, which I hope we are, would I marry him? Yeah, I think I would. I’d get to spend every single day with my best friend, and I know Bradley I would never fight over the things my mom and dad fight over.
Bradley does a lot for me that my family doesn’t. Bradley never teases me about things that actually hurt my feelings, like how greasy my hair gets if I don’t take a shower every single night, or how my glasses make me look or the gaps in my teeth. Bradley remembers my favorite things and things I don’t like. Bradley protects me and helps me instead of telling me I have to “learn not to be such a baby”. He doesn’t even get mad at me or act like my life must be perfect because I’m the youngest kid and he’s the oldest kid. Bradley is my best friend in a way none of my other friends are.
Realizing all of this is why I’m suddenly so angry and sad that we’re moving away.
6th Grade
I missed Bradley this summer, but I miss him even more now that school has started. My new school is full of kids like Tim - kids who think they’re older than they really are. While I’m grateful the boys don’t look at me in the creepy way Tim did, instead they look at me like I belong back in daycare in my glasses, khaki Bermuda shorts, and Gap t-shirt. I’m not really sure which one is worse.
We call each other a lot. He tells me how he and our old friends still play the same game at recess, but he doesn’t let anyone be my character, out of respect for me. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry when he says that, because it sounds like I’m dead, not just over an hour away. My new school doesn’t have recess for 6th graders.
All summer, my parents worked with me to arrange sleepovers with my old friends from my neighborhood and Girl Scout troop. They never let Bradley and I hang out, though. They claimed it was “too far to drive for just a day trip” and having a sleepover “wouldn’t be appropriate”, even though our new house is bigger and has a guest room. I’d sleep in the backyard if it meant Bradley could come over.
Instead, we call to try and stay in touch. This goes on for a few months, but life gets busy for us both. I join a new soccer team and he gets involved in Boy Scouts. He calls me on my birthday and I call him on his, even though they’re only 32 days apart.
Beyond
One day, I call him and his dad answers the phone.
“Hi, can Bradley come to the phone?” I ask.
“This is Bradley,” the deep voice replies.
“Ha ha, seriously!” I say, assuming this is a big joke. It’s not. Once Bradley convinces me it is him talking, it’s suddenly hard to picture who I’m talking to, because he sounds like an adult, and I still feel like a kid.
I call him from my cell phone after I get it so he has the number, but he doesn’t use it. The next time he calls me on my birthday, he calls my house like usual. I call him on his birthday and he gives me his new cell phone number. It feels grown up, both of us having phones all to ourselves. Not that it matters, because shortly after that is when we stop talking altogether.
--
It’s almost freshman year of high school, and I’m telling him about homecoming. He doesn’t want to go to his school’s dance, but I’m excited for mine.
“Who are you going with?” he asks. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounds like he’s pretending to be casual, like he actually cares more than he wants to appear.
“Just some friends,” I reply. “My boyfriend can’t go, his parents are like, the ultimate in strict.”
“Your boyfriend?” He says, and his tone makes me freeze.
“Uh, yeah.” I say, not wanting to elaborate.
“Should…should you really be talking to me if you have a boyfriend?”
“What?! Bradley, you’re my best friend.” The words feel hollow. How is it fair to call him my best friend when we haven’t laid eyes on one another in almost four years?
“But I’m a guy,” he replies, like that should clear it all up for me.
“I’m aware,” I say sarcastically. “Seriously, it’s fine. If he has a problem with it, then I don’t need to be with him anyway.” Bradley eventually concedes, but the game has officially changed.
That year, Bradley doesn’t call me on my birthday. The sting of it still hurts me enough that I don’t call Bradley on his birthday, either. By the next year, I guess we’re both so afraid of overcoming the hump of awkwardness that we don’t call again. I want to, since I don’t have a boyfriend anymore; a recent development that hurts.
Just the other day, one of my friends was trying to comfort me. She said, “Your first love always breaks your heart. It’s like the law of love.” But when she says “your first love”, I don’t think of my now-ex-boyfriend. I think of Bradley. We didn’t love each other in the romantic sense. Sometimes, I think our love for each other was on another plane. Maybe in another universe, he still loves me like that. Because I sure never stopped loving him. I don’t think I ever will.
—
I didn't think I would ever speak to Bradley again. I wasn’t sure how to overcome the awkwardness of how we’d left things. The way we truly left things before never speaking again was stranger than I could have ever imagined.
One steamy night the summer we were 17, I was sitting on my bed. The windows were open, but the night was still. I knew better than to close them and face my mother’s wrath. I was playing a video game; alone, as was the norm ever since I last spent time with Bradley. For once, I wasn’t even thinking of him when his name appeared on my phone screen.
Bradley Bradshaw: I love you.
My heart pounded in my chest and a chill froze my sweat. For some reason, my first thought was that he was going to kill himself. We’d learned in health class that sudden, out of the blue confessions of love could be a warning sign. I pulled up Bradley’s contact and tried to call him, but he sent me to voicemail, which only fueled my panic. I shot back a text before trying to call again.
Me: What? Are you okay?
Me: Bradley. For real. Is everything okay?
Me: Answer me.
Bradley Bradshaw: M fine
Me: What?
Bradley Bradshaw: ok
Me: Bradley. Wtf.
Me: Bradley!
I stay up well past my usual “bedtime” awaiting some kind of response, but I don’t get one. The next morning, I check back in with him.
Me: So. What happened.
Bradley Bradshaw: Shit. I’m so sorry.
You better be, I think.
Me: What happened? Were you drunk?
Bradley Bradshaw: Drunk? No way.
I breathe a sigh of relief, though I’m still confused.
Bradley Bradshaw: High as shit? Yeah.
What? My mind swirls. Bradley…high? Like on drugs? Marijuana, I assume.
Me: Seriously? You do drugs now?
Bradley Bradshaw: Yeah? Don’t you?
Me: No. Definitely not.
Bradley Bradshaw: Oh
I hesitate, thumbs poised over the touch screen before proceeding.
Me: Why did you say you love me?
There’s a several minute pause before Bradley replies.
Bradley Bradshaw: I gues
Bradley Bradshaw: Shit
Bradley Bradshaw: Idk. I was high.
It looks like he sent the first message before he meant to. I want to think of what he was trying to say, but I choose not to. It doesn’t seem like it can lead anywhere that won’t break my heart even further.
Present Day
My family made fun of me. They said it was stupid to travel all the way back to our hometown for The Last Dance At The Sav. The Sav, where we’d had our elementary school dances, had gone out of business years ago when the owner died with no one to leave it to.
The city had decided to tear it down, but some historical preservation organization tried to save it. They were unsuccessful, but they were hosting one last dance there to raise money for other restoration and preservation efforts in the city.
I bought a ticket thinking it would be fun, sweet, nostalgic. Instead, it feels pathetic, a 30-something getting all dressed up just to go hang out with absolutely no one I know at a banquet hall I haven’t been to since I was 11. Maybe my family was right. Still, it was an expensive ticket. The donation has been made either way, so I might as well go enjoy the open bar.
Once there, I stand at the bar and hope for the best. Maybe an old teacher or friend will see me. It’s unlikely, even less likely that they’d recognize me all these years…decades later.
Out of the corner of my eye, someone approaches the bar. To avoid looking desperate, I keep looking like I’m very interested in my drink and the wall behind the bar. That is, until I hear someone say my name.
The voice is on my left, coming from the figure that approached earlier. My heart drops to my stomach when I realize I am looking into the face of a 30-something-years-old Bradley Bradshaw. His hair is short, neatly trimmed. He has a mustache, which I might’ve laughed at once upon a time but I can’t help but think makes him look daringly handsome. My heart descends further - out of my toes, really - when I realize he’s wearing Navy dress blues.
I choke down the sour, hot tears in my throat.
“Bradley?” He approaches slowly, like maybe he’s scared I’m not really there; like I’m a hologram or something.
“I-I can’t believe you’re here,” he stammers in awe.
“Me either,” I breathe, my eyes taking in every inch of him, trying to reconcile this man in front of me with the kid I once knew.
“You-“ he begins before he seems to gasp for air for a second. “You look beautiful.”
“You don’t look half bad yourself,” I lightly joke. He chuckles. “Although, you broke your promise,” I say mostly under my breath, staring at my shoes.
“What’s that?” he asks gently, looking at me with concern.
“You…you broke your promise,” I say, visibly cringing. I didn’t really expect him to keep a silly childhood promise, did I? He lets out a breathy, almost-humorless laugh.
“I did, didn’t I?” he says, looking up from me and looking off into the distance with a look of melancholy.
“What made you change your mind?”
“My dad.” He looks into my eyes.
“Your dad, as in-“
“My real dad. Nick.” I nod understandingly.
“My mom used to always try and talk to me about him. But I was so…so angry that he’d left me even though he didn’t want to. It was an accident. I came across some of his things one day when I was cleaning out the rest of the attic and…I was at a place in my life where I felt like he was trying to tell me something, you know? I changed my plans and…here I am,” he says, gesturing to the insignia covering his chest.
“Why are you here tonight?”
“Seemed like a win-win. I’m home on leave, I needed something to do. My parents got tickets and can’t come anymore and…I guess I hoped I would run into a familiar face.” There’s a weight to his last sentence, a secret I don’t want to unwrap. It’s trouble, I can tell. He’s here on leave, and I’m also here far away from my own apartment and the life I lead right now.
“Why are you here?” He asks in return.
“Something like that.” I nod, pursing my lips and training my eyes downward again.
The opening notes of an Ed Sheeran song begin to each around the room. Bradley looks to the DJ table, then back at me. He reaches out a hand.
“Can I have this dance?” he asks. I look at him with tears and all the memories of what could have been floating in my eyes. It’s too late, the angel on one shoulder says to me. But what could it hurt? The devil says on the other.
Sensing my hesitation, Bradley persists.
“For old time’s sake?”
I take his hand and allow myself to be lead to the dance floor. We alter Mrs. Christensen’s positioning just a little. Bradley’s arm wraps around my upper back, holding me closely. My hand does not rest on his shoulder but instead wraps under his arm to his back as well. I can feel him absentmindedly rub his thumb back and forth on the bare skin between my shoulders.
‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in love
Not knowing what it was
I will not give you up this time
Bradley’s eyes grip me, like he’s trying to send the lyrics of the song right into my soul. Tears threaten to spill again.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.
“I never thought we’d get this,” I reply. Bradley breathes in deep before speaking.
“I never knew you wanted this,” he whispers.
“I didn’t know I did either,”
“I did.” His words cause me to take a sharp breath, now unsure if I can breathe at all. “After a while anyway. I just knew you were going to do great things, and I wasn’t going to do much of anything. I didn’t want to hold you back, even if we were just dumb kids.” I laugh through tears. “And then I joined the Navy and I still wanted to call but…I’ve seen what the other guys’ girlfriends and wives go through. I couldn’t do that to you.” He looks physically pained as he tells me this.
“Bradley, I—I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
We dance with one another in a natural silence for a bit, allowing the music to flow around us and keep us in rhythm with one another. It settles in that we never stopped. Never stopped thinking about each other. Never stopped loving each other.
We are still kids but we’re so in love
Fightin’ against all odds
I know we’ll be alright this time
Darling just hold my hand
Be my girl I’ll be your man
I see my future in your eyes
Bradley’s mouth leans in close to my ear.
“I love you.” My eyes meet his.
“Do you mean it this time?”
“I meant it the first time. I think I’ve loved you longer than i could have ever expressed. I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you and say it.” My heart threatens to explode looking at him. It’s a fairytale ending that no video game could ever compare to.
“I love you too.” He brings his face closer to mine and like a singer and an orchestra, our lips begin an aria we have never heard yet have known the words to all along. We kiss far longer than may be proper at this event but it’s okay because the world around us no longer matters.
I don’t know how this is going to work. I don’t know what the future holds for either of us, but I know one thing. I’ll do anything to never lose him again.
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 has to do with a person being captured by another person. There is also some swearing. If this is a trigger for you, please don’t read.
The sun was barely up, but you continued running through the woods as fast and as cautiously as you could. It was cold out and your breath was like little clouds as you breathed out of your mouth.
Your legs burned with each stride, but you couldn’t stop. The cold stung your skin, but it was nothing compared to the fear coursing through your veins. Every step took you further away from the danger that still loomed behind you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Scott wasn’t done yet.
The trees were dense, their branches twisting above you like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. You pushed past them, your boots crunching in the snow beneath you, trying to ignore the growing ache in your muscles. You needed to find shelter, somewhere to hide—at least long enough to catch your breath.
You glanced behind you, but the woods were eerily still, the only sound your hurried footsteps. The pounding of your heart was deafening in your ears, and despite the chill, you felt the sweat beading on the back of your neck.
You couldn’t risk slowing down. You had to keep going.
Suddenly, a crack of a twig underfoot made you freeze. Your heart skipped a beat, and you held your breath, eyes darting around the dark forest.
There was no sound—no movement.
It could’ve been an animal, but you knew better than to take that chance.
Slowly, you crouched, hoping to blend into the shadows of the trees. You strained your ears, listening for anything that would betray your position. It felt like hours before you finally heard it—the faint sound of a vehicles in the distance.
You glance at your hands, still tightly bound by the zip tie. With a determined look, you bring them to your mouth, using your teeth to tighten the zip tie as much as you can. Then, without hesitation, you lift your arms above your head and bring them down fast and hard. The force is enough to snap the zip tie, and you feel the immediate release as your arms stretch out to the sides.
Relief washes over you as the zip tie breaks, and you quickly rub your wrists, the faint sting of the tight bind still lingering. You don’t waste a second. The sound of the approaching vehicles is growing louder, and your instincts tell you to keep moving.
You rise to your feet, trying to suppress the sharp pain in your legs, and continue through the woods. Every muscle in your body screams for rest, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins drives you forward. The trees seem to close in on you, their shadows stretching longer as the light from the early morning barely filters through.
The sound of the vehicles grows closer. You force yourself to move faster, weaving through the trees with practiced precision. You’ve been here before—your time in the wilderness has taught you how to navigate the terrain, how to stay one step ahead when the odds are stacked against you.
But with every step, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. The distant rumble of the trucks isn’t just a sign of pursuit; it feels more like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds before you're caught.
Your breath is ragged as you round a bend, and in the distance, you see it—a break in the trees. Beyond it lies an open field, and you know it’s a risk, but it’s a risk you’ll have to take. You can’t stay hidden forever.
You push forward, your footfalls quickening, when suddenly—*
A twig snaps behind you.
You spin, your heart slamming in your chest. Someone’s there.
“You stay in the squad until I give the all-clear,” Jayson says to Jake as his squad follows two other law enforcement vehicles down the gravel road. “I know you’re anxious.”
As they reach the clearing, they spot Deputy Wilkins standing with Scott at the door, his hands on his head.
Jayson slams the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a halt. He gets out quickly, his gun drawn, scanning the area for any signs of danger.
Jake watched intently, his grip tightening on the door handle of the squad car.
“Slowly walk towards me with your hands on your head,” Deputy Wilkins ordered, his voice firm.
Scott complied, inching closer. When he was a few feet away from the squad, Deputy Wilkins barked, “Turn around and get on your knees with your hands on your head.”
Scott hesitated for a moment before lowering himself to the ground.
“Don’t move!”
Jake's gaze remained fixed as Jayson holstered his gun and quickly moved toward Scott. After a moment, Jayson cuffed Scott and began leading him toward the squad car.
Jake got out of the car once Scott was secured, watching as Jayson guided him.
Meanwhile, deputies and FBI agents flooded the house. A few minutes later, one of them emerged, their face grim.
“She’s not here!” they called out.
When Jayson reached the squad car, Scott’s gaze locked with Jake’s.
“So, you’re the one,” Scott scowled, his voice laced with disdain. “Where’s my wife?”
Jake's jaw tightened, and he stepped closer. “You mean the bitch who was supposed to be my wife?” Scott smirked, his eyes scanning Jake up and down.
Jake’s patience wore thin. “First of all, you’re lucky you’re handcuffed,” he said, voice cold. “Secondly, you’re right. My wife is one tough bitch.” He took a slow step toward Scott, his presence forcing the tough guy attitude to waver. “Now, where is she?”
Before Scott could respond, a shout pierced the tension.
“I found her footprints!”
Scott sneered, "Hopefully dead."
Jake’s eyes flared with fury. “And you still won’t get a dime of the money,” he spat, before turning on his heel and sprinting toward the voice that called out.
You froze, heart pounding in your chest, as you heard voices—faint but distinct in the stillness of the cold. You swore you heard someone yell your name. You strained your ears to listen.
“Y/N!” The voice sounded like Jake’s, loud and urgent. “Y/N!”
Footsteps crunched through the snow, growing closer.
“Y/N!” His voice again, calling out to you.
It was Jake! Your husband! A wave of relief surged through you. You quickly turned, retracing your steps through the snow.
“Jake?!” you called, your voice breaking through the silence as you yelled back.
“Y/N!” came the reply, the footsteps quickening as they drew nearer.
You spot a figure in the distance, and your heart skips a beat when you realize it's Jake—your husband!
"Jake!" you shout, running toward him without a second thought.
"Y/N!" he yells back, his pace quickening as he heads straight for you.
When you meet, you both embrace tightly, as if afraid to let go. After a long moment, you pull apart slightly, and Jake cups your face in his hands, pulling you into a passionate kiss.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, still in shock.
"My mission got done early. I've been trying to call you." His gaze shifts to the bruise on the side of your face, his anger flaring. "Did he do this to you?"
You nod, unable to say anything more, and Jake's expression darkens.
"Jake. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it," you urge gently.
He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, before pulling you back into his embrace. "I thought something happened to you," he mumbles into your neck, his voice thick with emotion.
You pull away slightly, looking up at him. “I do recall someone saying their wife was pretty bad ass.”
He grins, the tension melting away for a moment. “That is true.”
You smile up at him, the relief in your chest mixing with the love and admiration you feel for him. The way he’s holding you, so tight as if never wanting to let go, makes your heart ache with everything you’ve been through.
“I missed you,” you whisper, pressing your face into his chest.
“I missed you too,” he responds, his voice low, his hands running through your hair.
You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, the weight of everything that’s happened heavy in the air between you.
"Darlin', you have got to be freezing. We need to get you out of here," Jake says, his voice a mix of concern and tenderness.
You look up at him, feeling the heat of his body against the cold, and nod, grateful for his presence. “I’m fine, Jake. Just... glad you're here.”
A Deputy approached you and Jake, keying his radio mic. “I’ve got both of them in my sight,” he said, then turned to you. “Do you need an ambulance, Doctor?”
“No, but the baby and I could really use some food.”
Jake halts, his gaze fixed on you, brow furrowing in confusion. "Baby?" Then it clicks. "Y/N… Are you…?"
You give him a soft smile, nodding gently. "Yes, Jake. I’m pregnant."
Jake freezes, his eyes widening in shock, disbelief, and something else that looks like wonder. He reaches out, cupping your face tenderly as if making sure this isn’t a dream. “You’re serious?”
“I’m serious,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady, watching his reaction closely. "Happy early Christmas gift."
Jake's expression softens, his fingers gently brushing your cheek. "I... I don't know what to say," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes flicker with a mixture of disbelief, joy, and the realization that everything just shifted in a way he never expected.
"Say you’re happy," you tease lightly, offering him a reassuring smile.
He lets out a shaky breath, a grin breaking through his astonishment. "Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it. I—" He pauses, gathering his thoughts, his hand still resting on your face as if trying to anchor himself to the moment. "I’m overwhelmed. In the best way possible."
You chuckle softly, the tension in your body easing as you see the joy and amazement in his eyes. "Well, I don’t expect you to have it all figured out right now."
“I don’t think I’ll ever have it all figured out," Jake says with a small laugh, shaking his head in wonder. "But I’m in. Whatever it takes. I’m all in."
His excitement peaks. “Oh my God!” He pulls you into another embrace. “I’m going to be a dad!”
With excitement, he lifts you off the ground and spins you around.
“You don’t leave this bed until you’ve earned it.”
Your alarm rang and you reached out to smack it. You couldn't even remember why you had set the alarm. You didn't have work today. You shrugged and decided to make coffee but before your feet could hit the floor a set of strong arms slipped around your waist and you were pulled back against a solid chest "What was that atttitude last night about there ma'am?"
You knew this was coming. You loved Jay, you adored him with everything you had but you were human. Mood swings happened. Last night was one of those. Your feelings had gotten hurt by something a witness of all people had said and it sort of snowballed into you being a brat from hell and you hadn’t even wanted to have sex with Jay last night. You turned around to face him sheepishly “I’m sorry love” he nodded, a slow smile working its way onto his face “Did I do something?” you shook your head “No” “Did you just not want sex?” he asked and you shook your head again “I wanted sex, I always want to have sex with you it’s just that lady said something about me not being in your league..” he cut you off with a kiss “You let some women prevent us from loving on each other?”
You ducked your head but he gripped your chin to force your eyes to his “You don’t leave this bed until you’ve earned it in that case” you felt your face warm “What?” he nodded “You heard me, I get to do everything I wanted to do to you last night and anything that pops into my head now. I get to see just how many times I can make you cum, just how good I can make you feel so the next time any damn person puts a doubt in your head you can think about that”
“Ok” you replied and he smiled “Good girl” and pulled you into a kiss, tugging you over on top of him “Take that damn shirt off, I want to see all of you” he ordered and you grinned “Yes sir” as you slipped it over your head.
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 has to do with a person being captured by another person. There is also some swearing. If this is a trigger for you, please don’t read.
You sat in the chair staring at the door that led out of the room thinking about everything Scott had said. It made sense to you. You knew your father-in-law, Charles Astor, was a not bullshit kind of guy. It was one of the qualities he had instilled into Christian.
Then you thought about what Whitaker had said at dinner: ‘That’s a story for another day.’
You stood up. “He knew!” You shouted as the realization hit you. “He fucking knew!” You started walking and looking around the room. “I’ve got to get out of here.” You looked at the door and then walked over to it. You started gently knocking on it. It wasn’t hollow. It was solid wood. You weren’t sure what kind, but you knew you weren’t going to be able to break it down. “Think, Y/N! Think!”
You glance over at the bed and walk over to it. You grab the blanket and lift it off to look at the mattress. It’s a cloud mattress. No wires. You lift the mattress. The mattress was on a slat of plywood and the bed was securely held together. Scott had thought this through.
“Fuck!” You glanced around the room again and then headed to the bathroom. You went to the toilet, but it was locked down. You sigh. As much as you didn’t want to, you were going to have to fight.
Your heart pounded as you braced your hands on the edge of the sink, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. You could panic later. Right now, you needed a plan.
Scott had planned this well—too well. That meant he wasn’t expecting you to escape easily. But no one was perfect. There had to be a weak spot somewhere.
If Scott thought he had you cornered, he was about to find out just how wrong he was.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Scott yells walking to the pounding on the front door of his rental house. He opens it and sees a Deputy standing outside. “Brady. What’s up?”
“Hey, Scott. I’m here on business.”
“Business?”
“Yeah. Have you seen Doctor Astor?”
“Y/N? No. Why? Is she okay?”
“We don’t know. We can’t reach her.”
“That’s odd. Y/N always has her phone on.”
“That’s what the Sheriff said.”
“Ahh…Jayson. He would know being her deceased husband’s best friend. Apparently, he’s not watching her like he’s supposed to be.”
Brady raises an eyebrow. “So, you haven’t seen, heard or talked to her?”
“No.”
“Well, thank you for your time.”
“No problem.” Scott closes the door.
Deputy Brady Wilkins slowly walked back to his squad car, looking behind him to see if Scott is watching him. He gets into his squad car, gets his cell phone out and dials Sheriff Dillenger’s number.
“Hey, sir. He says he hasn’t seen or talked to her. He also mentioned you were her deceased husband’s best friend?” Brady listened to Dillenger’s response. “Yes, sir.” He hung up the phone.
Jayson hung up his phone and looked at Montgomery. “Montgomery. Did Y/N mention to anyone who I was to Christian?”
Montgomery shook his head no. “No. She was very quiet about that.”
“That’s what I thought.” Jayson quickly texted Deputy Wilkins.
Sheila walked into the kitchen and looked at Jayson. “Anything?”
“No, Ma'am.”
Montgomery and Jayson’s phone made a noise and they both looked at their phones. They had set your security system to their phones.
Jayson looked at Montgomery. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No,” Montgomery states.
Jayson hurried to your office, Montgomery and Sheila at his heels. He looks at the security TVs you have mounted on the one wall.
The three of them watch as the SUV rolls down the long, narrow driveway. Jayson glances at Montgomery, who simply shrugs as if to say, I don’t know.
The vehicle comes to a stop near the garage, the engine cutting off. A moment later, a man and a woman step out.
"That's Ms. Natasha," Montgomery says, nodding toward the pair.
Sheila gasps, her eyes widening in surprise. "That's Jake! What is he doing here?"
A/N: We're finally here! For a minute there, I didn't think this day would come XD I hope you've enjoyed reading this series as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for all the love and support, I honestly probably would not have otherwise finished it!
Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.
CW: Swearing, angst, fluff
WR: ~4900
Masterlist | Part I
Jake leaves his mug on the counter and slowly approaches the kitchen table. He watches Bradley incredulously as the news sinks in. “Where is she going?” he finally says.
“Back to her mom’s.”
Jake’s eyebrows flit up momentarily. “That’s halfway across the country.”
Bradley nods, although he looks somewhat uncomfortable under Jake’s persistent scrutiny.
“Why?”
Bradley sighs. “I got a call from her mom a couple weeks ago.”
“I remember,” Jake says, recalling the party and your unwillingness to speak with your best friend, despite his obvious distress.
“Said she was kicked out of her program,” Bradley continues.
“What?” Jake lowers himself into the seat across from Bradley. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bradley shrugs. “I didn’t know if she was sharing. Anyway, apparently her boyfriend called her mom and delivered the news.”
Jake’s jaw muscles contract. “I could kill him, I swear.”
“She submitted a plagiarized paper, Jake.”
Jake glances up at his friend fiercely. “Bullshit,” he says immediately.
Bradley nods. “I agree.”
Jake shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. Of all people, she wouldn’t.”
“I tried talking to her about it but, as you know, she’s been avoiding me like the plague.”
“She didn’t dispute it?”
Bradley shakes his head solemnly. “She came by yesterday to tell me that the engagement is off and that she’s leaving. For good.”
Jake glances up at Bradley abruptly, as if roused from a reverie. “The engagement is off? Since when?”
“She didn’t tell you that part either?” Bradley grimaces. “What the fuck did you two even talk about?”
Jake blinks at Bradley a couple of times and then leaps out of his seat. “Let’s go,” he says urgently, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair. “We can’t let her leave.”
Bradley stands and takes one final gulp of beer before following Jake out of the kitchen. He takes his car keys off the hook by the front door while Jake unplugs the fan and turns off the living room lights. “Shut up,” he mutters on his way out the door when Bradley gives him a knowing smirk.
Jake skips down the porch steps and marches to his truck. “Want me to drive?” Bradley calls after him, holding up the keys to his Bronco.
Jake pulls open the door to his truck. For some reason, he feels like driving might bring him a sense of comfort. “No, I’ll drive,” he says as Bradley approaches the truck. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, looking up at his friend over the cab. “Rooster.”
Bradley glances up at him, his hand over the doorhandle. “Yeah?”
Jake sighs irritably. “I’m in love with her.”
Bradley gives him a look and pulls open the passenger door. “I know,” he replies wryly and gets into the truck.
…
“Still not picking up?” Jake asks, looking over at Bradley who solemnly shakes his head. He sets his phone down over Jake’s, having tried you from both numbers.
Jake pulls up right behind the white mustang in your driveway. Bradley winces as Jake finally yanks on the handbrake about two inches from the pristine car’s sleek bumper. Before Bradley could comment on Jake’s parking job, however, the latter shoots out of the truck and jogs up to your front door.
Bradley, somewhat hesitantly, follows suit. He stops a few feet short of the porch, though, probably deciding that Jake is threatening enough all on his own.
Mustang opens the door a crack and Jake immediately steps forward, like a dog that hasn’t quite mastered the art of impulse control. “Where is she?” he growls, sticking his face between the frame and the door that’s still latched by a chain.
“Go fuck yourself,” Mustang spits out and tries to squeeze Jake out before slamming the door.
Mistake, of course. Because Jake isn’t afraid of getting his paint chipped. He pushes his weight into the door and reaches in through the opening to grab a hold of Mustang’s collar. Then he yanks on him sharply, causing Mustang’s temple to crash into the doorframe. Jake gives Mustang another tug until his wide jaw is wedged into the open space like a door jam.
Bradley clears his throat in the background uncomfortably, but keeps his hands in his pockets for the time being.
Jake holds onto Mustang’s collar tightly while the latter pants in alarm.
“Where is she?” Jake repeats, more quietly and more dangerously than before.
“She left already,” Mustang chokes out.
“Then why are you still here?” Jake hisses.
“I’m just getting my stuff.”
“Hangman,” Bradley says in an appeasing sort of tone. “We’re wasting time.”
Jake still glares at your ex with hatred, his grip tightening around Mustang’s shirt despite his eyes bulging nearly out of their sockets. “What’s her flight number?”
Mustang shakes his head with difficulty and croaks, “Fuck if I know.”
Jake gives him a rough jolt and Bradley, again, says, “Jake, we should go.”
“What time does she take off?” Jake asks. “What airline?”
Mustang’s eyes begin to water. “Fuck that bitch,” he sputters. “She got what she deserved.”
Jake, enraged beyond words, could have probably taken the whole door off its frame in his fury, if not for Bradley coming to haul him off the porch. “We have to go!” Bradley shouts while Jake, still fuming, flares out his chest.
“Come out and fight like a man!” Jake bellows, combatting Bradley’s attempts to restrain him.
“He’s not worth it,” Bradley urges, continuing to push him down the path back to the driveway.
“What’s the matter, Mustang?” Jake jeers. “Scared I’ll put a dent in that fancy mug of yours?” He jerks away from Bradley and heads straight for the white mustang in the driveway. “What’s the point” – he yells, push-kicking the door of the car – “of all that muscle –”
“Jake! Fuck!” Bradley yelps, dragging Jake back, away from the white car, less immaculate now that it’s got a depression in its frame about the size of Jake’s heel.
Jake chuckles and a moment later, Mustang appears in the driveway, gasping in horror when he sees the state of his car. “You piece of fucking –”
“Jake, go, go, go!” Bradley shouts, shoving his friend in the direction of the truck. They hop in before Mustang can orientate himself in his distress and Jake floors the pedal in reverse the moment his engine roars to life. “Ha!” Bradley exclaims, drumming enthusiastically on the dashboard as Jake pulls out of the driveway.
Jake smirks, adrenaline coursing deliciously through his body as he accelerates toward the freeway.
…
“What is this bullshit?” Jake grumbles, smacking his steering wheel in frustration.
Bradley grimaces at the string of red lights ahead of them on the ramp. “There’s another lot farther out,” he suggests.
Jake shakes his head. “I’m not turning around.”
“Okay,” Bradley responds patiently. “I’m sure this’ll be quick,” he adds, although he doesn’t sound very convinced, himself.
Jake lets out a sharp exhale, inching forward slowly. About fifteen minutes later, they finally pull up to the parking garage. Jake peeks up at the clearance bar with a grimace. “Think we’ll make it?”
Bradley glances at the marker and then at Jake. “How big are your tires?” he deadpans.
Jake looks at Bradley with a scowl. “What makes you think they’re big?”
Bradley returns Jake’s scowl twofold. “You got a roof rack on this thing?”
“Of course I’ve got a roof rack. What kind of man doesn’t have a roof rack on his car?” Jake scoffs offendedly. A horn blares from behind them and Bradley sighs, closing his eyes. Jake ignores the sound and leans forward over his steering wheel, staring up at the bar contemptuously.
“Well, we’ll have to risk it. We can’t park here,” Bradley reasons.
Jake nods but doesn’t move. Several more horns interrupt their conversation and Jake rolls down his window to yell at the car in behind, “Have some patience, asshole!”
Bradley drags a hand over his face wearily. “We really don’t have time for another conflict,” he remarks.
Jake groans grudgingly and slowly releases the brake. They both wince as the truck rolls precariously under the clearance bar and, when it makes it through unscathed, Jake howls excitedly while Bradley lets out an audible sigh of relief.
…
Finding an available spot takes about twenty minutes and about ten years off Jake’s life. Cursing, Jake clambers out of the truck and slams his door aggressively. Bradley extracts his phone from his pocket and takes a photo of their vehicle’s location.
Jake waits for him impatiently to which Bradley replies, “You’ll thank me later.”
“Yeah,” Jake agrees, but walks briskly ahead to look around in search of signs that might point the way to the terminal.
“This way,” Bradley says, pointing to the elevators at the far end of the lot.
“This place is a fucking maze,” Jake grumbles.
“What, you never been to a commercial airport before?” Bradley jokes. Jake gives him a flat look and Bradley snorts and claps Jake on the back. “Relax, man. We’ll find her.”
Jake tries not to show just how anxious he is by giving Bradley a nod and a tight smile. He blazes into the stairwell, ignoring the slowly opening elevator doors, and Bradley follows behind him, jogging up the stairs.
In the terminal, they stop to look up at the flight information board listing all the departures taking place that night.
“Two possible flights she could be on,” Bradley says.
“Two different gates,” Jake comments solemnly.
“The first one is leaving in twenty minutes. She’ll already be on the plane,” Bradley says, “if that’s her flight.”
“Maybe she’ll be on the other one,” Jake says hopefully, starting in the direction of the second gate.
Bradley hurries to catch up with him through the crowded airport.
“Where are all these people going?” Jake mutters under his breath, pushing his way past slower moving, luggage towing individuals.
Bradley eyes him with a small grin. “They have just as much a right to be here as you do, Jake.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jake says, pushing his way through an excited group of travellers wearing parkas and winter hats. “That’s her gate up there!” He starts for it at a run despite the dense crowd around them.
Bradley follows, albeit less obnoxiously. Then, about ten feet from the gate, Jake stops short and Bradley crashes right into him. “Dude!” he exclaims, rubbing his chest.
“It’s her,” Jake breathes.
Bradley turns his head and it takes him several moments to locate you because you’re already going through security.
“Y/N!” Jake hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth.
You don’t hear him, though, because there’s a glass wall separating you from the checkpoint queue. Bradley, in an effort to help Jake get your attention, also starts calling your name. Meanwhile, Jake starts for the security checkpoint at a run, which sort of worries Bradley. “You need a boarding pass to get through –”
But Jake, completely ignoring Bradley’s warning, hops right over the stanchion behind the security officer’s back.
“Fuck,” Bradley mutters under his breath as the officer turns around in alarm and brings a walkie to his face. Other security personnel rush over in a panic and Bradley, approaching as casually as possible, says, with a wave of his hand, “It’s cool.” He leans nonchalantly on one of the glass panels near the checkpoint, adding, “He’s a pilot.”
Several of the officers look over at him like he’s nuts.
…
Jake makes it all the way to the glass doors before somebody apprehends him, and then he shouts your name again. You turn around just as that somebody throws him to the ground. Jake groans, not too pleased about having to taste this particular carpet.
“What are you doing?” he hears you screech, and he glances up with just his eyes because his face is still being pressed into the ground.
“Hey, how are ya?” he manages to say.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you repeat, more aggressively this time.
Jake winces as someone’s knee digs into his spine. “Baking a cake. What’s it look like I’m doing?” He grunts as he’s finally lifted to his feet.
You are staring at him wildly when he meets your gaze.
“Hey,” he says again, rotating his shoulders to alleviate the cramp in his back.
Behind you, security personnel have started to block off the entire area.
“Sir, we’re going to need you to come with us,” the officer still holding onto Jake says firmly.
“What? Where are you taking him?” you ask.
“You need to come with us too, ma’am,” another officer says.
“No,” Jake groans. “She didn’t do anything.”
“This is a misunderstanding,” you say. “He’s a Navy Lieutenant. Jake, tell them!”
“No, don’t tell them that.” Jake cringes. He would prefer not to be reprimanded for this incident by his superior officers.
You stare at him as the two of you are led to a holding area near the checkpoint. Meanwhile, Jake can see Bradley scrambling past passersby to keep the two of you in sight as he holds his phone to his ear.
“Didn’t know you were planning on taking a vacation,” Jake says as the officer in charge of detaining him nods for his colleague to open the door. “Going somewhere nice?”
You give him a dirty look as you are walked into the holding room.
“Please wait here until law enforcement arrives.”
You look up at the man in alarm. “Law enforcement? He’s in the military!” you shout.
“Shh,” Jake shushes you. “Don’t yell at the nice officer,” he warns you. “We can wait,” he assures the security team.
The door closes and you look over at Jake furiously. “I’m going to miss my flight!” you scream at him. “Because of you!”
Jake sets his jaw. “Good.”
You glare at him incredulously. “How are you so goddamn selfish?”
“I’m selfish?” he retorts. “I spent all morning with you. We had sex” – Jake takes note that you cringe at the word – “and yet you failed to mention that you’ve moving clear across the fucking country!”
“What do you care? You hate me, remember?” you yell back.
“Oh, I remember,” he snaps. “I also remember your diatribe on the avocado, and how much you loathe everything I stand for. I remember your outrageous appraisal of my truck, and the ridiculous way you hold a pool cue. Your annoying inability to shut the fuck up about the stupidest shit and your equally annoying refusal to tell me about the things that actually matter.”
You blink at him with a scowl and fold your arms over your chest. “This is the worst love confession I’ve ever heard,” you grumble.
You suck in your cheeks and look up at the ceiling impatiently. “I’ll wait.”
Jake releases another irritated sigh. “There isn’t a single thing about you that I’ve been able to successfully forget. Despite my best efforts.”
You meet his gaze half-heartedly but say nothing.
“You just showed up one day, out of nowhere, and I’ve been messed up ever since. Do you get that?” He stares at you wildly, realizing that he’s getting something off his chest that he hadn’t even really known was weighing on him. “You walk around like you don’t owe anybody a goddamn thing. You’re out here pretending like your actions – your decisions – don’t affect people. Well, they do, alright? You affect people! You affect me.”
You lower your gaze mutely, as though you’re lost for words for the first time ever. The very idea is preposterous, however, and Jake is sure that you’re just waiting for the most opportune moment to counter. He decides not to give you the opportunity.
“What do you want out of life?” he says with an edge to his tone because he’s anxious to get to his point.
You glance back up at him curiously.
“Ask me again,” he says. “Ask me the whole thing. Disregarding the fact that we are meaningless or whatever nonsense you spewed. Ask me.”
You gulp and clear your throat. “What do you want, Jake?”
He releases a sharp sigh, deliberately maintaining eye contact. “You,” he responds firmly. “You, you, you.” He takes a step toward you, his eyes searching yours urgently because he’s desperate to be honest for once. To lay it all out so you have the facts before you run. “Whatever the damn question is, okay?” He takes up your hands and holds them to his chest. “My answer is always you.”
You watch him with that same unreadable gaze, the one that Jake has spent months trying to decipher. But he knows that he’s gotten under your skin just as much as you’ve gotten under his. Because he knows you. So, he waits; allows you a moment to gauge his sincerity. As if tracking you down at a civilian airport and getting detained isn’t evidence enough. Your eyes well up suddenly and, unexpectedly, you move away from him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry for affecting you.”
Jake lets his hands fall when you withdraw. “I just want you to tell me the truth,” he says. “I want you to stop acting like nothing ever gets to you.”
You glance up at him fiercely and cry, “You get to me, okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I am also affected?” You draw in a sob and lean your back against the wall, hiding your face in your hand.
Jake, both distraught and relieved that you’re finally emoting, approaches you slowly. He puts an arm around your shoulders and brings you into his chest. All he wants is to express just how much you mean to him – just how far he’d go to make you happy – but all that comes out is, “I don’t want you to go,” which is partly muffled anyway because he says it with his mouth on your head.
You sniffle miserably against his shoulder and shift your weight to lean into him. “I can’t stay,” you respond.
Jake, whose entire body is both vibrating and paralyzed at the same time, says quietly. “Tell me why.”
“I got kicked out,” you whimper, as if this is the ‘why’ Jake is after.
“Not that,” he says, taking a step back so that he can look you in the eye. “Tell me why you got engaged. The morning after I – after we… Were you already engaged when you came to the party? When I kissed you?”
“No,” you say. “He proposed that night.”
Jake watches you patiently. “And you said yes?”
“Because he promised he’d confess.”
Jake stares at you. “Confess?”
“He submitted a plagiarized paper on my behalf. Right after we broke up.”
Jake grimaces. “What a fucking nutcase.”
“He was angry. But obviously he didn’t think I’d get kicked out for it.”
“Why didn’t he just come clean when shit hit the fan?”
“And get kicked out himself? He wouldn’t take that chance; his defense is coming up in less than six months.”
“So…you decided to marry him?”
“He told me he was sorry and promised he’d talk to the board as soon as he passed. I figured I’d just agree to the engagement and call it off once he came clean.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this? That day, when he announced the engagement. Why didn’t you just tell me?”
You sigh. “What would you have done?”
“Kicked his ass,” Jake responds without a moment’s thought.
“Exactly,” you say. “You’re about one offense from getting kicked out, yourself.”
Jake has no rebuttal to this because you’re sort of right on the money in this case. His last altercation nearly cost him his wings and he’s not at all looking forward to explaining this airport fiasco to his superiors. “When did you call off the engagement?” he asks.
“This morning,” you say. “Before I came to see you.”
Jake plants his hands on his hips. “So why are you leaving?”
“Well, he’s never going to admit what he did. So, I’m out of the program for good. Why would I stay?”
Jake stares at you. “Are you for real?”
You shrug. “He’s never going to leave me alone.”
“Oh, he’ll leave you alone,” Jake says firmly. “Or I’ll break his legs.”
You give him a reproachful look. “And get arrested? Lose your job?”
“Fine, I’ll break his car.”
You roll your eyes.
“I’m not letting you run,” he says, taking a confident step toward you.
“It’s not up to you.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t care.” He takes your face in his hands.
“Don’t be an ass,” you say, lisping slightly because your cheeks are squished between his palms.
Jake smirks. “But I’m good at it.”
“It’s my decision,” you say, trying to sound firm despite the aforementioned speech impediment.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jake continues. “What do you want for dinner?”
“Jake!”
Jake lets his forehead rest against yours. “You missed your flight anyway,” he mutters. “And I love you,” he adds, casually enough for it to perhaps blend into the conversation unnoticed.
But you notice it. You lift your face to meet his gaze. “You do?” you ask quietly.
“Don’t act all surprised.”
You smile mildly. “Surprised that you can admit it.”
“One of us had to.”
You gaze at him mutely.
And just as Jake is about to spiral in response to your lack of a response, the door opens and someone steps inside.
“C’mon,” Bradley urges, waving his arm impatiently. “I’m busting you out.”
“How –” you begin.
But Jake cuts you off, “Shh, don’t ask questions.” He leads you through the open door after Bradley as he surveys the immediate vicinity in all directions.
“You’re both pieces of work,” you mutter under your breath and Jake, who’s got an arm around your shoulders, squeezes you affectionately.
There is a large crowd just outside of the holding room, and a commotion near the gate. Clearly, Bradley had managed to create some sort of diversion. A subtle craning of his neck allows Jake to see exactly who it is that’s causing a scene.
“Keep you head down!” Bradley whispers hoarsely from behind, smacking Jake’s crown with annoyance.
Jake ducks slightly and looks over his shoulder at Bradley, “Was that Bob?”
“Yep,” Bradley responds. “Apparently, he owed you?”
Jake scrunches up his eyebrows as Bradley continues to jostle the two of you toward the exit. “Owed me?”
“Said he cockblocked you at your party two weeks ago?” Bradley says. “Sorry, ‘my’ party,” he adds, with quotation marks around the ‘my’.
You glance between Bradley and Jake with a smirk as the latter raises his eyebrows. “He remembers that night?”
Bradley nods, finally walking out into the sunlight. “He’s felt bad about it ever since.”
Jake glances down at you, wondering if things would have been different had Bob not shown up that fated night, blasted out of his mind. Would you have spent the night? Not gotten engaged to Mustang? Would you have told him the big secret you were keeping, thereby avoiding the whole debacle entirely? Perhaps Bob does owe him.
“Anyway, I called up the cavalry and Bob immediately volunteered,” Bradley continues, making his way to the parking garage.
Suddenly, you stop, and Bradley and Jake come to a halt and look back at you in confusion.
“Here’s the thing about a quick getaway, princess,” says Jake, approaching you to take your hand. “You have to get away quickly.”
You pull your hand out of his. “When did I agree to staying?”
“Lord, give me strength,” Jake mutters, throwing his head back to look up at the sky with a sigh.
“Maybe you can decide this at a safer distance away from where you nearly just got arrested,” Bradley suggests.
“I don’t understand the issue here,” Jake says. “I beat Mustang to a pulp until he confesses. Problem solved.”
Bradley grimaces. “I can see why she might not be on board.”
“Guys, my luggage has already been checked.”
Jake places his hands on his hips and stares you down. “What goes up must come down.”
You roll your eyes. “My mom is expecting me,” you continue.
Jake takes a phone out of his pocket and holds it out. “Simple enough to fix.”
You exhale sharply. “This has to be my decision,” you declare.
Jake shifts his jaw, his face forming a frown without his consent. He locks eyes with you and nods. “Make it, then.”
You swallow uncomfortably without breaking eye contact and Bradley retreats a few steps in the background.
“I don’t know if you know this,” you begin quietly, and Jake dares not move lest he miss a single syllable of your speech. Who knew that a day would come when he’d pretty much give anything just to keep you talking? “But I liked you probably before I even started to hate you.”
Jake gives you a cautious smile. “Probably?”
“Don’t push it,” you retort.
“Sorry, I’ll shut up,” he responds, fighting to keep a straight face. “Go on, tell me how much I mean to you.”
You sigh. “Can you refrain from being an ass for at least a minute?”
Jake makes a face. “Doubtful.”
“Uh, I can attest to that,” Bradley chimes in from behind.
“Rooster, we’re having a moment here,” Jake calls over his shoulder.
“Are you sure about that?” Bradley counters, in response to which Jake just shakes his head.
“Continue,” Jake says to you. “Please.”
You let out an irritable sigh, “I can’t tell you why I liked you, I’m still trying to figure that one out.”
Jake plants his hands on his hips. “Liar.”
You stare at him rather uncomfortably. “I had a boyfriend, remember? I had no business liking you.”
Jake narrows his eyes but stays silent.
“I think it’s because…” you voice trails off and you let out a grudging sigh.
“It’s the truck, isn’t it?” Jake asks pompously. “One ride was all it took.”
You snort out a chuckle and shake your head. “No,” you say. “It’s that.” You gesture at him and he knits his eyebrows together, intrigued. “That ‘sharp sense of humor’,” you say, mockingly repeating the first ever compliment he made you all those moons ago. “No matter how mad you make me, or how pissed I am at the world, you somehow can always make me laugh.”
Jake watches you soberly now, touched that you were finally able to express your feelings. “Don’t tell the truck that,” he mutters.
“Why?” You grin, taking a step toward him. “Does the truck have an ego problem?”
Jake’s lips form a tight, guilt-ridden smirk as you approach. “The truck might have an ego problem.”
You’re standing so close to him now that you have to lift your chin to maintain eye contact. “I might have another confession to make,” you say softly, so that your voice nearly gets swept away in the small breeze filtering through the tunnel.
Jake gulps, not sure he could handle standing at this proximity without getting a little stupid. He’ll have to keep his mouth shut because his brain isn’t the organ being prioritized at the moment.
“I think about the truck a lot,” you whisper, your eyes flitting slowly between his.
“You do?” Jake croaks, and then, clearing his throat, repeats, “You do?”
You nod. “I like how it handles the bumps in the road.”
“Well, yeah, it’s got some heavy-duty shocks, plus the ground clearance –”
“Jake,” you cut him off, unimpressed.
Jake grins. “It’s pretty well-equipped for off-roading, was what I meant to say.”
You gaze at him in amusement. “Perhaps we could try to navigate away from the uneven terrain.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
You lower your gaze with a small chuckle but, despite the smile, you look uneasy. “I need to know that you’re not going to do anything reckless.”
Jake considers your words for a moment. “Define reckless.”
You glance up at him impatiently. “Check the dictionary.”
He grins. “Fine,” he agrees. “But I can’t vouch for the truck.”
You chuckle again, rolling your eyes. “Shut up and take me home, Jake.”
“Does that mean you’re staying?”
You smile at him and start walking.
“Finally,” Bradley exclaims as the two of you catch up to him. “You guys talk way too much. We’re still fugitives, you know?”
“Sorry, I just needed Jake to know how much I love his truck,” you say with a giggle.
Bradley gives you a confused look while Jake does a double take. “You love my truck?”
You stare at him. “I thought that was obvious.”
“No.” He furiously shakes his head. “No, that was not at all obvious.” Jake steps around Bradley and stops you in your tracks.
Bradley groans in frustration, throwing up his hands. “Guys!”
“You love…” Jake say, “my truck. You love my truck. You love my truck?”
You blink at him innocently and nod. “Uh-huh,” you acknowledge and then walk around him to continue on your merry way.
Jake takes your wrist and you turn back to look at him. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “Just to clarify – so that I know we’re on the same page – I’m the truck, right?”
You press your lips together to keep your growing grin at bay and lower your gaze. “You’re the truck, Jake,” you respond coyly.
“I’m the truck,” Jake repeats stupidly. Hadn’t he earlier meant to stay quiet?
You catch his gaze and smile more freely now. “Right,” you say. “And I could really go for another ride.”
Jake stares at you for a moment, lost for words. Then he slides his arms under your butt and scoops you up so that you’re looking down at him, your feet dangling a foot off the ground.
“Way to remain inconspicuous, you two,” Bradley remarks in the background.
But Jake ignores his best friend and cranes his neck as you lower your lips to his. And he lets you cradle his face in your delicate hands and kiss him. Because, damnit, it’s high time for some action.
A/N: THE END!!! Thank you guys so much for reading! xoxo
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