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glassbxttless · 2 years ago

Note

For your follower celebration, Commander Mills fluff 1 prompt "You're not alone, you never were" Thank you!!!

Seashells

Commander Mills x f!Reader

summary: Mills is home from a mission and he can’t take another night without you promising to be his one.

word count: 1.9k+

warnings: fluff, proposal, some pining, female terminology (use of the pet name, “darling girl”)

The lights are dim as your fingers circle the smooth skin on his back. Freckles and moles delicately covering the vast expanse of skin. Your fingers trace along his spine until they settle just above his dimples. His face is buried into the throw cushion beside you— tv long forgotten and just used as background noise. Curtains drawn tight, just like he likes them at this hour. Mills.

The three years you’ve spent together have been blissful. The laughter you share has filled the rafters of your home on more than one occasion. Each moment you spend with one another ignites a new flame. Something deep in your belly that lets you know he’s the one. He knows it too. He feels it in the way you smile. The way you hold his hand at dinner, reassure him in front of your family, the way you have his back in front of his friends and coworkers. He sees it in the way you leave silly little notes in his lunches and on his desk in the spare room.

Your fingers— sitting idly at the base of his spine— begin to make their ascent back up to his hair. You twist the curls at the base of his neck between them, savoring the moment. His lashes lay delicately against his cheeks, breath soft and steady as he sleeps. His heart is the heavy thud against your thigh, keeping you grounded to the moment. But the second your nails begin to gently scratch at his head, he starts to shift. His position sprawled out over your lap changes, his neck craning as he opens his eyes. A sleepy smile donning his features. “Hey.” His voice is raspy, laced with sleep and something so unique to Mills— it takes all of you to keep yourself from pressing a kiss to the pretty pink lips that are pouted up just for you.

“Hey.” You smile softer in return, his chest leaving your thighs as he sits up, pulling you in for the gentlest kiss on your forehead. “Have a nice nap?” You ask him softly. These moments you’d never want to lose. They’re the most precious to you. Your heart skips out of your chest when you watch him stand, walk over to the refrigerator, and retrieve a bottle of water for himself that he drains within moments. Dehydrated and exhausted— The way he always returns from missions. “Do you want to go grab some dinner before we turn in for the night? I haven’t had the chance to do the shopping.” You remind him as he turns, the muscles in his back flexing under his skin as he reaches for another bottle of water.

“We can just do the shopping and maybe make something together?” He suggests, stepping around the island counter to grab the hoodie that was draped over the barstool. Upon slipping it on, he notes your nod in response to his suggestion and he smiles brightly. “I’ll go grab some shoes then, yes?”

You nod, smoothing the dress you were wearing over your thighs. Remembering the warm body you had just had sleeping safely against you. Mills ducks out of the room, heading upstairs to your shared bedroom. Reaching for the shoes he had tucked away earlier while you pull yourself up out of the sofa and slide into your sandals. You notice the sand tracked into the front of your home, clinging to the soles of Mills’ work boots. You’ve never thought that you’d be happy to see the sight. The mess they’ve made is reassuring. It lets you know he’s really here. It’s not a dream.

“I’ll clean it up as soon as we’re back, okay?” His voice has lost the rasp of sleep. His hand clamping down on your hip to bring you in close, another kiss being placed against your temple. Your heart skips a beat. Hand in hand, Mills insists, against your many protests, on walking to the grocery store on the other side of the beach. The one you cross two streets after the edge of sand to get to. The one that’s easily thirty minutes from your quaint home.

And the walk goes fine. He finds seashells, ones he knows you’d like to add to the jar you keep on the table by the door. The shells that remind you of him, having been brought to you after each date and each time he returns home. He stuffs them into the pocket of his hoodie, watches the way you cover your face when you feel your cheeks begin to grow hot. After so much time, the thought of seashells still entering your home under the guise of a loving gift to show his appreciation, his devotion, still brings a smile to your face. And his hand returns to yours. Holding the door of the market open, he smiles politely, He’s happy to just be home. He’s doing normal things, on the ground, with his girlfriend. No 6 month trips looming over their heads anymore.

He watches you pick fruits and vegetables. He makes note of the flour you select and what not to buy as he follows you around, holding the basket close to him. He has a plan for tonight and if everything goes how he thinks it will, it’ll execute itself perfectly. He watches as you begin to check out the groceries, the quiet chatter you make with the cashier. He watches you pull out the shared card the two of you use. The one with Mills salary directly partially dispensed onto it. He feels a sense of pride, knowing he’s taking care of you even when he’s away. The way he always took care of Alya and Nevine. He appreciates every moment— never takes anything for granted anymore. The small things. He watches you gather the bags, reaching out to help himself, and he hopes she’s doing well. He’s heard she’s remarried now, Alya, and she should be. There was never any malice between the two of them— they simply had grown apart. And Mills found you, sitting pretty across the room. Answering phones and hoping for the best.

He follows you home, listens to your voice but he’s too caught up in his thoughts to know what you’re really on about. That small velvet clad box burning against his thigh. And he just can’t help it. He can’t go another night without knowing you’ll marry him. Make him the happiest man on this planet. But for now, he just needs a little more time. He pulls his keys from his pocket, letting you into your home. The sand from the beach is clinging to both of your shoes as you kick them off and head towards the kitchen. He takes his time taking in the scene in front of him, before he’s pressing up against your backside, lips against your ear as he sways gently. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “I’ve missed you.” He’s repeated the mantra since stepping in the door. His voice is raspy and laced with something that’s so uniquely Mills— but it’s one you’ll never get tired of hearing.

You can hear the shells in his hoodie pocket scraping together ever so delicately and you let out the happiest sigh, the quietest giggle. “I’ve missed you too.” Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. Remembering the months you’d spent away from each other. How the only contact you’d get were quick video messages at random times of the day— how everything was so far out of touch. But now he’s here, his arms wrapped around you. You’re turning towards him, hands against his chest. Your eyes meet. Lashes long and thick, brown eyes sharp in the setting sun shining through the blinds. The two of you fall into a shared silence. Something you’ve both grown rather comfortable in. His hands are leaving your waist, drifting down your thighs and across the expanse of your backside. And he holds you tighter, face buried against your neck. Your heart thumps in your chest so loudly you think you can hear the ringing in your ears. Your hand presses against the back of his head, nails scratching his scalp lovingly.

“Please don’t go again.” You tilt your head slightly, lips touching the shell of his ear as you whisper, “I don’t know if I can handle being alone again—”

“You’re not alone.” Mills is quick to cut you off. His voice is stern, but it’s not any louder than it has been since he’s come home. “You never were alone, darling girl. You’ve always looked for me in the stars, huh? You’ve kept me in your thoughts and dreams. I know I think about you more often than I’d like to admit.” He says softly. You feel the hot burn of embarrassment starting at the base of your neck. “After Nevine… I thought things were never going to be the same. I lost her, I lost Alya. Things almost ceased for everything I am, everything I loved. But here you are, in all of your glory… Your beautiful smile, pretty eyes. The hands I get to hold every single day.” The corner of his lips turn up in a smile as he releases his grip on you to reach into his pocket. He pulls out the small little purple velvet box. You watch as he drops on one knee. When he opens the box there’s a small diamond band placed so delicately inside. Tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I couldn’t imagine going another moment without knowing I’ll have you by my side for the rest of my time here on this planet… Marry me, by any chance?”

Your heart feels like it may be too big to fit properly in your chest. And you sit back as your body begins to move on autopilot. Your hands cupping Mills cheeks as you nod ferociously, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Of course I will. Never wanted anyone else.” You whisper to him as he tugs the ring out of the box. You catch sight of the inside of the band being engraved, unable to make out exactly what it was. But as Mills slips the ring onto your finger, he pulls you into the tightest hug imaginable. Your face buries against his chest, knowing you’ve never been alone, not one day since Mills has been in your life. Your eyes catch the darkness beginning to fall and settle outside, stars twinkling as you both sway with one another.

That evening when you’re climbing into bed, Mills is already quietly asleep next to you— you take off the band to look it over closer. To see every thought and detail Mills put into selecting it for you. And that’s when you see the small seashell engraved on the inside of the band. You feel hot as your smile begins to grow. You’ll always love and appreciate him, more than anything. The shells from hours before lay in wait on the top of the dresser, just wishing to be added to the coin jar downstairs. Your cheeks begin to ache with how much you’re smiling as you slip the ring back onto your finger. Flipping the lamp next to the bed off, you curl up against Mill’s bareback. Something you’ll forever be indebted to, remembering how much you owe him. How much he needs you. How much you need him.

tag list ;; @peachyproserpina

#glassbxttless #commander mills x you #commander mills #commander mills x reader #commander mills x f!reader #fluff #cw: proposal #commander mills x female reader #adam driver #adam driver fandom #adam driver characters #adam driver fanfic #adam driver character

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honkytonk-hangman · 10 months ago

Text

When Jake Met Polly

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake likes to flirt with his Air Traffic Controller or Jake Seresin has never seen When Harry Met Sally.

Warnings: Not much, fluff, flirting and refs to sex.

Note: This is just a short little idea i've had for agesss... reader has a 'name' but it's just her callsign, Polly, as in, short for Polaris. Ty to @hangmanssunnies i wuv u <3

“Hangman to Tower, I am coming in hot.”

You roll your eyes at the all too familiar voice that crackles through your radio, a smile pulling at your lips as you adjust your microphone and briefly throw a glance over your shoulder, just to make sure your commanding officer wasn’t lingering.

“Tower to Hangman. We are appalled at the gross lack of radio etiquette on display,” you respond. Barely a few seconds pass before you receive a reply.

“Come on, Polly, we've been working together for over a year now, what’s a little informality between colleagues?” Hangman says, and despite his jet only being a blip on your horizon still, you know he’s grinning.

“A commercial airline, Lieutenant.” You deadpan, your own smile growing as his laughter comes down the line. “You are cleared for landing, proceed to runway B,” you continue, not wanting him to have to ask again seeing as his approach was cutting it close already.

“Polly, have I ever told you that you’re my favourite Controller?” He asks as you watch him enter the pattern, and click your pen.

“Only every day we work together, Lieutenant.” There’s a beat of quiet as he expertly manoeuvres his jet toward the correct runway.

“And how sexy your voice is?” He goes on, sounding vaguely distracted.

“Once again, Lieutenant, this is not a commercial airline.” You respond, twirling your hair around your finger at his compliment anyway.

He doesn’t reply, and a shock of horror flickers through you as you watch the jet touch down once, something happening with his landing gear that makes the jet shudder, then seem to bounce momentarily before it drops back onto the tarmac and skids to a stop.

“Hangman, do you require the emergency crew?!” You ask quickly, eyes scanning the aircraft as it powers down fully. You wait tensely as the canopy pops up, and a broad figure jumps out, scrambling down the ladder, and once on the ground, he bends low to get a look at the problem.

“No, Polly, thank you. Seems the landing gear malfunctioned, must’ve been in a position to sustain damage once I landed…” his voice trails off, and you watch him straighten, and greet the ground crew who’d raced over to help.

“Glad you’re safe, Lieutenant. Tower out.” You say as he begins discussing with the crew, but briefly turns up toward the tower and raises a hand.

You let out a sigh of relief and settle back in your seat.

–

Around lunch time you make your way down to the tarmac. Hangman’s jet had been cleared off some time ago, and by now you know reports would have been filed, including your own, and his aircraft will have been taken in for inspection and repairs. You’re milling around the ‘crash’ site, inspecting the scrape marks left behind when you hear footsteps from behind approaching you.

“Can I help you ma’am?”

You know his voice immediately, but you know his face too, and when you at last turn back to him you’re graced by the sight of it, bright and unworried, despite the accident he’d had earlier.

“Oh, don’t mind me! I just watched someone bounce their jet off my tarmac earlier, just checking for potholes,” you tell him wrly. It takes a moment, but his face flashes with recognition and soon he’s taking a step towards you.

“Polly?!” Hangman asks, sounding surprised. You hum in response, then round on him.

“Where is it that you found your qualifications, Liuetenant? We should probably return them,” you tease him. Hangman only takes up a stance and stretches his arms out, his flight suit stretching desperately around his biceps as he does.

“Oh, Polly, if I’d known that was all it took to get you down here, I’d have started chipping bits off months ago,” he flirts shamelessly. You smile at him but don’t speak and after a moment, he drops his arms again, crossing them over his chest instead and blinking at you curiously. “What?” he asks.

Your smile grows, and you shake your head at him.

“Your terrible lines work better when I can see you, that's all,” you inform him, making him uncross his arms and laugh.

“I would say that’s generally the case, even if a guy ain’t me,” he replies coolly. You only shake your head again, and look back out at the expanse of tarmac ahead of you.

“Thanks to you getting your pilots lisence off the back of a cereal box, we’ve ruined our Sleepless in Seattle thing,” you say with a forlorn sigh.

When you look back at Hangman he’s frowning at you in confusion.

“Our what?” he asks. You roll your eyes and turn to face him fully at last, waving your hand as you speak.

“You know, our Sleepless in Seattle thing. We talk all this time, but never meet, and if we cross paths, we don’t realise it? It’s ruined now,” you accuse him lightly. Hangman hums, and seems to think for a moment.

“I get to be Meg Ryan in this situation, right?” he says, making you chortle.

“Well you’d have to be. No way I’d leave 90s Bill Pullman!”

“Well, what if we’re not Sleepless in Seattle? What if we’re more… When Harry Met Sally?” he suggests. You squint at him.

“Have you seen that film? I’m not sure that’s the implication you want to go for…” you ask him, making him falter for a moment.

“That’s the one with the emails right?” he responds unsurely. You laugh again, and shake your head.

“No, that’s You’ve Got Mail.”

“What the hell did I just suggest, then?”

You stare at him for a moment, and can’t stop yourself from grinning up at him.

“More or less not speaking for like ten years, but on the rare occasion we do meet up, we argue,” you tell him, watching him frown even deeper, and shake his own head this time.

“That would be kinda hard, considering you’re the voice in my head,” he says.

“Oh, so we’re doing Her now!”

Hangman fixes you with a deadpan expression and a slightly smirk.

“I don’t even want to know.”

You laugh at him, and begin walking, unsurprised when he immediately joins you, falling into step at your side. “So,” he begins again after a moment, peering down at you. “Despite playing hacky sack on your tarmac, you still gonna let me take you out?”

You falter briefly, but keep walking, this time glancing up at him.

“I didn’t think you were being serious all those times you asked me out,” you don’t bother hiding your surprise. Hangman looks back at you, squinting, and cocks his head.

“At this point I think you’ve shot me down more than Dagger combined, why would I not be serious?” he asks you, sounding oddly serious. You chuckle.

“Right, so, say if, I don’t know, Rooster got a few more hits on you, you wouldn’t leave me hangin’ would you?” you know you’ll say yes, but you can’t help but tease him a little longer.

Hangman raises an eyebrow at you and grins wide and beautiful.

“You? Never,” he says. “Mostly because I’m legally obligated to respond when you speak to me.”

You lift your own eyebrow and fix him with a wry smile.

“I like that in a man.”

Hangman laughs.

–

“I mean it, your voice is sexy,” Jake tells you once he’s sat back down from replacing your drinks. You can’t help but chortle and stir your cocktail with the straw.

“Really? Me telling you to line up and wait in the pattern gets you going?” you ask. Jake grins, but nods very seriously as he takes a short sip of his beer.

“Absolutely. I also like when you tell me about the weather and conditions, and direct me to land.”

Leaning forward with your elbows on the table between you, you put your chin in your hands.

“I liek when you flirt with me,” you begin, waiting for him to smirk at you before continuing on. “And you don’t realise my boss is in the room, so I just have to respond ‘roger’ and ‘acknowledged’ whenever you say something stupid,” you finish. Jake rolls his eyes and leans forward to meet you.

“To be fair, I’d probably be saying something stupid anyway,” he tells you.

You have to let out a laugh at that and finally lean back again.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me, are you ever gonna tell us all how to ‘bury a fossil’? You know, those things that you famously dig up and do not bury?” you tease, earning another eyeroll. Jake shrugs and copies your movements.

“I foretold Mav’s career comeback, didn’t I?”

You laugh again, but this time, get a good look at him sitting casually across from you, out of uniform and seemingly more relaxed than you’ve ever seen, or heard.

“I like your voice too,” you tell him at last, smiling a little at how he seems to preen at your praise. “Your accent is more pronounced face-to-face though, and you don’t sound like you’re performing all the time.”

Jake takes a sip of his beer and shrugs again.

“Can’t be Hangman all the time,” he says. You make a face.

“I like Hangman. He entertains me at work�� but I think I like the guy who hasn’t seen When Harry Met Sally, and has a Fisher-Price pilot's lisence even more.”

Jake laughs and nods at you.

“Splash one,” he says before he leans in to you again. “Toddler’s generally have pretty good taste, in my opinion, they’re all about shapes and colours and boobs… can’t fault ‘em!”

You have to laugh and concede that at least, the two of you clinking drinks before you continue to flirt and chat for the rest of the evening.

When Jake drops you back at yours, you invite him inside, under the guise of lending him your DVD copy of When Harry Met Sally, but when he simply lingers in your living room, you start to consider other tactics.

“Jake?” you say, standing up from ‘searching’ your stack of DVD’s and facing him. “This is the part where you save me from admitting I don’t really own a physical copy of the film by having sex with me,” you inform him dutifully, watching as he straightens up and blinks at you. Then, he’s shaking his head, smiling, and taking a step closer toward you.

“I guess every good rom-com does have an earth shattering lie at its core, doesn’t it?” he steps closer, and this time, anchors his hands at your waist, tugging you into him a little more.

“Let's skip the conflict part and go straight to the happy ending, shall we?”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #hangman x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun maverick #jake 'hangman' seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction

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lurkinginnernarrator · 3 months ago

Text

Cang Qiong's rumor mill has a new topic.

Peak Lord Shen hasn't been seen in two weeks. The last time he was seen was flying back from An Ding, where he purportedly commandeered some unknown objects from An Ding's storerooms after a hasty discussion with Peak Lord Shang. He entered the Bamboo house and hasn't emerged since.

The most popular theory is Peak Lord Shen is conducting some sort of toeing-the-line-of-taboo ritual.

Eventually, someone convinces Mu Qingfang to do a wellness check.

The Qing Jing disciples greet their Mu-shishu respectfully, the disciple escorting him to the Bamboo House inquiring as to the nature of his visit, seeing as 'Shizun wasn't expecting shishu today.'

"This master is merely here to visit your Shizun."

The disciple bows after announcing Mu Qingfang's arrival.

Mu Qingfang opens the door.

"Shen-shixiong?"

"Mu-shidi? To what do I owe the pleA—FUCK get BACK HERE YOU ARE NOT"—the sounds of struggle reach Mu Qingfang's ears and he leaps to action, striding in to take stock of the situatio...n.

Shen-shixiong is flat on his stomach; outstretched hands tightly grasping a precocious ball of fluff. His eyes gleam in victory, the scene casting it in a more crazed light. There is a heaviness to Shen Qingqiu's eyes that cultivation cannot banish and miscellaneous stains on his person. And, looking around, the Bamboo House is a disaster. Books, brushes, scrolls, inkwells and fans are scattered around, many haphazardly dropped on the floor. There is. Also. Hay?

Mu Qingfang freezes in the doorway. Ball of fluff and Shen Qingqiu also freeze.

"Is... Shixiong alright?"

This seems to snap Shen Qingqiu into action. He scrambles up firmly but with care, cradling the fluffball. Shen Qingqiu gets himself in order as best he can with both his hands occupied and clears his throat.

"Ah...Yes. this master is fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?..."

The fluffball twitches, wriggling until Shen Qingqiu loses his grip on it. It hops to the floor. A juvenile Whitecrested Snowrabbit of Agility stares up at Mu Qingfang.

"This. Shidi could come back at a more opportune time?"

The bunny starts chewing on a scroll.

"I believe that would be best."

Mu Qingfang backs out of the doorway.

He does send tea to help with Shen-Shixiong's fatigue and a subspecies of carrot that Whitecrested Snowrabbits are supposed to favour though.

I wonder what the next topic of Cang Qiong's rumor mill will be?

#svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #mu qingfang #qing jing peak #svsss au #svsss crack #an ding peak #shang qinghua #cumplane #mushen #-ish #svsss drabble #researcher shen yuan

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rileyslibrary · 2 years ago

Text

Synopsis: A new lieutenant comes to your base—a hot one. Ghost isn’t happy.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Notes:

I haven’t thought of a title, so I’m replacing it with a picture of Ghost’s expression that perfectly captures the fic’s concept. Let me know if you think of one.

Platonic fluff, duh.

Warning: Lots of swearing ahead of you, British slang as well. Told you, he’s not happy.

UPDATE: there’s a Part 2 now. Things get messy.

Want more?

———————————————————————

The rumour mill went into overdrive as soon as the ‘new guy’ arrived at the military base that morning. A former special ops legend with impressive credentials; what’s not to love?

But it wasn’t just his military skills that had everyone talking; it was also his appearance. Rumours of his Adonis-like looks had spread throughout the base, and everyone was dying to catch a glimpse of him. Even the mess hall was dominated by talk of his stunning looks.

What did you think of him? Well, you prefer to take such things with a grain of salt and not put too much stock in them. After all, beauty is a matter of personal preference, and no single definition applies to everyone. So you wanted to evaluate things for yourself.

Okay, fine. Yes, the rumours were true—the guy is exactly as they described him.

The new lieutenant stands tall and proud in front of the line you’ve all formed, his wavy hair coiffed into a deep side part with a thick fringe swooping over one eye. His chiselled jawline is accentuated by a short, perfectly groomed beard, and he gives everyone a brilliant smile as if he’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. His voice is booming and almost comically enthusiastic as if he were trying to engage a class of children. He gives orders by pointing at soldiers with gun fingers and winking, causing some of you to stifle giggles.

“All right, soldiers, pay attention!” he says, clapping his hands like a cheerleader. “Today’s tasks are routine: cleaning, organizing, equipment repair, and inventory taking. And, hey, if we pull this off, I’ll buy everyone a round at the local pub! How does that sound?”

Some of the soldiers exchange skeptical glances, wondering if this guy is for real.

But Ghost? Oh. My. God.

Ghost’s agitation becomes too hard to hide as the new lieutenant speaks. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, moving frantically as if eager to be anywhere but here. His eyes keep rolling back as though they’re searching for some leftover patience in the depths of his skull. You keep staring at his crossed arms. They’re so stiff that his muscles must ache from the effort. It’s as if he’s trying to keep them in place, so he doesn’t unleash them and back-slap the hot lieutenant’s pretty face. That, or he’ll let out a primal scream any second now.

“Y/N,” he turns to face you, and you stand at attention, “you’re on border patrol with me today-”

“Y/N is staying with me at the office today,” Ghost opposes him. “There’s a lot of paperwork that needs to be done.”

“Can’t you get someone else to fill out the paperwork?” the man asks, shooting Ghost a wink and a grin.

“Can’t you get someone else to help you with border patrol?” Ghost winks back at him and turns to face you. “Y/N, on your feet, c’mon,” he says, walking towards the building.

You exchange glances with the new lieutenant and shrug. This is too awkward.

“WHENEVER YOU’RE READY, SOLDIER,” Ghost commands, and you dash towards him, brushing past the new lieutenant, who also happens to smell amazing. Of course, he does.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today, Lt.?” You whisper as you run behind him, “where’s the camaraderie we discussed during yesterday’s briefing?”

Ghost shoots you a glare over his shoulder. “Just trying to keep my paperwork safe,” he mutters.

“What’ll happen to the damn paperw-” you proceed to ask, but then evaluate his words; you’re the paperwork.

At the office…

He’s reticent as he sits on his desk—not like he’s a social butterfly any other day, but today, he seems angry. Almost hostile. His eyebrows are tied together, his restless leg syndrome is back, and he takes too many cigarette breaks compared to what you’re used to. He answers your questions with one-word statements when—and if—he acknowledges your presence. Yesses and nos are all you’ve been getting since you entered the office, with the occasional “tsk” he might utter while he looks at his papers.

“Pass me the stapler.” He commands.

“Magic word, Ghost.”

“Pass me the fucking stapler, please.”

You slide the stapler over to his desk. “You’re rude today, Mr Riley.” You comment, turning your focus back to the laptop’s screen.

He doesn’t reply in the form of words. Instead, his feelings manifest themselves by aggressively stapling the papers together.

“Perhaps you’d like me to ask for the stapler by winking at you?” He finally mutters under his breath.

“Like the guy that came in today?” You scoff.

Oh, you have his full, undivided attention now. He turns his chair towards you and leans his weight on his thighs as if you’re about to tell the most exciting story.

“What do you think of him?” He asks.

You flick your wrist dismissively. “I don’t know him well enough to form an opinion. I prefer to reserve judgment until I get to know someone.” You give him a pointed look, hoping to convey your message without having to spell it out for him.

“He’s a fucking bellend, I’ll tell you that much.” He mumbles in response. Guess the message got lost in transit.

“Come on, man!” You shout and punch your fist on the table, “it’s obvious that he’s got you rattled.”

“He’s not rattling me!” Ghost protests, but his defensive tone betrays him.

“Sure, he’s not,” you reply sarcastically, “that’s why you’ve been chain-smoking and stapling papers like you’re trying to murder them.”

Ghost lets out a deep sigh and rubs his temples.

“Is it his looks?” you ask.

“No, it’s not his looks,” Ghost rolls his eyes, “I’m much better looking than him, that’s for sure.”

“Are you...I don’t know, intimidated, maybe?” You shrug, “because you’re worried he might take your place as the top dog around here?”

He looks at you incredulously. “What are you talking about? I’m not worried about that.”

“Sure, you’re not,” you smirk. “That’s why you’ve been acting like a total jerk all day.”

He looks up and sighs. The poor man looks like he desperately needs an ego boost. Beneath Ghost’s tough facade there’s Simon, after all. And Simon is a human being with the same insecurities and worries as everyone else.

“In any case,” you say, trying to comfort him, “nobody takes such douchebags seriously in the army. And I get it; the guy’s trying to make a good impression and all, but, my God, he needs to chill with all the...” you start winking and pointing gun fingers left and right.

He’s so happy he lets out a sharp chuckle. “He’s a fucking nobhead, isn’t he?” He asks, “trying to take charge and acting like he knows everything.”

“Indeed,” you reassure him, “and that cologne, I almost fainted as I passed him; how could you stand beside him for so long?”

“Don’t ask.” He shakes his head.

You reach over and give his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it, Ghost. You’re the most respected operator here,” you say, giving him a small smile, “just do me a favour and give the guy a chance; he has so much to learn from you.”

He nods. “I wanted to neck slap him so hard,” he mumbles, “knock his pretty white teeth out.”

“Which are fake, by the way.”

“Are they?” He asks, shocked.

“100%.” You reply with conviction as if you are the guy’s dentist.

“I knew it.” He yells, slaps his hand on his thigh, and turns his chair back to his desk.

You look at him from the corner of your eye. He seems much more relaxed now. Hopefully, he takes your advice to heart and proceeds with the same resilience and leadership he does on the battlefield. Or, maybe, you temporarily diffused a potential conflict, and the captain will have to get involved pretty soon. Who knows. At least he feels confident in himself now, and the guy’s teeth will live to see another day.

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

#simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #call of duty #modern warfare 2

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fluentmoviequoter · 6 months ago

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Defend Myself - Part II

Part 2 of Defend Myself

Summary: You agree to teach a self-defence class at the police station. There, you meet Tim Bradford again, as well as some unexpected guests.

Warnings: Tim gets nervous and awkward, fluff!! lots of mentions of winning fights

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: Not proofread yet! I have to go to work so I'll do it tonight. :)

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Alone in your studio classroom, you tap your toes against the floor as hold music plays from your phone. It’s been two days since you met Tim Bradford and learned about the opportunity to teach a free self-defence class at the station. As you wait to talk to the community liaison, you can’t help but think about Officer Bradford again.

“Hello,” someone greets. “Sorry about that wait.”

“No problem,” you reply. “I was calling to find out about teaching a self-defence class for the public. The officer I just spoke to told me you were the person to ask.”

“Of course. I can definitely help you with that. We’ve got several openings for community courses in the coming weeks. Are you a certified group instructor?”

“I am.”

“Perfect. That will help you get in here faster. This means your next step is just to choose a date and time and complete some paperwork. After that, we’ll spread the word in the community, find volunteers to assist you, and get everything in order before the course itself takes place.”

“Great, thank you so much. Is there any chance I could get started on the next step today?”

“Yes, we can do that. Most instructors come into the station to view the community area and complete the necessary forms, but we can send those papers over electronically as well.”

“I’d be happy to come by the station.”

“Excellent. I’m available all day today and tomorrow afternoon if you’d like?”

“Today works.”

You decide on a time with him before you end the call. After your last class of the day, you lock up and head for the Mid-Wilshire police station. Though Officer Bradford said he’d be willing to volunteer for your class, you doubt you’ll ever see him again. LA is a relatively big place, and the chances of seeing the same cop more than once can’t be very high.

At the front desk, you provide your name and the details of your appointment. You’re quickly led through a door and into a large room where police officers are milling about.

“Nice to meet you,” the community liaison greets you as he welcomes you into his office. “I’ve got your paperwork here. Just a few simple liability forms and a background check.”

“Thank you for meeting with me so quickly,” you say as you take a seat.

You begin filling out the forms as you tell him what you plan to teach. He seems impressed by your willingness to host a free session and explains that fewer and fewer people are reaching out to him, despite the compensation they offer.

“That’s the last of them,” he tells you as he accepts your final paper. “I want to get started on these right away, so I’m going to pass you off to another officer to give you the tour.”

“I appreciate that.”

You follow him to the door and see several officers talking near a glass wall.

“You mentioned Officer Bradford in your call, didn’t you?” the liaison asks.

“I did.”

“Great.”

He waves someone over, and you smile when you see Officer Bradford again. He’s not alone, but he smiles at you before he begins introductions.

“This is my watch commander, Sergeant Grey,” he tells you. “Grey, this is the woman who did my job for me at the hockey game earlier this week.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sergeant Grey says as he shakes your hand.

“Good things I hope,” you reply.

“Of course,” Tim interjects quickly.

He seems nervous, but you brush it off as him trying to do his job and carry a conversation. In reality, Tim Bradford is awestruck by you, your abilities, and how kind and compassionate you are despite how easily you could win a fight against anyone in this station.

“Any chance you’d still be willing to help me with the class?” you ask Tim. “I’d hate to mess up and never be invited back.”

“You’d have to fire your service weapon in the station for us to not invite you back,” Wade says. “Which has happened, but we’re desperate.”

“Then I’m glad I can help. And the more people who can defend themselves, the better.”

“Right,” Tim agrees. “And, yeah, I’d be happy too. I can show you where you’ll be teaching.”

“Great!”

There’s a commotion near the door, and Tim and Sergeant Grey stand straighter as they watch. A security guard steps in with an officer, and then two cops follow on either side. Tim has positioned himself directly beside you, whether to keep you back from whatever is happening or just to get a better view you aren’t sure. When another man walks in, flanked by more security guards, you gasp and hit Tim’s arm with the back of your hand.

“Ow,” he mumbles quietly as he jerks back slightly.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Do you know who that is?!”

“I take it you do.”

“Sergeant Grey,” an officer calls. “We’re early, I’m sorry about that.”

“No problem. We can meet in the roll call room,” Sergeant Grey replies.

Three large men stand feet away from you, and you link your fingers together as you try to hold your excitement inside. You smile at the man nearest you before you turn back to Tim.

“Bradford, can you sit in?” Grey asks. “Or do you need to finish here first?”

“Oh, please go, I can wait,” you answer for him. “They’re way more important than me.”

“I don’t know about that,” someone says beside you.

You turn to see which man spoke and laugh before you argue, “You have a game to win, Mr. Konecny, you get priority here.”

“Are you a fan?” Travis Konecny asks.

“Yes!” you answer loudly. “Sorry, I’m excited. Yes, I’m a huge Flyers fan.”

“Do you have tickets?” Sam Ersson asks from beside him.

“I do. Nosebleeds, but tickets are tickets.”

Travis clicks his tongue and looks to one of the security guards to say, “Get her a seat on the ice. And anyone else in here who wants one. Their job is much more important than ours.”

You thank him and shake his hand before he passes. As Tim leads Travis Konecny, Sam Ersson, and Jamie Drysdale into the roll call room, you wait nearby. You just met the Philadelphia Flyers! As if seeing Tim again wasn’t exciting enough, you just had a once-in-a-lifetime encounter with some of the best hockey players in the country. Maybe the day can’t get any better.

“Hey,” Tim calls as he returns. “Are you ready?”

“Sure. Thank you again, for everything,” you reply.

He nods as you stand, and then leads you through the station.

“I…” Tim begins.

“Yeah?” you encourage.

“Would you maybe want to go to the game together? They gave me a ticket too.”

“I’d love to! Are they nice? Wait, don’t tell me if they’re not.”

“They’re very nice, and they seemed very happy about meeting a fan.”

“Sorry again for hitting you.”

“It’s fine,” Tim assures with a smile. “It hurt, but that just makes me even more impressed by you.”

“Impressed?”

Tim opens a door for you and shakes his head when your eyes meet his. “Like you can’t tell.”

On the day of your self-defence class at the police station, you wake up early to prepare everything. Most of your equipment is already packed, but you want everything to go well. Once you finish this, you’ll be even closer to your date with Tim. Self-defence, an attractive man, and hockey all in one week is like a romcom made just for you.

Tim is waiting outside the door when you arrive to set up. He smiles and opens the door before he takes a bag from you. As he helps you arrange your minimal gear and go through your sets and cues in a practice run, he makes easy conversation with you. Getting to know each other seems easy, even if this is only small talk and surface questions. He’s someone worth the time and effort of learning.

When the last person leaves your class (after telling you several times about how much she enjoyed it and would like to come to another one), you sigh and shake your arms out. You had been nervous that no one would show up or that they wouldn’t like it, but you were wrong. The room was full, and everyone participated and seemed to enjoy themselves.

“That was fun,” you tell Tim. “I want to do it again.”

“Don’t say that too loud, Grey will try to make you a permanent fixture,” Tim teases.

“I might like that. Although, I’m more excited for our date.”

“Date?” Tim asks, standing up quickly. “I mean, I wanted it to be a date, but didn’t know if you were-“

You smile as you interrupt him to say, “Yeah, it’s a date, Tim.”

“Good,” Tim says softly. His smile grows as he repeats, “Good.”

The night of the Flyers game, Tim picks you up at your studio. He’s the first gentleman you’ve been on a date with in a while. Each moment with him increases your excitement for a hockey game date.

“Wait,” you tell him when he reaches for his door handle. “You’re cheering for the Flyers, right?”

“Yeah,” Tim answers slowly. “Why?”

“Because I was going to sit with someone else if you said no. Please continue.”

Tim smiles a look that knocks the breath out of you like a well-timed punch. He takes your hand and keeps it in his as he leads you to the perfect seats you were gifted. You gasp as you look out on the ice, and Tim watches you rather than the skaters warming up. One of the guys shoulder-checks his teammate before they point at each other, and you and Tim laugh with them.

“I’m pretty sure you could beat up both of them,” Tim says in your ear.

“Do you just like me for my fighting skills?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Not just for that!”

You laugh and bump your shoulder against Tim’s. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around your shoulders, and you happily lean toward him.

“This is way better than the last hockey game I went to,” you murmur.

“That’s not a compliment,” Tim argues.

Before you can explain what you mean, the Flyers skate to the panel before you and bang on the divider. You smile and Travis, Sam, and Jamie hold up a jersey with ‘LA’s Finest’ on the back. After they skate away, a woman in a Flyers shirt approaches you and hands you a bag. Inside are two of those jerseys, and you quickly pull yours over your head.

“LA’s finest,” Tim reads. “I have to agree.”

“Back at you.”

Tim stays at your side for the entire game. You cheer together, yell together, and enjoy the night in each other’s company. You want Tim Bradford at your side for a very long time, even if he does make endless comments about who you could challenge to a fight.

“We should invite them to the wedding,” you say when the game ends.

“An entire hockey team?” Tim questions. You notice he doesn’t argue against the idea of marriage, just the number of people you’re already adding to the guest list.

“Yeah. Plus, the whole LAPD, right?”

Tim pulls you under his arm and leads you back to his truck. You can invite as many people as you want, he thinks, as long as he’s there with you.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #fem!reader #hanna writes✯#the rookie x reader #the rookie abc

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sonamytrash · 8 months ago

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Early spring

Tags: Fluff, pregnancy, Levi Ackerman, Levi × reader, fem reader.

The morning mist swirled lazily through the training fields, clinging to the dewy grass and the stables like a ghostly veil. The morning drills were going smoothly, with the cadets executing their maneuvers with precision and discipline.

The rumor mill had been working overtime, spinning tales of how you had both met, how you had fallen in love in the underground, and how you had both managed to keep the relationship a secret all these years. Some claimed you both eloped, others that you'd run away from home. Despite what may or may not be true, one thing was certain: Your relationship was a popular topic amongst gossiping teens and bored soldiers of the scouting headquarters.

As you walked by the training grounds greeting the cadets politely, the group exchanged knowing glances, Armin knew they were all thinking the same thing. It was obvious that you were pregnant, and it was even clearer that their captain was the father. The news had been spreading through the headquarters like wildfire, and even though they knew it was a private matter, they couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and curiosity about it.

Your pregnant belly, rounder and fuller by the day, strained against the fabric of your uniform, betraying the secret that you were trying to keep. But for your part you seemed to be taking it all in your stride, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment at all the attention but even still, a small smirk played at the corners of your lips now that the cat was out of the bag. And Levi, his expression was unreadable as usual. But there was a softness to his eyes when he looked at you that spoke volumes. It was clear that he was overjoyed at the news, even if he wasn't the sort to show it openly.

Sasha furrowed her brow. Based on her numerous siblings, she was no stranger to the topic of pregnancy and babies. "It's hard to say for sure," she paused thoughtfully. "but based on how she's been acting and how big her belly is getting, I'd guess she's at least four months along." Armin nodded in agreement, "Captain Levi has been even more protective and attentive towards y/n lately too."

Ymir spoke up, her voice tinged with amusement. "Well, boys and girls," she drawled, "I guess we all owe Ymir a drink for predicting this. I called it months ago that y/n would be knocked up by the end of the year."

There were a few snickers groans and chuckles around the group. Even though she was usually pretty outspoken, no one could deny that she was spot-on with this prediction.

As they continued to talk, the topic eventually turned to the future. Armin wondered how you and the Captain would balance your duties in the regiment with raising a child. Krista pointed out that the baby would probably be the cutest thing in the world once it was born. Mikasa agreed, adding that a baby was a wonderful thing. Even though there were still questions and concerns, there was an undercurrent of excitement and anticipation in the air.

Levi, always the picture of stoicism, suddenly appeared, snapping the group to attention. His eyes scanned the assembled group, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady and commanding. "Keep your eyes on the target, keep your minds sharp, and keep up with the training."

The group remained uncharacteristically silent. His piercing gaze continued to sweep across their faces, his expression unreadable as ever. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke again. "Is there something that's distracting you?." They knew that he wouldn't address the elephant in the room unless he was asked. A hush fell over the group as Connie ventured the question. "... When's the baby due, captain?" There was a collective holding of breath while waiting for his answer. Fear behind their eyes at Connies stupid question that was bound to get them assigned the worst chores for the rest of the month. Levi didn't seem fazed by the question in the slightest, and his expression remained unreadable. "We're not entirely sure yet, but we're thinking early spring." Levi calmly replied, and if they weren't mistaken, a hint of affection was present in his voice. The cadets exchanged glances again, a mixture of joy, surprise, and relief.

He paused, then added, "But for now, focus on training, brats."

They quickly resumed their training. And through the remainder of the day, whispers continued to circulate about the impending arrival of yours and the Captains baby. Some speculated about the baby's gender, while others discussed the potential names they thought would suit.

Later that day, you knock softly on the captains office door, waiting for permission to enter. Once you do, Levi looks up from his desk, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips upon seeing you. "You handled that well, love," you tell him, your voice quiet but sincere.

"Well, we've certainly got everyone talking," he said, gesturing for you to come over. You smiled playfully, taking a seat on his lap. "Well," you pause. "It's one thing to keep our relationship a secret from everyone, but it's another thing entirely to try to keep a pregnancy under wraps for nine months." You chuckle. "But we gave it a shot. I think four months is pretty impressive." Levi chuckles softly, reaching out to take your hand in his. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving your face, his other hand wrapping around your waist and resting gently on the bump beneath your uniform. "We'll have to try harder next time."

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x y/n #captain levi x reader #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #dadvi ackerman #dadvi #dad levi #dad levi ackerman

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ficsilike-reblogged · 1 year ago

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Invisible Smoke - Two

Summary: There is something going on with Jake’s favorite mechanic. And he continues to pry. Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin/F!Reader Word Count: 9.7k A/N: Thank you for all the love on the first chapter, I truly wasn’t expecting it. I apologize for the wait, but hopefully the length will make up for it! Warnings: Naval inaccuracies, themes of stalking, cursing, mentions of terminal and life-threatening illnesses, and combative fluff :)

The ceremony was wonderful if not a little long winded but you hardly cared as you stood with the rest of the crowd to cheer as Captain Mitchell and Admiral Simpson presented the Daggers, officially a squadron of Lieutenant Commanders. You caught Rooster’s eye, having watched Captain Mitchell pin the leaves to his uniform, and saw that he still had tears lining his lower lashes. You winked at him, earning a small smile and a bit of pink in his cheeks. You were so proud.

“I’m so happy for him!” Came a warbled voice and you held the phone in your hand a little higher. This wasn’t exactly how you thought you’d meet Jake’s family (not that you had ever given it much thought, really) but when he’d explained that his family couldn’t make it out to the ceremony for one reason or another, you had volunteered to make sure their FaceTime was at the right angle so they could see everything. There were four of them all crammed together—his mother, Sandra, and three sisters, Mia, Kelly, and Alex—staring at what you assumed was an iPad with how Sandra was holding it; blonde heads swiveling together to track Jake’s movements on the stage had been quite the spectacle but when you had glanced up to see Jake looking at you with the biggest, brightest smile you had ever seen it had nearly made you drop the phone.

Embarrassing.

As the ceremony wrapped up and the crowd started to disperse, you lingered near your chair and watched as everyone else reunited with the family that came to watch the ceremony, shook hands with the brass, or hurried off to the Hard Deck to celebrate because Captain Mitchell had, unsurprisingly, sweet talked Penny into letting them take over (again). You waved Tasha on when she went to wait for you and she frowned but did eventually leave, looping her arm through her older sister’s before disappearing out into the parking lot.

“Is my son making you wait?”

You glanced down at the phone with a smile. “He’s schmoozing with some of the big wigs. I’m in no rush to go anywhere.”

Sandra hummed, green eyes narrowing behind her glasses as she paused. It was almost comical how much the expression reminded you of Jake when he was thinking of something. “Well, sugar, I hate to ask this, but could you remind me of your name?”

You gave it readily but added, “most call me Punch.”

Mia once again appeared on screen, leaning down with a matching squint. “Punch?”

“Yeah. It’s a long story but-”

“Oh, we’ve heard of you.”

That had your brow pinching and you fought the urge to bring the phone closer to your face as if that would help you decipher the look on Jake’s sister’s face. All you managed to say was, “oh?”

A smile started to stretch across Mia’s face. “Don’t worry. All good things.”

The phone was snatched out of your hands before you could ask just what the hell that meant and you turned to see Jake smiling at his family on the little screen. “Hi, mama.”

“Jacob Seresin!” Sandra started. “Did you make Punch wait when she was doing you a favor?”

If possible, Jake’s smile widened and his sea glass gaze shifted to you. “Already ganging up on me with my mom?”

“Your family is a delight,” you drawled. “You must be adopted.”

There was an answering laugh that had Jake’s cheeks turning a light shade of pink before he nudged at your arm with the flat of his palm. “Get out of here.”

“It was nice to meet you, Sandra!” You hollered, already turned toward the door.

Sandra’s laugh rang out again and you walked out to the car, thankful to see a few small groups of people still milling about in the warm San Diego sun. You were quick to get into your car and lock the door behind you before curling your hands over the steering wheel. Your next breath was a slow, stuttering sigh. It had only been four days since you had seen him in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

Lurking.

Smirking.

And it had been four days since you felt like you could actually breathe. A familiar pressure on your chest had been your constant companion. You knew it was part of your anxiety, a physical manifestation of your fear. You were still on that metaphorical cliff, waiting to fall. You leaned back against the seat and tried to drag in another breath but it was like your lungs couldn’t expand. Pressing your hands over your stomach you tried again and again and again until the ache lessened enough for you to continue to pretend.

Pretend to be normal.

Pretend to be okay.

You’d nearly blown it when Jake had walked you out of the Hard Deck. But maybe he just thought you really wanted to get away from him and brushed it off, thinking you were in a mood. He had only texted to make sure you made it home okay and you’d spent the rest of the night on the couch with a baseball bat clutched in a shaking grip. But you had continued on. Going to work. Putting on a smile and a brave face. Keeping your mouth shut. It was better this way.

With another stilted breath, you grabbed your bag from your backseat and changed out of your uniform and into the dress you’d picked for the night before driving off base. The Hard Deck’s parking lot was already starting to reach capacity so you took the first space you could find and smoothed out your dress as your car beeped, letting you know the doors were locked. The inside of the naval bar was just as busy as the parking lot and you dodged an elbow of someone playing darts not two steps in. Weaving through the crowd, you waved at a few familiar faces—mostly other ADs grouped near one of the windows—and waited to finally make it up to the bar. Jimmy and Penny were both fixing drinks and a few other employees were picking up empty glasses left abandoned on high tops and booths. It might be a minute.

“Hey.”

You looked to the side with a smile and pulled Bob into a hug which he quickly reciprocated. “Hey yourself, Lieutenant Commander Floyd.”

Bob’s cheeks flushed a tiny bit and he adjusted his grip on the hat beneath his arm as you stepped back. “You’ve got to meet my brother before he flies out.”

“Of course. But first, let me buy you a drink.” And as he opened his mouth to protest, you shook your head. “You wouldn’t let me do anything else so I’m buying you a drink.” Bob sighed but dutifully followed you up to the bar and let you pay for his ginger ale but grumbled when you insisted on buying his brother’s drink, too. You also had Penny put together a round for the Daggers you knew would be circling the pool tables soon enough. Bob helped you carry everything toward the table where his brother was waiting. You’d ‘met’ Bob’s brother, Harrison, a few times when you accidentally barged in on Bob FaceTiming his family but it was nice to finally meet him in person. He was just as charming as Bob but had a few more extroverted tendencies and regaled you with stories about the year he took off before medical school to ‘visit’ Bob who was stationed in Hawaii and spent the entire time learning to surf and trying to teach Bob, too.

“I never quite got the hang of it,” Bob admitted, still sipping on his ginger ale.

“You tried your best!” Harrison said with a kind smile. But soon his phone was beeping and he grimaced before standing from the table. “All right. I’ve gotta catch my flight back to New York.”

“Let me know when you land,” Bob murmured as he stood and wrapped him in a hug.

You might have heard a muffled ‘of course,’ before they separated but you definitely heard Harrison say, “I’m so proud of you.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder again before turning to you with a smile and he surprised you with a quick kiss to the cheek. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

“That’s mostly Phoenix,” you said with a smile.

But Harrison shook his head. “I’m sure it is a team effort. Now, keep in touch, okay?” And then he breezed away, disappearing into the crowd and probably into a waiting taxi outside.

You spoke for a little longer, mostly about the ceremony and how Cyclone actually seemed like a human instead of a robot the last handful of days but Admiral Cain still seemed like a douchebag of the highest order. By now the rest of the Daggers had arrived, to much fanfare in the bar, and would sometimes filter by the table to grab a beer and chat for a bit—Natasha’s sister was a riot and had Tasha’s blushing a surprising shade of scarlet after telling you and Bob a particularly embarrassing story about “baby Tash” trying to jump off the roof with a bedsheet cape before she, too, had to leave to catch a flight back home. And you almost hated that you knew the exact moment Jake entered the bar, like you couldn’t help but turn toward him whenever he appeared, like a sunflower facing the sun. Again…embarrassing. However, you noticed Bob kept looking at the group of women circled around one of the high tops and you nudged his shoulder with your own. “Don’t,” he muttered.

“What?” You asked, fighting a smile.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He took another sip of his ginger ale and shook his head. “It isn’t happening.”

“And why not? You deserve someone nice. They look nice…for the most part,” you added with a scrunch of your nose. “Maybe the blonde in the red dress looks a bit mean, but the rest of them look nice. Want me to go over there and test the waters? I can see which ones would be down to handle that sword-”

“Punch!” It was honestly impressive how quickly Bob’s face went a violent shade of scarlet and he nearly dropped his pop.

“You got a sword with your promotion. I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I am a lady, Bobert.”

He snorted and knuckled at his glasses to push them up again. “Sure. Sure you are, Punch.”

Then you laughed. You laughed and that weight in your chest cracked and fizzled out. For now, you could breathe again. Bob eventually got you up and away from the table with the promise to take it easy on you with a game of pool—he lied. The WSO absolutely demolished you in an embarrassingly quick game.

“That was brutal,” Tasha said as she grabbed a beer.

“It was.” You handed her the cue with a wince. “But, to make it up to me, Bob now has to let me test the waters with the ladies he’s been eyeing all night.”

Tasha glanced over at the group when you tilted your head in their direction and hummed. “Not the blonde in the red dress. She looks mean.”

Bob just groaned. “Please keep the sword innuendos to a minimum.”

“Why? You need someone who knows how to handle that ceremonial saber-”

The sound of someone choking on their beer had you all turning to see Jake wiping at his face. Tasha, smirking, smacked him on the back a few times to ‘help.’ He nudged her away with a halfhearted scowl as he licked the last few drops from his lips. “Jesus.”

“What?”

Jake’s smirk vanished but you could tell he was fighting to keep it down as his brows furrowed in an echo of a certain Admiral’s disappointed frown. “So crass-”

“Oh, blow me, Ken. It isn’t like you don’t have a list of sword-related pickup lines or nicknames at the ready.”

Tasha laughed into her beer and you felt a little zing of pride—you always did when you made her laugh.

“You did call that one barracks bunny a sword swallower,” Rooster said, cutting into conversation with ease. And it was then that the party really seemed to start and you let Tasha pull you into a game of darts (you lost) before you did actually try to get a read on the group of women and deciding that, actually, they all seemed a little mean and they were more interested in Captain Mitchell and Admiral Simpson anyway, if their drunken whispers were anything to go by.

You’d find a lady for Bob. One day.

After watching Bradley and Tasha beat Billy and Neil at pool and finally finishing your drink, you remembered Sarah’s invitation and stepped to Bradley’s side again as he went to grab another beer from the table. As soon as you were within reach, he slung an arm over your shoulders and hauled you closer. “You doing okay?” He asked, voice low.

You sagged in his grip, a reaction you couldn’t fight. He made you feel safe. He always did. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

You winced at the tone. He had an innate way of knowing you were feeling off. And you hadn’t been exactly subtle in how you were acting lately. But you didn’t want to put more on Bradley’s plate, not now. Not when he was high on the new hardware on his collar. “Yeah,” you said, trying to sound convincing before changing the subject. “Sarah’s throwing an engagement party for Junior. She said I could bring someone and I thought you’d like to go? I know it’s been a minute since you’ve seen them all.”

Bradley set down his beer with a nod, licking the droplets from his lips. “When is it?”

“Friday.” And your heart plummeted as Bradley’s face crumpled and his arm slipped from your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Punch, but I promised Mav I’d help him haul in a part for his plane—we’re leaving at like five in the morning on Saturday.”

You nodded as you pinched your lower lip between your fingers until Bradley swatted it away with a knowing look. “I can ask Bob-”

“Bob and Phoenix have been asked to speak in Annapolis this weekend.”

Fuck. Fuck! You knew that. How could you forget? He’d been so excited when he got the call to lead a few classes back at his alma mater. “This is fine. I can just go by my-”

“I’ll go with you.”

Jake heard something in your neck pop with how quickly you turned your head to look at him. “What?”

And Jake almost recoiled at the amount of shock in your tone. “I mean, if you need someone to go with you.” Then, when neither you or Bradley said anything, Jake was about to retract his offer, already feeling stupid for opening his mouth in the first place. Usually he’d be more conscious to not let anyone know he was eavesdropping but the four beers he’d had probably loosened his tongue and he’d pounced at the opportunity to take you anywhere before he could stop himself with thoughts of repercussions. “I-”

“You’d do that?” And Jake hated how small your voice was, barely heard over the noise of the bar.

“Yeah. ‘Course.” And your smile was near blinding, twisting at something Jake didn’t want to acknowledge behind his ribs.

He listened intently to what the party was about—engagement for your not-actual-little brother, and when you’d pick him up—“I’m driving, you’re going to have to deal with it,” and what was expected—“just have a good time. And sign the card I’m buying, you can take half the credit for the gift I’m bringing, too.”

It sounded like it could be a good time. But if you smiled at him like that again, he’d probably agree to anything. You also told Jake to be ready by 18:20 next Friday so you’d be on time for the party and then Jake tried to ignore how that familiar feeling came roaring back in the confines of his chest as he watched you walk back toward the bar.

A hand clapping on his shoulder pulled Jake from admiring how your hips swayed with each step and he turned to see Rooster still standing beside him. His hazel eyes went from Jake to you and then back to Jake. “Let’s have a chat, Bagman.”

Fuck.

By the time you swiped a bit of tinted balm over your lips, you’d told yourself sixteen times that you were making a mistake but, “it would be fine.” You checked your watch and nodded: you were still on time. Early, actually. Jake would meet you at the Hard Deck and then you’d drive you both over to the Kazansky home to save room on the driveway—knowing Sarah, she’d probably invited half the people in her contacts and would still consider it a small party.

And you were contemplating texting Jake and telling him to forget it and that you’d go by yourself. It was too risky. Too intimate. Accepting his offer to go with you had been stupid. And choosing a dress that you knew made your tits look good because you’d caught Jake looking at you the last time you wore a dress like this was also very, very stupid. But when your phone chirped and Jake’s text lit up the screen—“Ready when you are, Punch!”—you knew it was too late.

And really…didn’t you deserve to have a good night?

He had robbed you of enough, hadn’t he? You could have one night. And there was a small bit of you that hoped he was satisfied with just scaring you once.

When you pulled into the Hard Deck’s parking lot, you were barely stopped before the passenger side door opened and Jake slid in with a bright smile and filled your car with the scent of his cologne—leather and oak moss and something distinctly Jake. “Ready?”

“Do you usually hurl yourself into moving vehicles or is that a recent addition to your lengthy list of ways you are a man-child?”

Jake’s smile widened. “You keeping lists about me?”

You resisted the urge to smack his arm and scowled instead as you reached into the backseat to grab the card you’d picked and made sure to hit him in the chest with it and the pen you wrestled from the bottom of your purse. “Sign that.”

Jake clicked the pen several times as he read over the mushy words Hallmark had written for a recently engaged couple and you drummed your fingers against the steering wheel as you slowed to a stop at a red light. If he said anything about the paragraph you wrote you might just-

“This is a nice card.” He then signed his name with a flourish and tucked it into the envelope. “What gift did you get them?”

“We got them an engagement photo shoot with a photographer who I may or may not have bombarded with emails and bribed after realizing Taylor follows her on instagram.” Were you proud of that? Not really. But you had felt extraordinarily bad after realizing that Junior had texted you after he proposed and you hadn’t responded until two weeks later. You knew he’d say there was nothing to apologize for but you still felt the need to make up for it.

“No, Punch,” he started. “My mama told me to never take credit for something I didn’t do. That gift is from you. I got them this.” He held up a bottle of champagne that you knew cost a few hundred dollars with a little silver bow taped to the neck. How you managed to miss that when he basically threw himself into your car, you’d never know (you were probably distracted by the way his thighs flexed beneath his nice trousers).

But it didn’t matter. You sealed the card after slipping the photographer’s business card inside. “It would’ve been fine, you know. But I’m sure they’ll love the champagne, too.”

Jake’s chest puffed a bit at that and you tried to not look too much at the tan skin that was revealed with the movement nor the silver links of his dog tags you knew were hiding beneath his obscenely tight shirt. You failed. And when he caught you looking, his smirk returned.

You couldn’t have that. “Careful, Ken. If you pop a button I’ll have to drop you on the nearest street corner.”

And then the asshole actually unbuttoned the next button. “I like to think I’d be a high-end escort. Like for senators.”

The answering laugh punched out of you before you could even pretend to not find him funny.

The rest of the drive was spent slapping his hand away from the radio when he said your taste in music was terrible—even when you caught him singing along with Stevie on your preferred classic rock station. It was good and easy and you almost hated it by the time you parked outside Sarah’s house, managing to snag a place beside the mailbox.

Jake was at your side before you reached the front door and knocked his foot into yours when you sucked in a breath before knocking at the front door. Yeah. Coming with him was a mistake. A beautiful, terrible mistake.

Jake had never been to the Kazansky home. On the ride over, you gave him a rundown on who he needed to know—Missus Kazansky, Junior and his fiancée Taylor, and younger sister Lily—and how to behave. It was mostly good natured ribbing and an actual threat to push him out a window if he hit on Lily.

“Okay, no Lily, but Missus Kazansky is free game?” That quip had earned him a glare so intense he would swear he saw his life flash before his eyes.

Worth it.

After all, it wasn’t all that often that Jake got to see you like this. Sure, he saw you in uniform on base and you had the innate ability to have a spare change of clothes wherever you went so you were never in uniform when you didn’t need to be so he got to see you in civvies often. But that was usually jeans and t-shirts. Maybe that one pair of shorts he thought about when he couldn’t sleep, if he was lucky.

But right now you were in another dress and he could see the thighs that he definitely didn’t dream about peeking out from the skirt as you shifted your weight from foot to foot. You were…

He couldn’t say gorgeous.

He couldn’t say beautiful.

He couldn’t say stunning.

So, you were special. And right now, as you waited at his side for the door to open, he could smell your perfume. Gardenias and sunshine.

His grandmother had special flower beds just for her gardenias—she once said that the soil in southern Texas was too acidic for her favorite flower but she was determined to have them near the ranch and had planter boxes filled with specialty soil and heaps of the flowers. All of his favorite memories of home were filled with the scent of the small white blooms.

And then there was you. You smelled like home.

The door opened and a petite blonde smiled at you before wrapping you in a quick hug. “Oh, sweetheart, you know you don’t need to knock.”

“Old habits,” you murmured as you returned the hug. When you stepped back, you gestured to Jake. “This is Lieutenant Commander Jacob Seresin. He’s part of the Dagger Squadron with Bradley. Jake, this is Sarah Kazansky.”

After shaking her hand and murmuring his thanks for letting him tag along, Jake stood a little straighter as Missus Kazansky’s eyes looked him over. “You’re Hangman, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you from Pete.” Then, without giving any indication as to what that meant, she waved you in and Jake followed suit. The inside of the large house was filled with people with champagne flutes in their hands as soft pop ballads from decades ago filtered through a hidden sound system, crooning about love.

You complimented Sarah on the tasteful decorations and earned yourself a motherly pat to your cheek before she called out for someone. There was an answering squeal and you shoved the card in your hand to Jake just in time to brace as a younger woman wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’ve missed you so much!”

You laughed and returned the hug before holding her at arm's length with a smile. “Pasadena looks good on you! And you’re so close to graduating!”

This must be Lily, then. Jake watched you talk with her for a moment, seeing you smile as you traded a few short stories and Lily tugged at the skirt of your dress with a mischievous look in her eye. “You’ve gotta tell me where you bought this. You’re a bombshell.”

You waved away the compliment—as Jake knew you often did—and rattled off some store name as Lily shook her head.

“No, no. Take the compliment. You look gorgeous.” Then Lily’s sharp eyes moved to Jake. Jesus Christ. She was Ice Man’s daughter—that look was cold and calculating. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

And Jake’s mouth opened-

“Lily, c’mon. Stop it.” Your voice was nearly a whine. “This is Lieutenant Commander Jacob Seresin. He is one of the Daggers with me at Top Gun. Jake, this is Lily Kazansky. She’s about to graduate from Cal Tech with her degree in Engineering and applied science.”

A matching smile pushed at Lily’s mouth as her eyes raked over him. While Jake usually preened over such an obvious once-over, there was absolutely nothing wanting in her gaze. And maybe having you standing beside him helped…but he wasn’t going to address that. “Hangman. Yeah. I’ve heard of you.” Then Lily’s gaze flickered to you. “Enjoy the party. I think Mom needs my help in the kitchen.” And then she flounced away as you sighed.

“She’s…”

“Don’t say it,” you griped, pulling the envelope out of his grasp again.

“I was going to say intense.”

You nodded as you gnawed on your bottom lip before grabbing the champagne Jake was still holding and setting it on the gift table behind you. “She’s all Tom. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s running the Pacific Fleet by the time she’s forty.” But you waved that away, too, and tugged at his arm, leading him toward the exorbitant spread of finger foods on another table a few paces away. You snagged him a flute of champagne as you handed him a plate and then Jake let you wrangle you both onto a pair of the few remaining empty seats near the kitchen bar.

“Not going to mingle?”

“God, no. I hate mingling. You are free to go off and schmooze, if you want. There are a few people here you may know—probably shook hands with them at your ceremony.” You waved your flute toward a group of middle aged men near the fireplace and, yes, Jake knew them. All of them were upper echelons of the Navy brass and had congratulated him on the promotion. “I won’t hold your seat though.”

Jake laughed and shook his head. “I think I’m good right where I am, Punch. But thank you.” He glanced over at the men to see them already looking in your direction. They each raised their highball glasses with practiced smiles which you and Jake reciprocated with a tip of your champagne flutes. “You sure you don’t want to talk to them?”

You shrugged as you turned back to your food, plucking a small cube of cheese from the assortment and eating it quickly. “If I wanted to talk to them, I could’ve done it at barbecues or one of Sarah’s soirées that she liked to host. I just…don’t care enough. I climbed up the ranks by accident mostly. I like where I am.”

Jake frowned at that. “What do you mean?” You were headstrong and tenacious. Not having drive or ambition just didn’t line up with what he knew about you, with how you presented yourself.

You popped a cherry tomato into your mouth and chewed and swallowed before answering, almost like you were stalling for time. “I’m not a lifer like you, Jake. I didn’t dream of joining the navy as a kid or anything like that. You probably had a vision board or something, right? Asked for model planes since you could talk. You look the type. Probably ate some of the pieces, too.”

But Jake didn’t take the bait and he’d never admit that he did swallow lego when he was seven. “Then why did you enlist? You could go anywhere.”

You were quiet again and that familiar twist in his chest returned as your lips pushed up in a small smile. Then your eyes searched his face, visibly debating something, and you must have found what you were looking for because you nodded, just once, unknowingly twisting the knife you didn’t know you held. “You caught me in a good mood. I’ll tell you. No one will believe you, but I’ll tell you.”

He resisted the urge to grab at your hand and just hold it as he said, “try me.”

“Sparknotes version?”

Jake wanted to know everything. Wanted to ask you to tell him every little detail so he could know you better than anyone else. But he could wait. Maybe. “Sure.”

“My little brother, Danny, got sick his first year of high school. Really sick. Expensive sick. I was in my last year of school and had the choice to either go to university or find a job that could help with the bills.” Your next breath had your shoulders sagging. “The Navy was the only recruitment office that wasn’t on lunch when I walked in. Four days after graduating high school, I was shipping off for training. Then I was volunteering for any deployment that my commanding officers even hinted at because I knew that deployment meant more pay. So, I was accidentally a decorated AD because I was desperate.”

Jake felt you jump when his hand landed on yours as it rested on the table beside him but you didn’t pull away so he selfishly curled his fingers over your wrist, content to feel the warmth you exuded. He remembered the photo on your desk and the soft look you’d been giving him—that was your baby brother. “Is he-”

“Oh, he’s fine now. Finishing up his doctorate at MIT.” Another smile pushed at your lips as you shook your head before your other hand settled over Jake’s. “Healthy as can be. Lily actually reminds me a lot of Danny. Both of them hated their English classes in high school. They’d prefer to have a root canal than write a book report. I probably did too much to actually have them learn anything about The Catcher in the Rye or Persuasion, but I just wanted to see them succeed.”

Jake’s heart leapt when he felt your thumb sweep over his knuckles as you kept looking out over the crowd. It was just a little touch. A little brush of your skin on his. And it was…special.

But as soon as it started, it stopped as you pulled your hands away from him and waved at someone in the crowd. “There’s the couple of the hour.”

Jake turned to see a younger blond guy with his arm wrapped around a smiling brunette. She’d reached up to tangle her fingers with his, showing off the massive rock on her finger. They must be Junior and Taylor—the pair certainly had that look about them that all newly engaged couples had. Well, almost all couples. Jake knew some weren’t so fortunate.

You hopped off the seat and dragged Junior and Taylor into quick hugs as Jake followed suit and stood, shaking both their hands as you introduced him. You oohed and ahhhed over the engagement ring and poked at Junior’s cheek when he blushed as Taylor recounted the story of the proposal. You handed over the card and Jake saw you curl your hands into fists behind your back as Junior opened it almost immediately.

Just as she finished reading, Taylor all but launched herself at you and Jake had to keep you upright by catching you at the hips when you started to teeter backward. And, only for a moment, Jake thought about doing this with you all the time. Thought about showing you off at parties, watching you smile, keeping you upright with a laugh on your tongue. The invisible knife twisted again as Junior caught his eye and arched a brow after glancing at his hands on your hips.

“Oh! I can’t believe it! This is so kind!” Taylor turned to Junior with a beaming smile, waving the business card like a flag, and explained that she actually followed the photographer on Instagram and loved her work, just as you’d said in the car.

Jake felt you relax in his grip at that, a relief to know your gift was well received. “I’ve made a list of all the weekends she has available for the next six weeks. She said you two would have first dibs—you just need to call her and tell her what date and time works for you.” You’d off-handedly mentioned that both Taylor and Junior were in the middle of their medical school residencies and were rarely free for more than a few hours at a time every other week.

You spoke a little longer and Jake earned a bright smile from Taylor when he said that she and Junior would probably be the photographer’s most liked post on her page—he also earned an elbow to the gut from you, too. Jake didn’t care, not when he heard you laugh.

“But we’ll let you get back to your other guests. Thanks for letting me hold you up for a little.”

Junior frowned and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “You’re never holding us up.”

“You’re always welcome,” Taylor said with another brilliant smile.

You nodded with a matching smile and mentioned that Jake had brought a bottle of champagne and Junior was the one to smile this time. “That’s my favorite bottle, man, thanks!”

Then you spun in Jake’s hold and all but shoved him backward toward your abandoned seats and the smile you gave him had his entire chest aching. “They’re so happy. Don’t they look happy?”

And he had to smile, too. “They do, Punch.”

But your eyes tracked to something over his shoulder and Jake turned to see you looking at that same group of men from earlier and you rolled your spine, straightening your posture. “I’m going to introduce you.”

“I thought you said you didn’t talk to them.”

“I don’t. Not as Naval officers, anyway. They think I’m like a very distantly related and adopted niece or something. They know me but don’t…know me, you know?”

Jake resisted the urge to roll his eyes but simply said, “no.”

“Doesn’t matter. C’mon, let me get you promoted again.” You were then a flurry of demure smiles and careful introductions that seemed to instantly endear you to the group of brass and Jake was readily folded into their conversations as you slipped away from his side with a wink and a mouthed “you owe me!” after being talked over twice—maybe they really didn’t have any clue that you were in the Navy as well. It almost made Jake want to excuse himself, too. But he knew you’d probably chew him out for that. Rooster’s ‘talk’ from the other night on the Hard Deck came ringing through his mind: “There’s another reason we call her punch. She can roll with the punches. But that doesn’t mean she should have to. If she comes to me on Monday and says anything about you ruining her night, I’ll shoot you out of the sky.”

You knew that officer promotions were always a game of politics and who you know so getting Jake on a friendly basis with men like this was invaluable. So, yes, Jake did owe you. But he was having a hard time fully investing in the ham-handed conversations and when he was halfheartedly listening to Rear Admiral Cunningham speak about his latest secretary snafu, Jake caught you moving through the crowd with Lily hot on your heels and a laugh on your tongue. He could hear it over the din of the party and he felt himself smiling despite knowing he shouldn’t in the present company. You and Lily were soon joined by Sarah and three of you danced around a little, sipping on canned sparkling waters. When Taylor and Junior joined in the impromptu dance party, he could hear your excited laughter.

Jake remembered that you sat with the Kazansky family during the funeral, holding Lily’s hand as she sobbed. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now he could see it. You were one of them, unofficially of course. An older sister to the kids. Another daughter to Sarah and Admiral Kazansky, if he was willing to bet.

You were special.

The party had continued on. The dancing you and Lily had started had somehow sprouted to most of Junior and Taylor’s friends and the living room had transformed into a dance floor. You noticed Jake stepped out onto the back porch with the group of brass and tried to tell yourself that the pride you felt was purely coincidental. That you would have introduced any of the Daggers to them and wished them the best. Really. The warmth you felt wasn’t anything other than friendly. Really. But by 10, the party was wrapping up—Lily needed to drive back to Pasadena and Junior was murmuring with a few of his friends about an “after party”—and you’d started helping Sarah clean up as people filtered out. The kids had each given you a squeeze before leaving and promised to text you when they got home.

As you tugged a trash bag around the living room and tossed the paper plates into it, you glanced up to see Jake taking a handful of half-filled champagne flutes into the kitchen. The few sentences you’d exchanged with Missus Seresin during the promotion ceremony did give you a bit of insight into Jake’s upbringing—you could see a little Jake helping in the kitchen, being told how to properly wash pans and how to keep an eye on a boiling pot under the watchful eye of his mother or older sisters.

But you weren’t supposed be thinking about that and shook it away with a grimace as you yawned. You grabbed another stack of discarded plates and pushed them into the bag with a little more force than what was necessary as Jake circled back into the living room.

Sarah stepped to your side with a tired smile of her own. “You can stay here, sweetheart. We still have your room upstairs.” She then turned to Jake with a smile. “The bed is big enough.”

You choked on your next breath and Jake patted your back as he fought a smile. “We-” you wheezed the word.

“We’re not together, but you’re kind to offer.”

Pink flooded Sarah’s cheeks and she pressed a hand over her mouth for a moment. “Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought…” She waved it away. “Either way, both of you are welcome to stay the night.”

“I think we’re actually going to head out as soon as everything’s cleaned up. Thank you again for inviting me and letting me bring a friend along.”

Sarah hummed as she tried to nudge the couch back into its usual position and watched as Jake quickly took over the task without issue before once again starting to grab the remaining flutes left by the window sill and take them to the kitchen—you heard him carefully putting them into the dishwasher. “Yes, a friend.”

Embarrassment burned and clawed at your throat and you turned away to see if there were any other plates for you to throw away. “Barely a friend.”

“Sure, sweetheart. I definitely can see where I got confused with the way you were smiling at him and the way he looks at you like you hung the stars. My mistake.”

“He doesn’t.” The words were barely more than squeaks. “And…and I don’t smile at him like anything.”

Sarah hummed, again. “Whatever you say.”

You tried not to think about Sarah’s words as you settled back into your car a few minutes later. Jake let out a sigh as he buckled in and you tried to ignore how his cologne once again filled the small space. And it was so strange that your body seemed to seize and relax at the same time because of it. Like you were fighting two separate and equal instincts.

“Thanks for coming tonight. I hope you had fun,” you said as you pulled away from the curb, waving at Sarah through the windshield.

“They certainly know how to throw a party.”

“This was tame. One time Junior threw a rager when his parents were out of town and his entire fraternity swarmed the house.” You smiled at the memory, remembering ordering a group of frat boys around at the crack of dawn to clean the house before his parents got home. Junior baked you a cake in thanks after learning you’d been the one to stall Tom and Sarah for a few extra hours by suggesting they stop for brunch on their way back. Lily had done the same after you’d helped her get all the bubbles out of the hot tub after she and her friends had filled it with something you’d rather not mention.

Jake was quiet for a moment as you turned down the street, heading toward the highway. “How do you know them? I mean, you seem pretty close.”

Your tongue pressed against your cheek as you thought about how to phrase your answer. Had to be careful. Had to make sure you didn’t reveal something you shouldn’t. “Bradley introduced us.” There, that was vague enough. “Admiral Kazansky was good to me. His family looked after me during a really weird time in my life and I tried to repay that kindness, in any way I could. After all, I did have some experience with what they needed.” You sighed and scraped the edge of your thumbnail against your lip. You’d been the one to deal with the home care nurses when Sarah needed a break. You knew a few ways to help Tom be comfortable through his treatments and he seemed to be grateful that he didn’t need to ask for them, keeping a little bit of his pride. You’d been so hopeful when he’d gone into remission but tried to keep it together when it had come back. You were happy to play the part of stalwart supporter when the prognosis came back grim. “They’re good people.”

Your stomach churned when you thought of why you’d met the Kazansky family but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. But you changed the subject, asking about the surely-dull conversations Jake had with the brass as you merged onto the highway.

“…if I ever get that boring, you have my permission to smack me,” he finished with a grimace.

“You’d probably like that too much. You’re just going to have to be boring and live with the consequences.” Proving your point, Jake smiled when you smacked his hand away from your radio again. There was no way you were changing the station when David Bowie was singing. Absolutely not. And then when “Rhiannon” came on next, you made sure to crank the volume as Jake pretended to not know the words.

You were having a great time. Really. And it was a little terrifying how easily he made you laugh when he finally gave in and started to croon (a little off key) alongside your pitchy warbling. But it petered out as Jake looked back with a squint but turned forward with a frown. When he turned to look back again you turned down the radio with a frown of your own and glanced in your rear view mirror. “What is it?”

“The car behind you keeps speeding up and slowing down.”

While keeping an eye on the traffic in front of you, you looked at the car Jake pointed out and your stomach sunk to your feet as you watched it drive under the next streetlight.

It was a black ‘67 Dodge Charger with a distinctive sword charm hanging from the rear view mirror.

You knew that car. You knew that charm.

And despite the shadows of the car hiding the driver’s face, you knew who was behind the wheel.

And just as that realization dawned on you, the charger’s brights flashed and you winced as the lights flooded your car.

“What is this guy’s problem?” Jake grumbled, turning back around to stare.

“I…” What could you possibly say? You couldn’t tell Jake. Wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever. But it didn’t matter because the next time you glanced in the rear view you realized the charger was about to ram into the back of your car. You stomped on the gas and the engine roared as you tried to avoid the collision.

But he kept coming.

Your heart clawed its way up behind your teeth as you merged into the next lane over, earning an angry honk from a Jeep for not using your turn signal, and the charger sped past and you almost thought you were in the clear but then he was merging too, slamming on his brakes and you had to swerve back into the other lane to avoid crashing into his trunk.

“Jesus!” Jake yelled.

“I-I’m sorry!” The words were torn from your throat but you doubted Jake heard them over the barrages of angry honks and the thundering of your car’s engine, nearly drowned out by the growl of the charger’s overpowered mechanics.

The charger moved, keeping pace with your car and you were only given a warning in the form of Jake yelling before you realized that the car was coming into your lane. You yanked the wheel, nearly hitting the dividing wall as you avoided it and pressed the accelerator to the floor. You weaved around two cars, earning more honks as you used the shoulder to gain distance, and then noticed the next exit was only half a mile away. You needed to get off the highway.

“Fuck!”

The charger followed you onto the shoulder and you knew you had to move. Now or never. You moved across the highway and nearly clipped the barrier as you shot onto the off-ramp, a cacophony of squealing brakes and horns providing a terrible soundtrack to your horrendous driving. But it worked. You saw the charger try to get to the exit, too, and miss. He had to drive on. Away from you.

You hardly remember driving the rest of the way back to the Hard Deck in silence, your heart still stuck behind your teeth. Every few seconds, you’d check your rear view mirror but you didn’t see that car again. When you parked in the Hard Deck’s lot, you finally peeled your hands away from the steering wheel and your fingers shook and ached.

“What the fuck was that?” Jake asked after a stretch of silence.

You tried to suck in a breath and only managed to make your lungs burn. You needed to calm down. Needed it. Needed… “I-I have to call Bradley,” you muttered, shaking hand scrambling through the contents of your purse to grab at your phone. “I have to-”

“What’s Bradshaw going to do? He’s out in the desert with Mav. I’m right here, Punch. Tell me.”

But you only shook your head and had your phone dialing Bradley’s number before it even reached your ear. But it rang. And rang. And rang.

“This is Bradshaw. Can’t come to the phone right now-”

Fuck. You killed the call with an unsteady breath and none too gently shoved your phone back into your purse before pressing your nails into your thighs, needing to feel something other than your racing heart. Tiny pinpricks of pain zipped up your leg and you let your head fall back against the headrest before uncurling your hands. This was better. This was okay. You’d made it. For now, you were okay. “I…need a drink.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.”

You turned to the side and felt just a smidge of mortification wash over you as you realized Jake was still sitting there, waiting for you. Fuck. “I’ll get you one, too.” Then you were up and out of your car, hitting the lock button four times just to make sure, and all but stomping into the Hard Deck with Jake on your heels.

It was either a blessing or a curse that none of the other Daggers were at the bar tonight as Jake followed you up to the mostly un-busy bar and rattled off your usual order. “And please get Jake whatever he wants,” you said, handing over your card to Jimmy.

Jake slipped into the barstool at your side and studied you for a moment. It was almost like you hadn’t nearly crashed your car three times or run off the road by a charger with a vendetta. If he didn’t know you better—and Jake tried to ignore that it was becoming clearer by the day that maybe he didn’t know you as well as he thought—he might think you were just out for a nightcap. But the vacancy of your expression was too…careful. Too practiced. It looked like there was a concentrated effort to keep your brow from pinching.

“You wanna tell me what that was back there?” He asked, almost tentative. He just…wanted to make sure you were okay, but he wanted answers, too. The way you were reacting wasn’t normal. The complete shut down of your previous panic wasn’t right.

Your next breath was slow, measured. “I must’ve cut him off or something. Road rage is a hell of a thing.”

Jake bit back the disbelieving comment and thanked Jimmy as he set the drinks down with a small smile and handed back your card. Fine. “So you needed to call Rooster after all that but can’t tell me what you really think happened?” Jake had seen all the close contact between you and Rooster. He’d seen how you’d whisper in the other man’s ear. He had seen how Rooster was always ready for you with a hug or an arm around your shoulder. And no, Jake didn’t hate that. Didn’t hate that you seemed to trust Rooster more than him and he had been the one to be in the car with you tonight. “Is he your boyfriend or something? Fuck buddy?”

Your unamused stare over the edge of your glass had Jake sitting a little straighter. “He’s not my type,” you said with a shrug before downing the rest of the small drink.

“You sure? ‘Cause it sure as hell seems like-”

Your glass hitting the bar top stifled any other words Jake might have said. “Look, I’ve been trying for eighteen months to get Bradley to admit he’s in love with redacted.” You flagged down Jimmy and asked for a refill with an easy smile that evaporated the second you looked back at Jake. Your arched eyebrow had his stomach clenching for several different reasons he didn’t have the time to address. “Any other slightly invasive questions you want to ask? Want to know my social security number? What color of underwear I’m wearing?”

Jake could feel the tips of his ears burning. You were relentless. But good. At least he was getting some sort of reaction out of you. “Those are two wildly different questions, you know.”

“I do know. So, hurry up and ask. I’m giving you until my drink arrives.”

He had a million more questions but he really did need a straight answer. He could be relentless, too. But first: “You literally said redacted.”

“So smart, Ken! Look at you go!”

“Who is redacted?”

The next smile you gave him was all teeth and your tone was as condescending as Cyclone on a bad day, “well, now, Ken, when someone says ‘redacted,’ it means-”

Jake’s hand pressed over your mouth, and he sighed as he felt you frown beneath his palm. Fine. He could switch tactics. He could get one real answer out of you tonight. “You can’t blame me for thinking that something else is going on. Do you love him?”

You peeled his hand away from your face as your new drink was quickly placed in front of you and you drained it as if you needed it to deal with him. “You know, there is a Greek word,Philia. It’s one of the different types of love from Greek Philosophy-”

“Punch-”

“And it’s a brotherly love. But since I know you won’t take that as an answer, no. I don’t love him in the way you’re insinuating. And he doesn’t love me that way, either.” The look in your eyes reminded Jake of someone having just come down after g-loc as your fingernail tapped against the glass’ base. Click. Click. Click. “Bradley has seen me at my lowest. Bob, too. Sometimes I think they only keep me around so I don't do something stupid.” Your mouth rolled to the side as the tapping stopped and you pushed the glass away before reaching for your purse.

“That’s not true-”

“Look, tonight has been weird. Okay? Can’t deny that. I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.” You shook your head as you pulled out a few bills for a tip and the second drink and set them under your empty glass. And you wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t even turn toward him again. Jake’s hands curled into fists at his sides to fight the urge to reach out to you, to try to let you know that he would do it all again. All of it. “Thank you for coming with me tonight. I owe you.” And then you turned and left.

Driving home shouldn’t be a problem, right? You just needed to put the key in the ignition, shift into drive, and go home. But you just couldn’t move. Couldn’t pull your eyes away from the dark dashboard.

He had found you while you were on the road. He had tried to crash your car. He had tried to run you off the road. He had tried to kill you.

While Jake was in the car with you.

Tears burned your eyes and you limply let them fall, your hands not moving from your lap. A familiar, dull ringing settled over your ears and you slumped further into your seat, only to feel your entire body go rigid as you heard someone stepping up to your car, sand sliding beneath their shoes on the pavement.

You swung around as the door opened, ready to fight, ready to scream, but felt yourself deflate as Jake leaned down, shoving his way into the car to haul you closer, warm, muscular arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. And that just about broke you. The first sob was ripped out of your throat and the next followed in rapid succession as you grasped loosely at the front of his shirt. The scent of his expensive cologne was almost calming. Almost comforting.

His hands moved up and down, up and down, along your spine and you vaguely heard him whispering something to you. Something like, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” But it was barely more than white noise to your ears as your body shook. But soon you were pulling back, eyes bleary and itchy. God. You were a mess. There was an apology on the tip of your tongue that died as soon as Jake’s large hand gently, carefully cupped your cheek and his calloused thumb swiped against the delicate half moon of skin beneath your eye.

“Let me drive you home.”

Your chin wobbled with new tears and a fresh wave of self-loathing washed over you but you still nodded. It was a moment of weakness. A moment you were sure you’d regret but you just needed help. Just a little. Just for now. But still, you let Jake help you over the center console and into the passenger seat. Before you had the chance to move, Jake reached over and buckled you in and moved to do the same for himself before he frowned, looking at something on the hood of your car. He stepped out and grabbed something from underneath your windshield wiper.

You frowned as he sat back down. “What is it?”

But Jake didn’t answer, mouth set in a thin line and eyes trained on the thing in his grasp.

Leaning over, your heart almost stopped. It was a Polaroid of you and Jake at the engagement party. It was obviously shot through the window, a glare taking up half the photo. But still, anyone who looked at the picture would see you and Jake, his hands on your hips and smiles on your faces.

Did you have fun at the party? He doesn’t look like your type

“Jake, I…” Your throat was scratchy. Arid.

“What does this mean, Punch?”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think! I’d love to hear your theories. Also, as an aside, I do not keep a tag list. I’m sorry!

#Jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #Hangman x reader #jake hangman x reader #tgm #top gun maverick #female reader

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mrsevans90 · 6 months ago

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Puppy Love-Epilogue

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 19

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller

Warnings: Flash forward, fluff, smut, handjob, fingering, squirting, P in V intercourse, oral (f), creampie, innuendos, language, pregnancy romantic love making.

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own.

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading!

Part 18

Flash Forward in Time:

I wake up with a gentle bump against my side and hazily blink my eyes to allow them to adjust to the darkened room. Emma is still blissfully unconscious as her head rests against my chest and her nude body is draped against mine. I tend to get warm but this woman somehow always seems to be cold. I don’t mind one bit as I’ve spent the majority of my life sleeping alone and I sleep so much better with her body against my own. I smile at my perfect woman and gently move her disheveled hair from her face before I feel another gentle nudge against my side. Our baby boy seems to have woken up and it won’t be long until he wakes his mother up too. Luckily, she’s a heavy sleeper but I’d imagine having a human being rolling around in your abdomen could wake up most anyone. I reach down and caress her swollen belly to acknowledge my little boy and hopefully soothe him back to sleep by rubbing her tummy. Emma is almost eight months along now, and needs every bit of sleep she can get. As I touch her tummy, I think about what life will be like once our little guy finally makes his appearance. We haven’t nailed down a name for him yet, but Emma keeps admitting she likes the idea of naming him after me and calling him AJ, for Austin Junior. I’m pushing for him to have his own name and identity, certainly not wanting him to feel like he has to follow in my shadow. I like the names Luke, Hudson, Grant, and Bradley, but ultimately, I’m going to leave it up to Emma to choose her favorite. She’s doing all of the hard work after all. After a bit of gentle caressing on her belly, our son seemed to calm and Emma messily rolled over and wrapped herself around the giant pregnancy pillow that’s taking over her entire side of the bed. I won’t complain because I’ll give her anything to help her be more comfortable. I decide to ease out of the bed and get the day started because somehow in all my years I can’t shake the early wake up times that the military instilled in me. I quietly corral Mills and let him out in the backyard to use the bathroom. Aika passed away early last year and I’ll be honest, I took it hard. My nightmares started coming back more frequently and Emma convinced me to talk to my therapist at the VA about it. I still miss that sweet girl but know that she had such a fulfilling life here with us. She’s buried out in the backyard under a large oak tree so that we still feel her spirit close by. Mills also really struggled in the first month after her passing, constantly looking around the house for her. He always adored her and was used to following her lead but he’s doing well as he’s matured from the puppy stage. I spent some time training him after our wedding and now he knows all of the commands that I had taught Aika which is helpful, especially now with a growing family.

I start up the coffee pot and know I’ve only got a short window of time before responsibilities call, so I sip on a cup of coffee while I start making breakfast. As I’m plating the pancakes at the table, I hear movement upstairs and know I need to intercept quickly. I bound up the stairs and open the bedroom door to our three-and-a-half-year-old twin girl’s bedroom. Molly Grace and Maggie Kate are out of their toddler beds and already digging in their princess box regardless of the fact that it’s not even half past six on a Saturday morning. They squeal when I scoop them up and place kisses along each of their cheeks.

“Da Da! Ouch!” They giggle as my beard scratches against their cheeks.

“Sorry little darlins” I respond before tickling their tummies.

“Now what do we have here, already getting into the princess box?”

“I want to be Tiana!” MG says followed by MK who declares she is going to be Ariel. “Well, if I get you girls dressed in your princess gowns, y’all gotta promise to be quiet on the way downstairs so we can let Mama sleep in. Is that a deal?” I ask.

Both curly headed girls nod their heads fervently. I’m certain that won’t last long as my daughters tend to be a bit exuberant, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Alright then, bring me the dresses and then we have to brush your teeth before your dragon breath knocks me out.” I joke.

A somewhat endless feeling half hour later, I successfully have both girls dressed and with clean teeth. Their hair is still a disaster but I’m working on learning. God, if the old me could see myself now. Googling videos of how to braid hair or make a ponytail. Emma usually does their hair and tries to show me a thing or two when she has time. The girls have dirty blonde hair, not quite as light as Emma’s, but they both got my wild curls which Emma adores.

I’ve got them set up with chocolate chip pancakes, fruit and milk cups as they tell me about what movie they want to watch later and constantly interrupt each other as they ask for this and that.

“Nana and PawPaw want y’all to come over today to help Nana bake a cake. Does that sound good?” I ask knowing that the girls are over the moon anytime they get to go to my grandparents’ house. It’s hard to tell who loves it more, the girls or my grandparents. I’m grateful for a potentially quiet afternoon with Emma, since we won’t have too many of those in the future anytime soon.

“Oh yeah! I want to do that! Can we make cupcakes?”

“That’s all up to Nana. Y’all just remember that she’s old and y’all don’t want to wear her out.”

“Yeah, Nana’s real old but PawPaw is even older. He’s like 104.” Maggie says.

“No he’s not! He’s only like 23 I think.” Molly retorts.

“Y’all really have no idea about numbers yet and I find that adorable.” I chuckle to myself as I hear Emma making her way down the hall.

“Good morning, Sugar. Hope we didn’t wake you, I was trying to let you rest.” I kiss my girl sweetly while rubbing her swollen belly.

“Wasn’t you, your son decided to dance on my bladder.” She grumbles and I chuckle. Even all this time later, she still isn’t a morning person. She shuffles further into the kitchen and the girls jump up and give her what I’m sure are sticky syrup covered good morning hugs and kisses. I pour Em a cup of coffee, adding her creamer and she holds it with both hands with a grateful sleepy smile.

“So Ariel and Tiana, what are we talking about this morning?”

“How Nana’s old.” Molly announces and Emma almost chokes on her coffee.

“Who told you that?” Emma asks and both girls point directly to me. Little narcs.

“Well, she is! I was just telling the girls to take it easy on her today.” Emma rolls her eyes at me before walking to the table

“Don’t tell Nana that she’s old.” Emma tells the girls.

“But she is old, mama.” Maggie refutes.

“Yes, but it’s still not nice to say. We don’t want to hurt Nana’s feelings.”

“Does Nana not know that she’s old?” Molly asks inquisitively.

“I’m sure she does baby, but spending time with you girls helps her feel young. Now, how about you girls work on making Nana and PawPaw some more drawings for their refrigerator? You know how much they love those!” Emma directs.

“I want to draw Mills chasing chickens!” Molly shouts.

“I’m going to draw PawPaw riding a cow!” Maggie exclaims.

I chuckle as I watch them scurry over to the little kiddie table off of the kitchen that Emma has made as their art station and get to work.

Emma has shifted to working part time and it’s been great. She stayed home with the girls at first, taking an extended maternity leave after they were born but found that she missed the vet clinic and working with animals. We decided on sending the girls to a “Mother’s Day Out” program where they attend half days so that Emma and I can both work. Our jobs give us the flexibility to be able for one of us to pick them up at 1pm each day and have them home in time for an afternoon nap.

Emma relaxes back at her chair at the table and starts eating some breakfast.

“Little man let you get decent rest last night?” I ask her and she shrugs while chewing her food.

“I felt like I got up more times to pee or roll over than I actually got rest, but I suppose that’s just going to prepare me for the newborn stage of having him up every two hours.”

“Hell, just think about how much easier it’ll be with only one baby this time.” I think back to how exhausted Em and I both were in the first few months home with the girls. We struggled to get them on the same feeding and sleeping schedules. It felt like as soon as we got one to sleep, the other was screaming and waking everyone up. Em and I were so tired we basically just roamed about the house like zombies during the night. I feel like I coped a little bit better than Emma since I was used to insomnia, but she was determined to breastfeed and didn’t want to mess up her supply. After a few months, I finally convinced her to pump some milk for night feeds so I could help more with a bottle feed during the night and let her rest.

“Gosh, I hope so. They were worth it all, but damn I hope this baby sleeps.” Emma sighs.

“Given any more thoughts on what you’d like to name this handsome fella?” I ask.

“I still like AJ, but I’ve been thinking about it and I also really like the name Grant ever since you brought it up. Grant Syverson just sounds like a future star quarterback.” She says and I smirk as I munch on a few berries.

“I like that a lot, Sugar. It’s a very strong name. One he can be proud of. Perfect for our boy.”

“I was thinking the middle name could be Joseph after PawPaw?” She suggests and I have to take a moment to just awe at this woman. PawPaw was always a taciturn man with a steely exterior but when Emma became part of the family he opened up to her more than I ever imagined. Always imparting words of advice and stopping by to check on her when she was pregnant with the girls and I was working. Nothing could have prepared us for the absolute mush that man turned into when the girls were born. PawPaw seemed to get a new lease on life as he dropped everything to spend time with his “grandbabies”. He wanted to teach them all about the farm and loved showing them all the animals. He was wrapped around their fingers and we all joked about it.

“I don’t think anything could make him prouder. I love that idea, baby girl.”

“Let’s wait until he’s born before we tell him.” She suggests and I agree.

“Walt doing okay now that he’s back at work?” Emma asks.

“He’s having a hard time focusing, which is understandable. He’s itching to get home every night to Cassie and baby Carter.”

“Yeah, Cass mentioned he’s got terrible FOMO when I was over there last week. He’s afraid he’s going to miss something.” Emma responds.

Walt and Cassie really hit it off at the wedding and before long were in a serious relationship. She moved to Texas with him about eight months into dating. They got married a little over a year ago and just had a little boy, Carter, who made Walt light up in a way he hasn’t since Faye was little. Emma loved having Cassie close and it was nice having Walter so happy and working more reasonable hours. Faye came to visit as often as she could which was also good for Walt. They only lived about ten minutes from us and Emma had been over every day last week to help Cassie since Walt was on his first week back to work from paternity leave. I remember how hard it was to leave Emma and the girls to go back to work.

“It’s tough to leave your wife and new baby and go back to work but I’m sure he’ll adjust. I remember facetiming you like every hour that first week just to check in.” I reminisce.

“I remember.” Emma giggles. “My big strong army man was a nervous wreck about missing any moment with his girls. It took some time but I think we found a good family/work balance that keeps us fulfilled.”

“I keep you filled.” I mutter with a smirk.

“Austin!” Emma feigns shock. “Clearly you have.” She murmurs as she pats her round belly and I look at her with smug pride.

“Think Nana and PawPaw would keep the girls for a night?” She wonders aloud even though we both know that they jump at the chance to keep the kids.

“You know they would. Got something in mind?”

“An impromptu night alone with my handsome man sounds pretty perfect to me.” Emma bites her lip and I feel the surge run through my body as I quickly grab my phone to call Nana and confirm that the girls can sleepover with them tonight. Emma heads upstairs to pack the girls an overnight bag and before we know it, we’re loading them up in the truck and headed to Nana and PawPaw’s.

After a lively drop-off and quick visit with Nana and PawPaw, Emma and I were back in the truck and driving out of their long driveway.

“I feel like we’re teenagers who just got permission to go out for the night.” Emma joked.

“That mean I get to cop a feel? I ask as I pull Emma closer to me and run my big hand across her exposed thigh gently dragging her sundress higher.

“Thanks to these pregnancy hormones, you’ll be feeling more than that.” Emma smirks and I groan. Our sex life has always been incredible, but having two toddlers that seemingly always want something, and a very heavily pregnant wife who struggled with morning sickness longer than expected made us slow down a bit. Emma finally got to feeling better and the hormones lately had been keeping her extra needy which I was more than happy to accommodate.

“Lunch date at Gia’s?” I asked and she nodded enthusiastically. Baby boy had Emma craving pasta all the time so I knew she’d be excited.

After eating a nice meal, we made our way home and smiled at the rarity of quietness inside our home. Even Mill’s seemed excited about staying with my grandparents for a night of chicken chasing and homemade treats from Nana. The house was all to ourselves and I was ready to get Emma naked and spend the rest of the day in the bed.

I reached for Emma and pulled her into a kiss.

“I love you, beautiful darlin’.” I told her between kisses. Her swollen tummy had me leaning a little further than I usually do for these types of kisses, and I couldn’t help but lean down and place a soft kiss on her belly too.

“I love you too, baby.” She replied as she pawed at my abs in an attempt to take off my shirt.

I pulled my shirt over my head and Emma’s nails immediately sunk into my chest hair as she gently scratched up and down my torso.

“Let’s get to our bedroom so I can properly get you naked, Sugar.”

I led her upstairs to our bedroom and took my time undressing her slowly before laying her down on the bed. She has been feeling a bit self-conscious lately as her body stretches and swells to accommodate our growing son, but I do my best to reassure her.

“You’re so pretty, Darlin’. Every bit about you is perfect.”

“Sy, I’m huge. Be truthful.” She sasses.

“No, you’re pregnant and growing my kid. That I put into you. Something about that turns me on even more. Plus, your tits are huge and I can’t wait to sneak a taste of them when your milk comes in again.” I smirk at her devilishly.

“Austin, you are downright depraved.” She giggles as my hands paw all over her body.

“Only for you, Sugar. Now, let me finally make love to my bride without any interruptions.” I say as I plant kisses along her collar bone, sliding down to her belly and then the juncture of her thighs where her perfect pussy is already glistening in anticipation. I rub my calloused hands along her thighs and spread her open for me as I lick a long stripe up her folds. Emma is extra sensitive lately and jumps at the sensation with a loud moan before her hands find the short strands of my hair and grab on. I lick, kiss, and suck on her delicate pearl before sliding two fingers gently inside her and curling them. A few minutes after I began my ministrations, Emma screams her release as she squirts and her fluids coat my chin and forearm. I drink down everything she gives me so I don’t waste a single drop of her honey. I begin to place gentle kisses on her thighs as I work her through her high before I kiss up her body to check on her. I’m greedily tempted to work her to another orgasm, but know that she’s extra sensitive right now and it might be too much for her. I make my way up to her neck and place soft kisses under her ear as she reaches and grabs on to the scruff of my beard.

“Fuck, Austin. That was amazing.” She mewls with her eyes still closed as I place gentle kisses on her eyelids.

“Yeah? Feel good, Sugar?” I ask as she catches her breath.

“The best. Now I need your cock.” Emma almost whispers as her fingertips trail down my abs before wrapping around my raging erection. She squeezes just like I like before running her thumb across my slit to collect the bead of precum that’s already dribbling out in anticipation and I thrust myself further into her grasp with a groan. I watch as Emma removes her hand, spits into her palm before grabbing me again and jerking me. Between deep kisses, I glance down at her delicate little hand working my large member and can’t help but thrust against her. If she keeps going, I’m going to blow my load before I even get inside her warm cunt.

“Darlin’, I need to be inside you.”

“Fuck me, Austin. Please baby.” I grunt as I manhandle her onto her side, conscious that this may be the best position to keep any pressure off of her growing womb and slide up behind her before lifting her thigh around me. I gently ease the tip of my cock into her warm channel and Emma pushes down against me, sucking my cock inside her wet heat in the best way. When my pelvis is fully seated against her ass cheeks, I groan and Emma arches her back which gives me the perfect angle to her g-spot. I start thrusting slowly as I suck and lick against the spot under Emma’s ear and she wraps an arm around my neck thrusting her fingers into my hair and tugging.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So wet and tight. Just like the first time I ever fucked you, baby girl.” I grunt against her neck.

“Mmm, Austin! You feel so good inside me. So big and full.” She mumbles as I thrust into her.

“God, we fit together so good. You were made to be mine.” I murmur as I appreciate the tight, wet heat surrounding me.

“Harder, baby.” She moans and I’m so tempted to start jack hammering into her perfect cunt but am worried about hurting her more than my desire to fuck hard.

“I don’t want to hurt you or the baby, Sugar.” “You won’t, I promise. Fuck me please!” She moans and I can’t help but pound into her a bit harder as she claws down my arm that’s holding across her perfect tits. I have the perfect view to watch them bounce over her shoulder as I fuck her from behind and can’t help but start gently tugging at her nipples which earns me a louder moan from her.

I remove my arm from her breasts before I shove two of my fingers in her mouth. She sucks fervently before I reach down past her tummy and start rubbing them against her swollen clit. She’s so easily stimulated that I have her cumming in a matter of moments. Her tight pussy clenched me so hard that I couldn’t hold back my own orgasm and found myself releasing deep inside her before I had intended too. I stilled my hips and shoved my cock as deep as I possibly could as I finished before collapsing back down onto the sheets, not caring how sweaty we were. Emma and I laid perfectly still basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking as the ceiling fan whirled above us before I slid my softening cock from her body and she whined at the loss.

Emma clumsily rolled over to face me and laid her head against my chest, her fingers combing through my chest hair as my fingertips trailed up against her spine.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked her as we basked in the silence.

“I’m thinking that I want you to fuck me like that again before the night is over… and I want to take a bath with you… and I might also be thinking about the chocolate chip cookie dough in the refrigerator.” Emma replied as I croaked out a hearty laugh at how her thoughts were all over the place.

“Why, what are you thinking?” She asked.

“I was honestly just thinking about how grateful I am for you. I never thought I could have any of this. I was just this broken, shell of a person who went through the motions of everyday life. I swear, I never really thought I’d find love like my grandparents and then I met you. I’ve always been so independent and now, I swear to God, I can’t imagine being away from you for a single day. You completely changed me for the better and gave me so much love and passion. It’s like you woke me up and I started finally living life. Oh, and not to mention our babies. God, I love them so much even when they are being little brats. You and our kids just complete me. I can’t wait to see how our son joins in the mix with our baby girls. I’m just so glad I found you. I’ve never been this happy in my life.” I tell her honestly as I think about how my life has changed in just the past 5 years before I hear her sniffle.

“Sugar?”

“Now I feel like an ass for thinking about eating cookie dough when you were making this big declaration of love.” She sobs as the tears flow down her cheeks and I can’t help but laugh out loud.

“It’s not funny, Austin! That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard and you know I feel the same way.” She laugh/cries as I bite my lip to keep from chuckling at the absurdity of her pregnancy hormones. She looks up at me with tears still in her eyes and can’t help but start laughing herself. I finally allow my laughter out and we spend the next few minutes laughing so hard that Emma has to get up and waddle to the bathroom to pee which just makes me laugh even harder.

I head to the bathroom after her and start filling the bathtub and lighting candles before helping Emma step in. I make a quick run downstairs to the kitchen and get us some waters and the entire roll of cookie dough with a spoon before I head back up and present the princess with her snack.

Her eyes fill with tears of gratefulness that her beloved craving is about to be satisfied which has us laughing all over again as I join her in the tub to what we jokingly still call marinating in our ‘body juice soup.’

Emma rests her back against my chest as she feeds me bites of her dessert and I can’t help but feel more fulfilled than I ever have before. My future now is not some bleak possibility, but filled with excitement and joy. I owe it all to a bit of puppy love that became the love of my life.

Taglist: @shellyshellshell, @henryownsme, @caramariehurst, @beck07990, @mollymal, @kingliam2019, @syversonswife, @identity2212, @starfirewildheart, @hannah9921, @wa-ni, @kneelforloki, @cutedoxie, @enchantedbytomandhenry, @foxyjwls007, @geralts-yenn, @courtlynwriter, @corrie1013, @squeezyvalkyrie, @summersong69, @livisss, @mayloma, @uunotheangel, @warriormirkwood, @sofiebstar, @wetzilly, @ashbrat488

A/N: Y'all, it's finally here! I'm so so sorry that it took me so long to get this written and posted but #lifehappened and I'm a bit of a perfectionist so I wanted it to be right. Thank you all so much for following along on Sy and Emma's love story. Your support and encouragement has lifted me up more than you realize. I'm so grateful to everyone that's followed along! I'm super sad that it's over but there may be a one-shot or two in our future for them! Love you all!

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #henry cavill characters #captain sy #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson smut #henry cavill #captain syverson fluff #go read this

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mrs-gucci · 2 years ago

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It’s Just Politics (Part 1 of 2)

Commander Mills x senator!Reader (f)

written for my welcome back celebration, phase one.

y’all voted, y’all wanted me to write some more Mills, so here I am :) this is part one of two, so enjoy the beginning of the story and get excited for part two which will be coming soon!!

content warnings. accidentally walking in on someone naked (he walks in on her), implied/mentioned age difference (gap not specified, Mills is 36)

word count: 3.4k (...whoops)

summary~ Commander Mills reluctantly takes a last-minute job captaining the Senator of Somaris’s personal ship on a flight to Cyllene for this year’s galactic policy conference. Both of them get much, much more than they bargained for...but they’re not necessarily complaining about it.

"You're kidding me."

Jai shakes his head, continuing to submit order forms for ship parts.

"I'm dead serious, man. Travis wants you to do it, it'll pay well, and you won't be gone for that long. At least two weeks, it's just to Cyllene for the annual galactic policy conference. Simple."

"Nothing is ever simple with her, you know that. She's impossible to deal with." Mills huffs. "What happened to her captain? Why can't he do it?"

"Dunno. I think he transferred or is off on a long-range mission. I can't remember, but you should take it. Even though the Senator is a bit of a difficult client, she has a lot of power and could easily help you get a higher-paying job."

Mills knows Jai is right. He should take this job; he needs the money after paying for Nevine's treatments. He has to continue supporting his wife even if their marriage is a bit on the rocks.

"Fine," he says after a moment. "I'll tell Travis that I'll take the job."

Jai smiles, walking past his coworker and giving him a pat on the back as he does so. He lets out a soft chuckle. "Good man. Just...try not to kill her, okay?"

Mills hums, smiling ever so slightly.

"No promises."

***

"Are all of my dresses packed properly?" you ask the service droid as it begins to load your things onto the dolly. "It's of the utmost importance that they not be wrinkled. I want to represent Somaris to the best of my ability at this year's conference."

"Yes, Mistress," the droid says. "I made sure to pack each one myself."

You nod slightly. "Good. Thank you, I always appreciate your hard work, PZ."

"Of course. I am always at your service, Senator."

PZ finishes loading the bags and quickly takes them to the royal vessel while you prepare for the long journey ahead. You always hate going up into space, but unfortunately, it's an integral part of your job, so you have to do it more often than you'd prefer.

You walk to the docking bay, and you stop as soon as you see him walking towards your ship.

"You're kidding me."

Mills huffs out a soft laugh as he passes you. "Yeah, that's what I said too."

"Tell me you're not the one flying the ship. Please, please tell me you're not in charge of this trip--" You catch up to him.

"I need the money, alright?" Mills says, jaw clenching. "That's the only reason I agreed to it. Trust me, I wish I didn't have to, but there's hardly any work for pilots right now."

"No need to give me your whole life story, Mills. I won't cry you a river like others may have."

You roll your eyes and walk towards the ship ramp, immediately colliding with him. Apparently, he decided to step forward at that exact moment that you did. You huff and leave him in the dust, boarding the ship and immediately going to your sleeping quarters.

This'll be an interesting journey, that much you're sure of...

***

For the third time in the thirty minutes you've been flying, your water glass nearly falls onto the floor as the ship suddenly jerks to the side, then a bit downward, before returning to a steady state. You shut the computer off and walk to the cockpit, immediately hearing Mills's grumblings as he reaches across the controls console.

"I know you dislike me, but I didn't think you'd try any sort of murder attempt until much later in the trip," you say, crossing your arms as you stand in the doorway. "And I must say, I'm extremely disappointed in your efforts thus far."

Mills's jaw clenches once again. And here he was, starting to relax now that he's mostly figured out the new controls...

"For now, I figured having you get sick would be satisfying enough," he says, turning around to look at you. "The murder attempts will be much more obvious, I assure you. Plus, keeping you alive until after the conference is in my best interest, so I get paid for at least half of the trip."

You chuckle dryly. "Fair point. Now, are you sure that all of your licenses and qualifications aren't expired? Because you're flying this ship almost as badly as I do, and I don't have any licenses."

"I've never flown a ship with such unnecessarily complicated controls," he replies simply. "This is a class of ship I'm not used to handling."

"Mm, mhm. Sure, my ship's definitely the problem. You could never be at fault for not having flown a diverse range of ships in your many years of being a pilot...because you're old."

He huffs. "Really, you're resorting to calling me 'old' now? You can't find any more halfway decent or clever comebacks in your apparently vast bank of them?"

You smirk slightly. "So you admit that my comebacks are clever and good?"

"No, I said they're clever and halfway decent," he says, unable to help the tiny upward twitch of the corner of his mouth. "Big difference. Also, I'm not old."

"Everyone who's old tried to say they're not old. If you're over 40, you're officially old."

"How old do you think I am?" He looks back at you.

"I dunno," you shrug. "Like 40."

"Fuck, I'm 36," he grumbles, turning back to flip a switch on the panel. "Go back to your quarters, Senator. I'll try to keep the ship under control, although I doubt it'll be to your very high standards."

You turn and begin to walk away. Suddenly, the ship dips again, and you nearly lose your balance, falling into the wall. You whip your head around and hear the softest of chuckles from the cockpit, rolling your eyes at the sound.

"Just do your damn job, Mills."

***

Mills sighs as he flips the autopilot switch and prepares to head off to his sleeping quarters. He probably should've asked where his quarters were before takeoff, but honestly, he didn't even think of it at the time. He was too busy dealing with you.

As much as he hates to admit it, you actually intrigue him. You're young, beautiful, and incredibly hard-headed. All qualities he saw in his wife when he first met her.

Several doors line the hallway, and Mills picks the one closest to the cockpit. It opens, and it's a closet filled to the brim with luggage and garment bags. He huffs, then shuts it promptly.

He moves to the next door, already mentally checking out for the night. When it opens, his eyes widen.

You're standing completely bare, applying your body lotion before you dress for bed. You turn around and gasp, quickly covering your breasts before turning away.

"Get out!"

Mills, for a moment, can't bring himself to move. Fuck, it's been a while since he's seen a naked woman, and you're so--

"GET OUT!" you exclaim, looking back at Mills. "OUT!!"

He suddenly snaps back into reality, muttering an apology before shutting the door and letting out a shaky breath. He tries to commit it all to memory: how your skin shone in the dim lamplight, your plump breasts and hardened nipples, the beautiful curve of your hips...

Turning away, he walks to the final door in the hall, which contains a small cot. He puts his things into the small dresser and tries not to revisit his memories of your body. It's highly inappropriate for him to lust after a woman years his junior, especially since he hates you, and you two have yet to have a non-argumentative conversation.

Suddenly, the door slides open as Mills takes off his shirt. He turns around and sees you, now dressed in a nightgown, looking absolutely infuriated. But he doesn't miss how your eyes dart down his body momentarily.

"What is wrong with you??" You ask angrily, glaring up at him. "Why didn't you close the door right away? Why'd you keep looking at me? Are you some kind of pervert or something?"

He huffs, turning away from you.

"No, I'm not a pervert. I just froze up for a moment. I was surprised. I thought the room would be empty...it won't happen again. It was an accident."

"Mhm. Aren't you married? How would your wife feel if she saw you staring like that?"

"Yeah, well, she and I aren't exactly on the same page these days," he says, pulling his sleep shirt on before turning to you again. "So what, you wanna see my dick, make us even?"

Well, kind of.

You huff, crossing your arms. "No," you say. "Because I'm a lady and would never do anything like that."

Mills chuckles. "Mhm. You just keep telling yourself that."

He reaches for the pants resting over his hips. "If you're such a lady, I suggest you head out before you see anything improper. God forbid."

"Goodnight to you too, Captain."

***

Mills's quarters are open when you pass by, so who wouldn't be curious about what secret life this guy could be living? You look around, then step inside. It's very basic; he's brought almost nothing personal. Well, almost nothing. You spot a holoprojector lying on his bed.

Is the great Commander Mills enjoying some pornography during his downtime?

Chuckling softly at the thought, you pick it up carefully and turn it on, purely out of curiosity. What comes up is incredibly unexpected. It's a young girl playing with a toy ship. Suddenly, it clicks in your mind: this is his daughter. Before she…

You scroll to the next one, and the next, and the next, watching only a few seconds of each. Then, you reach one where she's looking much sickly. She's got a nasal cannula in, and her cough, which you noticed throughout the videos, is much worse.

And then, you flip to the very last side. It's the voice of your wife, hand on your daughter's lifeless one.

Oh no—

"What are you doing?"

You gasp softly, startled at the sound. He's calm, but a certain edge to his voice sends a little chill down your spine.

"I-I..." you don't have an answer. "I thought this was something--"

"Give that to me," he snaps, snatching it from your hands and turning it off. "This is my quarters, my personal space. What's so hard to understand about that, huh?!"

You open your mouth to speak. He doesn't allow it.

"I would never think to step into your room and look through your belongings. You think just because you're a senator that you outrank me and can do whatever the fuck--"

"That's not it!" you say suddenly. "It was wrong, alright? I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I let my curiosity get the best of me. I didn't think you'd have anything like that."

For a moment, Mills is genuinely surprised at your quick admittance of guilt. He thought you'd surely make up some bullshit excuse as to why you're in here looking through his daughter's holo memories.

Just seeing that bit of the final holo of his daughter already has him tearing up, but there's no way in the galaxy he's gonna cry in front of you. He looks away, setting the holoprojector back down on the top of his dresser.

"Go."

You're at a loss for words. Look at what you've done; you've violated his privacy and forced him to relive such an awful memory. All because you wanted to get some dirt on him. It all seems silly and stupid now. "Look, Mills, I'm really--"

Tears are threatening to slip down his cheeks. He needs you to leave before you see him break down.

"Leave!" he snaps again, although his voice is much shakier this time. "Leave me a-alone!"

You swallow harshly, then walk back towards the door. You pause for a moment, looking back at him, seeing how his whole body shakes as he tries to keep his sobs.

"I'm truly sorry."

He says nothing, waiting until the door closes to let out the quiet but violent cries he's been holding in.

When dinner rolls around, you sit in the same seat you usually do at the small table. Except there's no sign of Mills anywhere. He's stayed on the bridge with the door shut all day. PZ brings out your meal, then sets Mills's down at his usual spot.

"Where is the Captain?" PZ asks. "Will he not be joining you for dinner this evening?"

You shrug slightly, looking over at the bridge door. "I don't know, PZ. He hasn't left his pilot's seat all day."

"Well, perhaps I should--"

"No," you interrupt. "You don't wanna irritate him. He's had a rough day. I'll take it to him if he doesn't come out."

PZ nods, then walks back to continue checking on your dresses. You sigh softly and eat alone, occasionally looking over at the door. Nothing.

You really don't wanna take the food in, but you know it's the right thing to do. Plus, it'll give you time to hopefully apologize again for earlier without him yelling or getting too upset.

With a deep breath, you press the 'open' button, and the door whooshes, revealing the tall back of the pilot's chair. Various controls on the panel flash and beep. He reaches over to silence them.

"Yes?"

You step forward. "I have your dinner. I figured you wouldn't wanna come out to eat with me--"

"A correct assumption."

"...so I brought your dinner in here."

He nods. "Thank you."

You set the plate down to the side.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened earlier," you say sincerely. "It wasn't my place to snoop around your quarters, and I apologize. I also...I didn't know about your daughter. I'm sorry about that, too."

Mills says nothing but turns around in the chair to look at you. After a moment, he nods slightly. "Thank you for apologizing. And I'm sorry that I snapped like that. It's just a hard thing for me to revisit."

"Of course, and I completely understand why you reacted the way you did. I deserved that, but you didn't deserve to have your private life violated like that. I'm sorry, truly. I feel terrible about it."

He's very much surprised by your sudden remorse and show of emotion. You rarely soften like this, and it makes him wonder if he's jumped to conclusions too soon. Maybe you're not always the hard-ass, demanding, a stubborn politician you make yourself out to be.

"All is forgiven, Senator. I promise it's alright. I appreciate you apologizing."

You nod, offering him a small smile. "Great. I'd hate for us to be on shitty terms for the rest of the journey."

"Agreed," Mills nods. "Thanks for bringing my dinner. I'll see you tomorrow, Senator."

"See you tomorrow, Captain."

***

"Wait, wait..." you start, huffing softly. "You're telling me we have to stop on Zexade for fuel? I thought this ship could carry enough fuel for the entire journey. I've never had this problem before."

"There's a first time for everything," Mills replies simply, flicking a few switches on the dashboard. "We had to take an alternate route around a nebula, which took more fuel than anticipated. Zexade should have what we need."

"How long is that gonna take? We cannot be late to this conference, Mills. It's super important that we arrive on time--"

"You'll get there on time, Senator. You insisted we leave two days earlier than we needed to. Do you not remember that?"

Your jaw clenches. "I recall that, yes. But I've been late before, and it was absolutely humiliating. I want to be sure I'm there in advance to begin talking with the other senators."

"The refueling stop shouldn't take more than a few hours. We're on schedule to arrive on Cyllene early." He rolls his eyes. "There's no need to worry about anything. I have it all under--"

A loud crash is heard, and the ship lurches. You stumble, quickly gripping the wall for support.

"Everything's under control, huh?" you ask bitterly. "Then what in the world was that?"

The control panel and the proximity sensor start beeping frantically, and Mills groans. He was worried that something like this would happen. More shots are fired at the ship, and he dodges most of them.

"Get out of here! Strap into a chair or something!"

"What is it? Why are they shooting at the ship--"

Another bold hits the ship and takes a few pieces of paneling off. You nearly fall again.

"Pirates," he says. "They want the ship to salvage and possibly take us hostage for ransom money. Now get into a seat before you get hurt!"

You run back towards the emergency seats, but then you see the hatch for the gunner position. You know at that moment what you need to do. The ship dips again, and you fall into the wall with a soft groan, but you climb into the gunner seat before any more sudden jerks.

Mills' eyebrows furrow when he hears static from a headset hanging on top of a control panel. He lifts it up and puts it on, thinking it could be some sort of communication from the pirates.

"Get me into position," you say, flipping switches and pressing buttons rapidly, warming up the guns. "I can take them out."

"What the fuck are you doing down there?! I told you to strap in--"

"Fuck strapping in; I'm not just gonna sit there and wait for you to let the ship be torn apart. These pirates are gonna take us out if we don't put up some sort of defense."

He knows he should focus on the pirates, but he's still trying to wrap his head around that you apparently know how to operate the gunner position. He's also trying to wrap his head around that he's about to take commands from you.

"Alright, alright," he says, adjusting the headset quickly before swerving more shots. "Do you have a shot?"

Your jaw clenches. "Do you think, if I had a shot, I would have told you to get me into position?!"

This is gonna be harder than he thought.

"Can we save the biting wit and snarky remarks for when we're not getting shot at by pirates, please?!"

"Fine," you huff. "I've almost got a shot on one of the ships. Take a sharp left and drop her down a bit."

He does what you say, and you quickly shoot the pirate ship down, which explodes and takes another one out. You smirk, mentally high-fiving yourself.

"Suck it!" you say into the microphone, forgetting that it's on. "You just got shot down by a fucking senator, losers!! Ha ha!"

Mills listens and allows a slight smile to tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Your mic is still on, Senator. But thank you for that wonderful piece of audio," he says, looking over at the proximity map. There are two more ships left. "I'm gonna pull up really hard and try to get you a clear shot on the two smaller fighters. Can you do that?"

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Y-Yeah, yeah, of course, I can. Just get me into position, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Good." He chuckles softly and suddenly pulls up, accelerating rapidly.

You keep your hands on the trigger buttons, holding on tightly as the ship climbs almost directly upwards. The pirate fighters are obviously confused but follow, climbing with us.

“Do a corkscrew maneuver!” You say into the mic. "Now!"

"What?! You want me to do a what?! You're crazy!"

You growl softly. "Trust me, just do it!!"

Mills grips the steering wheel tightly and begins to spin the ship around and around, cursing you in his head as he begins to feel nauseous. Your eyes narrow, and you shoot at the vessels, hitting one, then the other.

"I got 'em! We're clear!"

He slows, returns the ship to the usual level state, and sighs, running a hand through his hair. Goddamn, that was fucking crazy. You're...incredibly quick on your feet, and you ultimately made the right call.

Between your genuine apology and this sudden show of badassery, it's almost hard to believe that Mills is starting to actually like you. He'll never admit that part out loud, but it's true.

You emerge from the hatch and walk to the cockpit, releasing shaky breaths. The adrenaline is still flowing as you head towards Mills' chair.

"So..." you start. He turns and looks at you, and you offer him a teasing smile. "How much longer to Zexade?"

-- part two (upcoming) --

general taglist: @mrs-zimmerman

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pygmi-cygni · 3 months ago

Text

One Fish, Two Fish

Nathan Bateman x reader fluff (idk what nathan + fluff is doing to me but the brainrot is REAL)

for @chaithetics in her time of need xox

cw: nothing!

song inspo - you look like you can't swim by Matilda Mann and Orange Juice by Alfie Jukes

You sat in the corner of your office, discreetly observing your coworkers. A small pink sticky note was hidden in your clammy hands. You could be patient, waiting for a clear path to the other side of the building. Where he was.

Yes, it was you, the supposed sticky-note bandit that had been slyly tucking them all over the building. Inspirational messages, jokes, dirty secrets, anything to keep the moods high and people chatting. There was a rumor of who it was, and you had surprisingly kept your cover.

Although recently, some had noted the surprising change in the sticky note bandit's habits. Pink sticky notes, specifically written for one "Nathan" with little rhymes and haikus followed by a little goldfish. Someone's got a crush, the secretaries would titter excitedly. Or, surprisedly, as Nathan Bateman wasn't exactly office-crush material.

He would hole up in his office, scowling at those who walked by. He commandeered a coffee maker all to himself, stating that 'once the rest of these plebians earn their right to caffeine,' he'd be hoarding the brain juice to himself.

A real charmer.

But you'd found yourself blushing at eye contact and looking forward to project conferences with him. Your unfortunate propensity towards stuttering led you to share this quiet attention in the form of little notes, handwritten in a red ink pen.

some were teasing -

Your henley looks nice today, Nathan. Or is that yesterday's?

some were sweet -

Thank you for what you do for us <3

But all of them could be found tucked into files, on the underside of his laptop, stuck to his chair. Nobody knew how they got there, and how the culprit had never been caught.

Another one. The little pink monstrosity was strategically placed over his laptop camera, a doodled caricature of him frowning comically. Nathan plucked it off and studied it. It was pretty damn accurate, even if he detested the size of his glasses. He didn't look like Dahmer, he preferred an academic round-frame to accentuate his eyes.

Grunting a laugh, he dropped it into his desk drawer, where it fluttered to join its brethren.

Of course he knew who it was. But you'd clearly be too shy to do anything but gawk from behind your computer, so he didn't blow your cover. Besides, it was funny, listening to the rumor mill churn in thought while you sad back unassumedly, smiling to yourself.

He resumed working, opening his inbox to find a progress report from you. Leaning forward, he leisurely scrolled through the lines of notes, lips twitching when he saw the anecdotes and sarcastic comments typed in the margins. You were a funny thing, having so much to say but keeping your lips shut tight.

Nathan didn't mind your little game.

You'd woken up with a terrible migraine. Every flashing light splintered your skull, the pulse of your heart like a war drum behind your eyes. You'd swallowed twice the recommended dose of Advil and nothing was working.

All the lights in your office were off, earning you a few puzzled looks from your coworkers. You didn't have the energy to play your game today, barely able to type with your jittery fingers. You pondered calling out sick, but the shame from Nathan made you shiver. He didn't take kindly to missing work, no matter the trouble. Hell, Nancy's daughter broke her leg and he wouldn't let her take a day off.

"Your kid's fuckup shouldn't affect the productivity of this company," he said crisply.

Today, thankfully, wasn't too busy. You had emails to respond to, but other than that your schedule was clear.

Half an hour till clock-out. You could do half an hour. It would be grisly, but you had it in you.

A knock at your doorframe jolted you from your stupor. Wincing at the gesture, you sloppily waved at the visitor to come in.

It was Henry, one of the interns. He stumbled a bit in the dim light, but made it to your desk, where dropped a thick file on your keyboard.

"Bateman," he said apologetically, then stepped out.

No. You gotta be fucking kidding me. Less than an hour from the end of your workday, and he has the audacity to drop the biggest project file you've ever seen on your desk?

A pitiful groan escaped you as you flicked open the huge stack. The file was as thick as your arm, no doubt filled with tedious code that your aching mind could barely process on a good day.

"Fuck you, dude," you slurred to yourself, rubbing your forehead. Something caught your eye and you blinked.

Your sticky note with the caricature of his truly.

How-

Fuck.

Hot shame singed your ears. He knew. He totally knew, oh god that's so embarrassing-

A second note was stapled to it, with his messy black scrawl.

Nice sketch, though I wouldn't say art is your calling. A little too Dahmer-ish, Goldie.

Goldie - a moniker after the little fish you'd sign your notes with. You groaned louder, dropping your head in your hands. How could you look at him? His smug grin made your cheeks burn brighter. This was supposed to be a stupid little way for you to- uggghhhhhh.

You shoved the folder into your bag and elected to work on it at home. You couldn't stand to be on the same floor as him.

His gaze followed you out.

For the next few days, your stack of pink notes remained untouched. You still sprinkled your yellow ones around but avoided Bateman's office like the plague.

Maybe he'd forget.

Throwing yourself into Bateman's newest brainchild; a website designed specifically to resemble a notebook, complete with 'rippable' pages and a light scratching sound while typing, you whole-heartedly tried to pretend your embarrassing unveiling hadn't happened.

Until one morning, a small bottle of Excedrin was placed on your desk with a small, blue sticky note on top.

Didn't mean to scare you off, it read, with a poorly drawn fish underneath. Blinking, you read the note again. Definitely Nathan's scrawl, but the sudden kindness threw you for a loop.

One part of you was screaming with joy, and the other was angstily throwing rocks at it. Leave him alone, stop it, pretend it never happened.

But...

The little bottle of migraine medication made you smile. You tucked it into your desk. A second message was written on the side:

Now you don't have an excuse to skip my meetings.

Despite the teasing nature, your heart warmed. From his lair in the far hallway, it seemed so strange that Nathan would notice your frequent headaches.

He was being...nice.

Taking out your pen, you scribbled a thank you. This time, you signed it with two fish.

I'll have to get more creative, then.

An invitation.

He tried to ignore the triumphant swell in his chest when a pink flash caught his eye. A new note. His hands grabbed greedily at it. Of course he hadn't missed your little notes, that would imply he had feelings.

Which he didn't.

Obviously.

Realizing how pathetically giddy he was, Nathan crumpled the note and returned to his desk, a mask of stoicism in place once more. He only got through half a line of code before guilt started nibbling his conscience. The crumpled piece of you looked so lonely on the floor, tossed away like a piece of trash.

Making sure nobody was looking, he retrieved it and smoothed out the wrinkles, gently placing it in view of his keyboard.

You'd drawn two fish this time. It made him happier than he'd like to admit.

He tried to replicate your skilled doodle, but he resorted to a squiggle after a few failed attempts.

Maybe if you applied that creativity to your work, I'd be more inclined to approve your vacation.

Touche, came the reply, with a wink face and one of the fish dressed in a pair of glasses.

It became a daily habit, pulling out the little colored pads and finding times to sneak them into folders or under coffee cups or on desktop monitors.

Nathan ignored the tingly warmth in his chest as long as he could. In his mind, shoved somewhere in the dusty archives, he knew it was a crush. But a small fear kept him from saying anything. What if he did scare you off? Were you trying to catch his heart, or was this just a fun game? He didn't want to ruin the one pseudo-connection he'd had with another human being in the last five years.

He scowled at himself in the reflection of his screen. This was what he hated about other people. The feelings. Others were so complicated, lines of code he didn't know the solution to. He got tangled so easily in the web of relationships that he avoided them all together.

Like always, he didn't realize how stuck he was until it was too late.

His eyes were drawn to you now, every time he saw you flit by his window. He wanted you to look at him, to acknowledge the little connection you had. But your eyes remained glued to the floor, never flicking his way. Nathan fell just short of storming into your office to get your attention.

You noticed the increase in notes.

The pastel blue ones Nathan had claimed were littered everywhere now. Some didn't even have anything meaningful, just doodles or random questions.

Your favorite color?

How do you take your Thai, spicy or not?

You answered them all, sending them back without much of a second thought. It didn't click that he just wanted to talk to you until a single blue note was placed in the middle of your screen.

Please don't ignore me.

You frowned. You weren't ignoring him; every note he sent you had replied to. But then...you never looked at him, though you felt his gaze burning against your face. You could sense his agitation every time you ignored him in a meeting. He wasn't very direct either, but you and him both knew what he was itching for.

Please don't ignore me.

That familiar wave of anxiety washed over you. That knowing how every time you opened your mouth, a stuttering mess would fall out and you'd be embarrassed past fixing. He was expecting of you, now. He wanted to talk to you - the very thing you'd been hoping to avoid.

Nathan smacked the edge of his desk. The smarting sting in his hand distracted from the wailing of his mind. He'd fucked it up. You gave him an inch and he took a mile. That web was tangling him deeper and deeper. He just wanted to play your game and he'd take nthe fun away.

It had been days since his last note. His last, desperate, pathetic, whiny note. He'd scared you off for the second time, and this time he wouldn't get you back.

He rifled through the ones he'd saved. They were precious, the tiny pieces of you that you'd shared. He had one framed on his desk - the first little doodle you'd sent. It was, admittedly, the best part of his day.

And now it was gone.

That anxiety circled the drain for days as you wrestled with yourself. Obviously, if you said anything, it would crash and burn. But you didn't want to end the little game.

He'd signed the note with one, very lonely looking goldfish.

Aw, fuck.

It was late. Most everybody had left, but you knew he'd still be there, typing furiously. You almost ran to his office before you lost the nerve. I'm not ignoring you, you rehearsed in your head, over and over. You mouthed the words, swerving around a stray office chair. You couldn't fuck this up.

Strangely, his office door was locked. The faint glow of his computer shone underneath the door, but the knob was firm.

You swallowed down any anxiety and knocked. Silence.

Was he being spiteful? Your heart felt crushed with the quiet. You knocked again, louder.

Nathan? His name was on the tip of your tongue, but your dignity clamped your lips closed. A third knock would be too far. Did he want to be left alone? Maybe he had a meeting. At 8 pm? He was probably busy.

Maybe he didn't want to talk to you anymore.

Guilt curled in your stomach. You felt terrible. Biting your lip, you began to turn away. Stopped. Grabbed a pen and scribbled on a nearby sheet of paper.

Nathan?

Crouching, you shoved it with all your might under the door. You sat, drumming the pen on your fingertips. It had been several minutes now. The bitter sting of rejection made your throat hurt. Don't cry. All things end, don't waste your salt.

A rustle, and the corner of a leaflet brushed your calf. You snatched it up, sniffling back the waterworks.

A small fish with a question mark. You laughed a watery laugh, wiping your eyes.

Carefully, you sketched a small fish next to it. A speech bubble, filled with I missed you.

Your hands shook as you passed it back. Was it too forward? Your heart was pounding like a racehorse as the feeling of dread crawled over you.

The gentle whirring of the air conditioning was the only movement in the office. You couldn't see him; he must have been pressed up against the door.

The question mark had been erased, this time replaced with a sad face.

You scribbled a note below. I didn't mean to ignore you. I didn't want to ruin it.

An exclamation mark.

I'm not good at words.

His fish swam closer to your fish, a fin reached out for comfort.

ok? was scrawled above it.

You drew a smiley face in response.

His response took longer this time, and you wished you could see him. He hadn't opened the door, but he knew you were there. Maybe he wasn't good with words either.

Nathan's fish held a small flower, messily sketched into a bouquet. It was clear he'd drawn and redrawn. Hence the pause.

You better not be allergic.

You laughed surprisedly.

Ironically, I have a seafood allergy.

The fish returned with a face mask.

Another giggle.

Nathan's ear was pressed as hard as he could against the door, drinking in your quiet laugh. Sharpie stained his fingers, and he so badly wanted to open the door. But then you'd see his red eyes and quivering lip. The toll of your attention had gotten too much, and he'd hidden under his desk until he was sure you'd left.

But.

The paper sparked hope. Your familiar red ink eased the tears, and he could hear your pacing outside. Maybe you weren't mad. He could fix it.

You slipped the paper back. He was shit at drawing, but your willingness to play along made his heart swell.

Your fish was alone again. A single heart was drawn above it, carefully colored in.

Did I ruin it?

His hands were shaking as he drew another, smaller heart beside it. His sketch was messy and the ink was running, but his heart hurt so bad he thought he would die. He didn't ruin it. It's okay, this was gonna work out.

A soft knock sounded above his ear. He shakily reached for the knob and unlatched it. Your soft eyes peeked out from the crack. Nathan nudged the door open some more, hesitant to meet your gaze.

"H..Hi," you whispered.

The biggest fucking grin of his life split his face in two.

The two of you sat in the dark of the cubicle farm, grinning like lovesick fools in your respective piles of sticky notes.

edit: just realized I never tagged anyone for this??????????? sorry if you've already read it but here you go ig

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love @unear7hly

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman #ex machina #fluff #eventual feelings #cute #x reader #reader insert #oscar isaac characters #ficlet #fanfiction

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tcwmatchmakingau · 1 year ago

Text

Commander Mayday illustration by @nika6q

A Match for Mayday: Chapter 3

Editor's note: This fic is a collaboration between @nika6q (artwork) and @dystopicjumpsuit (story)

Pairing: Mayday x Flower Farmer Reader

Rating: M (18+ Minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: fluff; mild angst; sensuality; smut; fingering; it is not actually impossible for DJ to write a SFW story, but it does cause hives

A/N: dedicated to @nika6q ❤️‍🩹

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

“Gorgeous,” Sunni declares with a flourish as she steers you toward her mirror.

“I’m not sure why you’re going to this much effort on me when you’re supposed to be the center of attention,” you point out as you turn obediently.

“Because you deserve a little pampering, and you never have an excuse to get dressed up on Nakadia,” Sunni replies. “What do you think?”

You examine your reflection, taking in the artfully arranged hair, the perfect makeup, and the dress that displays a tasteful amount of skin while concealing all the things you prefer to keep to yourself.

“You’re a magician,” you reply frankly. “I can’t remember the last time I took so long to get ready.”

One of the bridesmaids, Tarsi, flops down on the bed and takes a sip of sparkling wine as she declares, “Nothing wrong with a little self-indulgence every now and then. Everything in moderation, including moderation, am I right, ladies?”

The other two bridesmaids chorus their agreement from the adjoining room, and you smile. Unsurprisingly, Sunni has a delightful group of friends, and they’ve made the week leading up to the wedding far more fun and relaxed than you expected. Tarsi does have a bad habit of trying to talk you into signing up for RTL, though; she’s so proud of her success with Hexx and Sunni that she’s determined to find a match for every one of her friends.

“You’re beautiful, kind, successful, and you live on the most idyllic planet in the galaxy,” she declares. “Troopers will be lining up around the block to meet you. How do you feel about children?”

“I’ll pass,” you say firmly.

“On the children or the troopers?”

“Both,” you reply.

Tarsi pouts but lets it go. Meanwhile, the other two bridesmaids, Brax and Mione, burst into the room carrying a round of raava shots.

“Pregame!” Brax announces. “Everybody grab a shot.”

“Oh, no!” you laugh. “I’m the designated drunk-herder tonight. It is my responsibility to make sure you all make it onto the charter shuttle to Nakadia at the end of the night so this wedding can actually happen. I need to keep a clear head.”

“One shot isn’t going to do anything,” Sunni declares. “As bride, I hereby absolve you of all responsibility if I’m late to my own wedding. Now take the shot.”

You roll your eyes in good-humored exasperation, and you all toss back the raava, reactions ranging from Tarsi’s delicate cringe to Brax’s exaggerated sputter.

“Well, that was awful,” Sunni coughs. “Shall we get this party started?”

The group makes its way through several bars and dance clubs in Coruscant’s mid-levels, each successively louder and more crowded, before heading to a place that is apparently well-known to Sunni and her friends. As the five of you pile out of the air-taxi onto the landing platform, a gigantic sign reading 79’s bathes you all in a neon haze. There are an unusually high number of clones milling about outside the club, but Sunni and the others head straight for the entrance, throwing open the doors dramatically.

“Gentlemen, I have arrived!” Sunni announces with a confident swagger born partly of inebriation and partly of her own innate love of a spectacular entrance.

From inside the club, a cacophony of male voices lets out a deafening cheer interspersed with a few whistles and catcalls. Not for the first time of the night, you wish that you were getting as lit up as the rest of the group, because from the sound of things, you are about to head into exactly the kind of crowded, chaotic environment that seems perfectly designed to trigger your panic response. Right about now, you would kill for some liquid courage, but none is forthcoming, so you square your shoulders and walk into the club.

It’s crowded, smoky, and dark, and the music is loud enough to buzz across your skin and throb in your chest. It is also packed with clones, all of whom look absolutely delighted to see your group.

“What is this place?” you call to Tarsi over the roar of the crowd.

“Clone bar!” she yells back. “Isn’t it great?”

“Great,” you parrot back with false enthusiasm.

Unsurprisingly, the bartender has already poured a round of shots for your group by the time you reach the bar, courtesy of some unknown patron. You know you shouldn’t drink yours, but it’s been hours since you had the raava shot, and you have a feeling you’re going to need it if you’re going to make it out of 79’s without going ballistic, so you toss it back quickly. Within seconds, all five of you are pulled onto the dancefloor, and at least two clones begin to grind on each of you. There are so many people, and your heart starts to race as the crowd presses against you. The lights flash disorientingly. It’s hot and sweaty and loud, and your cheeks are starting to cramp from the overly bright smile you’re trying to keep in place.

You look over to Sunni and are surprised to see her dancing with Hexx. Veetch is plastered against Tarsi, along with a clone you don’t recognize. You can’t see Brax or Mione, because there are three farking clones grinding their dicks against you, and if you have to put up with this for another minute you are going to kriffing lose your shit!

Abruptly, a hand closes around your wrist and pulls you gently but firmly away from the sausage fest. A little space opens up around you, and you finally feel like you can breathe again. You turn to thank your rescuer, and your heart gives a hard, involuntary lurch when you recognize Mayday’s long, dark curls. He asks a question that you can’t hear over the music. You shake your head and point to your ears. He nods in understanding, and his eyes are so damned kind that you want to weep with relief.

Another strange clone starts to move toward you, but Mayday fixes him with a stare that has him putting up his hands and backing away. You don’t want to leave the dancefloor and abandon Sunni and the others, but you’re not sure how you’re going to be able to stay, either. Mayday moves closer and rests his hands on your hips. You glance up at him, startled. He gives you a reassuring smile and starts to move your body to the rhythm of the music.

“I thought you didn’t dance!” you try to say over the music, but he shakes his head to indicate he can’t hear you, either.

Instead, he pulls you closer to himself and oh, Maker. He does dance. He’s a really kriffing good dancer. He moves with a sinuous grace that has your mind racing with the possibilities of what else he can do with moves like that. And while his hands stay well within respectful boundaries, they leave a trail of blazing heat as they move across your body.

You war with yourself. Mayday has you dizzy and off-balance. One moment he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the galaxy, and the next he’s telling you not to touch him. But now he’s caressing your waist and hips like he never wants to stop, and he’s shielding you with his body, and he’s keeping you safe in the midst of the crowd. It’s a heady experience, to be at the center of that intense focus. Eventually, you stop thinking and simply let go and exist in the moment.

You lose track of time, of place, of people—it all fades into the background, and all you can see is Mayday. The way he touches you, moves you, guides you through the dance. He turns you so your back is to him, and you lean against his strong body, your hips swaying against his. You raise one hand over your shoulder to tangle in his hair, and you feel the heat of his breath against your wrist. His fingers trail over your arm, lighting up the nerves and sending tingles racing through you. And then his mouth descends onto your bare shoulder, his beard teasing your sensitive skin as he works his way up the side of your neck. Your knees nearly buckle at the sensation, but somehow you hold onto both your balance and your dignity.

You are shocked when the bartender announces the last call. How has the time passed so quickly? You’ve been so wrapped up in Mayday that you didn’t even notice as the crowd began to thin, and now it is time to round up the rest of the wedding party and head to the spaceport, where the luxurious private shuttle Sunni has chartered awaited your arrival. You and Mayday are the only reasonably sober members of the group, and so you coordinate with him to hustle everyone into two air taxis.

It’s a loud and raucous trip to the spaceport, but eventually, you bundle Sunni and the others onto the shuttle and perform one last headcount before Mayday signals the pilot to depart. It takes a significant amount of time and effort, but eventually, everyone aboard makes it to their assigned quarters, and you retreat to the shuttle’s opulent lounge to decompress and have a well-deserved drink.

You stop short when you enter the room and find Mayday already inside. You flirt with the idea of fleeing, of going straight to your quarters and trying to get some sleep on the long jump to Nakadia, but it’s too late. He’s already spotted you, and you can’t avoid him without being openly rude.

“I’d forgotten how exhausting it is to wrangle drunk people,” you say as you enter the room.

“Mmm,” Mayday agrees with a rumble. “Makes fighting the war look easy.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you reply.

He smiles. “You’re right. Want a glass?”

“I think we’ve earned it,” you reply, settling into an armchair as he pours two tumblers of liquor out of a mysterious decanter.

The tawny liquid catches the light as he hands you a glass, reminding you of his eyes. You sniff it curiously and are greeted with a sweet, smoky aroma.

“I knew you were a whiskey man,” you say as you clink your glass quietly against his and take a sip.

“I don’t usually turn down a free drink,” Mayday replies. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know the good stuff when I see it.”

You regard him steadily before you ask, “Is that so?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his eyes guarded.

“I can’t figure you out, Mayday,” you say.

At least he doesn’t insult you by pretending to misunderstand. He watches you for a moment, and when you don’t flinch under his scrutiny, he takes another drink of his whiskey.

“I told you I don’t play games,” he says.

“You could have fooled me,” you retort.

“You’re with someone else,” he says in a low voice. He sets his jaw firmly, but his eyes flicker over your body, and for an instant, you see a flash of naked hunger in them. “I’m not going to chase after someone who’s unavailable.”

What the kark? Your eyebrows snap together. “Is that why you couldn’t keep your hands off me tonight? Why every time we’re in the same room, you look at me like—like that?”

“Why the kriff do you think I was avoiding you?” he growls. “When I’m with you, I can’t think straight. I am trying to respect your relationship, but fuck, you drive me wild.”

You let out a short, angry laugh and drain your glass. “You think I would dance with you like that when I was with someone else? I didn’t realize you had such a poor opinion of me.”

“You said you were taken. You—” he pauses as though the words choke him with their bitterness. “You planned your wedding.”

“That was hypothetical!” You set your glass down with a snap as you rise abruptly. “I’m going to bed. Alone. Like I do every night. Which you should have realized when you spent a week in my house.”

“We’re not finished,” Mayday says, rising to block your exit.

“There’s nothing else to say,” you snap.

“What the kark did you expect me to do?” he demands. “I met the girl of my dreams, and two seconds later she told me she wasn’t interested.”

“I said I wasn’t interested in RTL!” you exclaim. “A matchmaker sounds like my worst nightmare. Although at least it would have prevented this level of absolute banthashit.”

“Then—” he begins.

“For kark’s sake, how much clearer can I possibly be?” you cut him off. “Do I need to hang up a neon sign that says OPEN FOR BUSINESS? Do you want me to send you a handwritten letter? ‘Dear Mayday, please tear off all my clothes and have your way with me on the nearest available surf—mmph!’”

Mayday’s mouth cuts off your tirade. His lips crash against yours, his tongue sweeps into your mouth, his hands pull you close against him. He tastes like whiskey, and he smells like woodsmoke and spices, overwhelming your senses. You clutch his shoulders for balance, and then immediately slide your hands up his neck to twine your fingers through his hair. You tug on it gently, and he groans into your mouth in response. His arms tighten around you, pinning you to him as he grips your ass and grinds his hips against you. You let out a strangled moan as you feel the hardness of his cock press against your abdomen.

“This karking dress,” he rasps, breaking away from your kiss for a moment as his fingers find your hemline and snake up the inside of your bare thigh. “Did you wear it just to torture me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he preempts your response with another breathtaking kiss. He slips past the lace of your panties—thank the Force I wore pretty ones—and glides his fingertips over your heated skin. His hands are as clever and talented as you knew they would be, and a fresh wave of irritation hits you. You tug his hair lightly as you pull away from his kiss.

“I’m still mad at you!” you exclaim. “We could have been doing this for weeks, oooh—”

He slides one of those thick, skilled fingers into you as he drops his mouth to your throat.

“I’m planning on doing it a lot longer than that, mesh’la.”