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calumfmu · 1 month

Text

sugar coated melting.

Being assistant to the famous Steve Harrington wasn't an easy task, he was demanding as ever and made sure he was nice to everyone but you. But a job was a job, and it was the cost of working in Hollywood.

Famous!Steve Harrington x Assistant!reader (modern!au, with 40's Steve) 7.5k+ words

cw: older Steve Harrington, smut, loss of virginity, inexperienced!reader, AFAB reader, angst (what's new), mentions of death, swearing, 18+, mdni

Working with one of the most famous actors in the world was draining, exhausting, taxing, everything you could negatively describe. He was such a high maintenance person, he made your job seem like a constant boot camp run for the Navy Seals. Your best friend had cackled at that supply of information.

Steve wasn’t a bad person, no. He was handsome (obviously, he had been voted most handsome of the previous 2 years in a row), kind (to most people—who weren’t you), and compassionate (he let you eat his leftovers that one time you had gotten stuck on set for 16 straight hours). You were getting paid to say nice things about him if anyone had asked.

Life working as his head assistant was just a drag. It was everything you had dreamed of doing when you were a kid, working in Hollywood with big A-listers, attending red carpets, seeing the way movies worked. The job wasn’t the problem, it… was him.

A script was shoved into your hands as you thought of giving it to the man. The look on his face was burned into the back of your mind, irritation crossing his features as you imagined giving him the bad news. He always took things out on you, attitude forward as he said some slick remark.

Last minute script change, typical of productions like these. Something that anyone could expect while working on these things. Anyone with a normal level of patience would handle it well, take it with stride.

Your fingers rapped against the trailer door, aluminum warm to the touch from the sun beating down on it. Movement sounded behind the door, mumbling a few words out at you.

The door swung open, Steve rubbing at his eyes with his hair sticking in every direction. Fuck, he was asleep. It made it so much worse delivering the news.

“Heyyy, boss,” you beamed, voice raising a few octaves. You held out the script to him, cringing slightly. “Nothing too crazy, just a sliight chan-”

“No,” the door slammed in your face, your eyes closing as the bright reflection shone on you. Your smile immediately dropped, the reflection of your face on the white aluminum door looking back at you.

Red seethed through you, frustration prickling at the back of your neck. You knocked again, this day becoming even longer with each passing second.

“Mr. Harrington.” You were met with silence, ear pressing to the door to hear any movement. You waited a beat, knocking more urgently.

“Don’t want it, tell them no,” he grumbled behind the door, his voice sounded across the trailer, muffled through the closed door.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the patience to not go off on him. You were his assistant, not his agent, not the director of the film, not anything else. What did he realistically think you were going to do about a script change?

“‘M just delivering it, Mr. Harrington.” Your voice was level. “I don’t even think it’s your lines that changed.”

A faint note of music came through the door, Steve deciding to tune you out. Looking towards the sky, you squinted, finding prayer between the clouds.

“Mr. Harrington!”

Another PA walked by you, speaking into the earpiece she had with a clipboard in hand. You raised a hand to greet her, faux smile crossing your lips as you pretended everything was okay. She waved back, making her way in between the trailers and out of your eyesight.

As soon as she disappeared, your fist came up to bang at the door, louder than before.

It opened in the middle of your fit, you nearly stumbled into the trailer. You cut your eyes at your boss, biting your tongue at the swear words that threatened to come out.

The man was well past 30 years old, but still acted like a spoiled brat.

“Fine,” he said through his teeth, grabbing the stack of papers from your hand. He barely glanced at it before tossing it on the small couch behind him. Your eyes followed it, noticing the mess of bottles on the floor around it.

He followed your gaze with his own eyes, stepping into your eyesight as he closed the door slightly.

“Anything else, Yn?” A pinch of attitude at your name. Typical.

You smiled at the man, frustration disappearing as you were just grateful this episode of his didn’t last as long as it did last week.

“No, sir, that would be it for me,” you gave him a slightly bow, clasping your hands in front of you before swiveling on your heel. Descending the mini set of stairs, you rolled your eyes, back to him as you descended. “Fucking twat.”

“I heard that!” His voice was far behind you, your feet moving fast across the blacktops. You smiled back at him, waving as confusion crossed your features.

“Sorry sir, I said it was fucking hot!” You lied straight through your teeth. “Outside, you know? Pardon my language.”

You rolled your eyes once more, turning back on your mission to get back inside the building. You and him both knew what you said, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Nothing you did would get you fired, trust, have you tried.

It was like you were in your own personal Purgatory. You assumed Steve liked you, he wouldn’t fire you even on your worst days. You had fucked up many times, forgetting things, slipping up on his to do list, calling the wrong people for the wrong events. More recently, he had heard the rude nicknames you had for him, and he just didn’t seem to care.

You had heard him one time, whisper under his breath about “best help in Hollywood”. It was sarcastic of course, his eye roll you’ve been well acquainted with to follow.

The last few weeks have been more of a hell for you, Steve becoming more temperamental and moody, you becoming the worst employee on planet Earth. You begged to be fired at this point, your shot at unemployment looking more and more appetizing.

A sudden ring cut through the air, your back pocket buzzing. Pulling it out, you nearly ripped your hair out, Steve’s contact popping up on the screen. I could ignore it, you thought. This could finally be my chance at escaping him.

Your thoughts were cut short, the phone ringing again as Steve's name popped up. He didn't even let the first one finish before trying you again.

"Oh, Mr. Harrington," you breathed, hand pressed into your brow as you answered. "Hi, sorry, sir. Did you need me?"

"Need you to come back," you heard him say, voice muffled as he seemed to be doing other things on the other side of the line. Your feet responded before your brain did, autopilot in motion. "Script's not fucking working, and I just-"

Something fell in the background, and your footsteps faltered. You ignored it, rolling your eyes yet again at his antics.

"Are you okay, sir?" You asked, seeing his trailer in the distance. One of the trailer windows had its blinds half up, he paced back and forth.

You approached it, listening to him as he rambled on the phone, speaking about how much he hated this director and his damn agent for giving him these roles. Fighting back laughter, you cosigned with him, not choosing to mention that this stupid role was worth $13 million.

You raised your fist to knock at the door, it swinging open before you could even make a noise. The three dial tones of the phone call ending rung in your ears, Steve grumbling at you to enter.

"A-are you sure, sir?" Hesitation filled you, you weren't used to stepping into his trailer. You think you'd been in it once during the last seven months of production, grabbing his left behind cell phone before they traveled to location.

Steve didn't look at you the whole time, just muttering words under his breath as he held the brand new scripts in his hand. He was pacing, feet burning holes in the carpet of the trailer.

You slowly stepped in, apprehensively closing the door behind you. Hands clasped in front of you, you stood in close proximity to the door, eyes shifting over the large trailer.

He had clothes thrown over one end of the vehicle, previous scripts sitting on the makeshift table, and a half full glass of a dark colored liquid next to it. You eyed it, brow furrowing as you swore this man had been sober for the past few years--or at least, that's what the news outlets said about him. Not like you kept up.

"Sir," you interjected his thoughts, causing him to stop in place. He still didn't look at you. "Why am I here?"

Curt answers were the easiest way for you to pretend to be nice to him. You knew you couldn't be outright rude, this was your boss after all. Saying stuff under your breath and if he accidentally heard was another thing.

He ignored you.

"How is this supposed to be the Oscar nomination when they have me acting like this?" He exhaled a small shout at the end of his words, your eyes squinting at the volume. "Does this make sense to you? It's like they want me to make a fool of myself, no?"

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor. "I'm not sure how you want me to answer that, sir."

He waited a moment, sighing loudly as he collapsed on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. You looked at him then, seeing the way his chest heaved as he shook his eyes. The sun was setting now, golden hour lighting inching through the windows over his figure. His bed head was still wild, even more messy than it was previously.

"W-what would you like me to do, sir?" You asked, arms crossing over your chest as you felt the awkwardness creep into the air. This was the longest you had been in a room with him, at least, with no one around.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you took note of your 'shift' being almost over. It was a quarter to seven, your freedom lingering in the distance.

"Sir?"

"Enough!" He cut out, breaking his silence. You jumped at the words, ducking your head as his outburst came. This was the Steve you knew, the short tempered boss who was always so moody whenever things didn't go his way.

You opted for silence, not daring to speak as you awaited his next choice of words.

His arm left his face, palm running down his features as he stared into the ceiling of the trailer.

"Sorry, I just," his voice was significantly lower. He sat up on the edge of the couch, his palms resting on his thighs. "I just need you to take me home."

Your eyes closed briefly, irritation quickly crossing you as you realized this was going to be a longer day than you imagined. If Steve had needed you longer than you were scheduled, then so be it.

"Why?" The word wasn't supposed to come out, replacing the 'okay' that sat on the edge of your mouth.

His gaze cut to you quickly, searching your face as you stood there. Eyes burning slightly, you felt tears prickling. The pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and Friends rerun marathon looking further away from you could bring you to tears.

"Because I employ you, do I not?" The harshness in his words did nothing but fuel the 'Hollywood Tell All' feature you planned for the day you quit.

"You do, sir, yes," You muttered, hands dropping to your side in defeat. "I just thought you'd drive yourself like normal. You know, day ends, and I'll see you here the next day, eight sharp like normal."

"I can't--no," he answered, standing up as he gathered his things. "I don't have to explain myself to you. You just need to take me home. You can drive my car."

The words to protest him were lost in your throat. You complied with his actions, eyes to the floor as he finished gathering his things. Following him out of the trailer, you sighed, feeling like you were walking into a lion's den.

The walk to the private lot was silent, Steve grumbling to himself as he texted someone on his phone. You noticed his phone ringing several times, his thumb finding the red button to end it each time. Curse words came out of his mouth every few seconds, a few from your own mouth being added to the mix as you thought of ways to leave.

As the two of you came across an old school beemer sitting deep in the parking lot, he threw the keys at you, settling into the passenger seat. Reluctantly, you slide in the driver's seat, feeling the leather interior beneath your fingers.

"Nice car, boss," You whispered, checking out how the car didn't even look a day out of 1985. Steve side eyed you, nodding at the compliment before returning to his phone.

"Get us there in one piece, yeah?"

You sucked your teeth as his comment, shaking your head before starting the car. It was like it was impossible for him to be a decent person. Here you were, doing something for this man which may or may not be in your contract, and he couldn't even say thank you to a compliment about his car.

The ride was silent save for an old tape that played in the car. Some band from the 80's you noted, a little too old for your taste. Steve's fingers tapped away at his phone, not focused on the LA traffic you sat in for most of the drive. He gave you directions to his swanky high rise, ignored you as you struggled to keep up with him.

You pulled into an underground garage, valet men coming immediately, opening the door for you as they took the keys. Everything happened in such fast motion, you barely noticed he was half way to the elevator. Jogging to catch up with him, you turned your own attention to your phone, thumb hovering over the Uber app.

Steve took a call, fingers rapidly pressing the elevator button as he spoke (yelled) at the person on the other end.

"No, Robin, I'm not doing that, okay?" He said, voice gruff as he glanced at you. You heard the static voice of the person on the other line, seeming to be yelling at him too.

The elevator dinged, the two of your bodies stepping in as the doors opened. The transportation app on your phone lagged, loading bar stagnant on your screen.

"No, I get it, it's been years. Fine, I-" Steve groaned in frustration, eyes repeatedly shifting over to you as you tried to tune out the phone call. You stared at the numbers the elevator passed, the first floor blinking by before you could say anything. Your phone remain in your hand, screen dimming as it began to time out.

"Robin. I know."

The voice on the other line picked up, the woman's voice growing even louder. Steve pulled the phone away from his ear slightly, grimacing at the volume. The elevator stopped at a floor labeled 'P', doors opening to a mini lobby that ended in double doors. He went over to unlock them, key fob in his hands as a beep sounded through the empty room.

As he stepped through them, phone balanced on his shoulder with his ear pressed to it, he looked at you. You stood right outside the elevator, doors closing behind you as you didn't know what to do.

He held open his front door, hand waving at you in frustration. "Well, are you coming in?"

You pressed your lips together, another wave of irritation pulling at your teeth. Eyes half rolling, you nodded, entering the doors as he closed and locked it behind you.

Steve moved fast, throwing his jacket over a couch that lay in the middle of the giant room, toeing off his shoes by its side. You stood in place, not sure what to do as your boss made his way around his home.

You took note of the place, not picturing that he would live in a place like this. It was modern, with a touch of old school fashion. Retro furniture, expensive nonetheless. Floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the city. However, not a touch of life, no personal pictures, no sign of family, or anything personal that may shine light on what type of person he truly was.

You stepped in further to the place, watching as Steve made his way to a cabinet in his kitchen. Observing him over the breakfast bar, you saw into the open kitchen, watched him as he grabbed a rocks glass and a bottle of something pushed far back into a cabinet.

He continued on the phone, placing it on speaker as he began to open the bottle. He struggled at first, face turning up as his hands twisted on the cap.

Slowly making your way around the room, you glanced around, expecting him to yell at you for even being here, despite inviting you in.

"Steve," you heard the voice on the other line say. His eyes drifted towards the phone, pouring a hefty shot. "All I'm saying is, I miss you. And care for you. I love you. I want you to be okay today, alright?"

Steve grunted in response, not noticing your proximity to him. You cleared your throat slightly, wanting to gain his attention.

The woman on the phone waited for more of a response. Once it was clear she wasn't going to get one, she sighed. "If you change your mind, you know where to find us."

"Yeah sure," his tone was rude, eyes boring into the glass of dark liquid that sat in front of him. His fingers danced at the rim.

"Eddie would've wanted you to come."

Steve's body language immediately stiffened, finger moving to hang up the phone before throwing back the shot of liquor. His face grimaced at the taste, slamming the glass back on the table.

You didn't know what to say, looking anywhere but at your boss.

"Fuck, I forgot you were even here," he suddenly said, hand running through his hair. His hand was on his hip, eyes glossy as he looked at you. You chewed at your bottom lip, nodding as he stared at you. He pointed to the alcohol, shrugging. "Drink?"

Declining, your head shook. "I don't drink, sir."

"Ahh," he said, grabbing the glass and bottle as he headed towards the couch. "Good girl."

He threw himself down on the furniture, exhaling loudly as he stretched out. His eyes were closed as you stood across the room.

"Hey, I-I think I'm gonna go," you said, beginning to walk towards the exit. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As you crossed the room, Steve's voice called out to you. Your movements stopped, turning on your heel to look at him.

"Stay?" He asked you, eyes huge as they looked in your direction. You took note of his features, blinking at him as he awaited your response. Your boss was approaching his 40's, however, in this moment, he looked just like a little kid. Pictures of him in his teen years you had seen on the Internet were pushed to the forefront of your mind.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Harrington," you muttered, wanting to leave the scene.

His eyes fell to the floor briefly before he spoke out, "Steve."

"Huh?" You were confused, this sudden change in his attitude.

"You can call me Steve," he said, shifting his body as he relaxed into the couch. "We've known each other for a few years now, figured we should might as well be on a first name basis."

Fighting back the eye roll, you were reminded in the ways your boss had made your life into chaos.

"I bet you a million dollars, you don't even know my name, sir."

His gaze softened, laughing out loud as your hard exterior slowly came back.

"Yn." He muttered, smile dancing at his mouth.

You didn't know what to say, stuck between dashing out of his apartment or staying and seeing what type of Steve Harrington you were going to get today.

"I figure I should apologize for the way I've acted today," he said, turning forward as his gaze left your way. You didn't know why, but your feet followed it, walking closer so you could sit next to him. Lowering your self on the couch, you felt self conscious, like he was going to snap any second.

You snorted, "Today?"

He was staring at the bottle of alcohol in front of him, smile still on his face. Laughing at your comment, he shrugged.

"I have been a dick, haven't I?" He whispered, shaking his head as the smile slowly dropped from his face. His voice dropped to a whisper, eyes unfocused as he stared in front of himself. "Such a fucking dick."

You didn't know why, but you felt the need to comfort the man. He was clearly going through something at the moment, if the look alone on his face was any tell.

"Hey, not too bad of one," you wanted to reach out to grab him.

"Don't lie," he laughed, head turning your way. His eyes met yours, deep brown staring into the color of yours. You noticed moles dotting his face, slight lines of aging covering his features. He was still youthful, his eyes telling the tale of a once young boy who was within. "I've been terrible. And you don't deserve that."

A pang hit your heart, feeling the weight of his words. You didn't really deserve his treatment. No matter if he paid you or not.

He continued his words, eyes staring past you. "And yet here I am, sitting here with my assistant. Drinking for the first time in years." A laugh bubbled out of him, hands running down his face as he leaned further back into the couch. "You know I'm supposed to be in Indiana right now?"

You shook your head, not wanting to interrupt him. Making yourself comfortable, you took off your shoes, slipping your feet underneath yourself.

"Well, I'm supposed to be in Indiana, it's the 20th anniversary of, uhm," his voice cracked, eyes welling up with a tear that was blinked back. "It's the anniversary of one of my friend's dying, and I'm not there."

Breath catching in your throat, you didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, sir," you muttered, hand reaching out to rest at his thigh. The touch was inappropriate, but so was this interaction you could say.

He looked down at your hand, watching your thumb as it brushed over his jeans.

"It's okay," he responded, eyes finding yours again. "It's been so long."

You nodded, eyes scanning his face as he forced the corners of his mouth to be turned into a smile. You saw right through it, recognizing the pain of a lost loved one straight through. "I don't think that matters."

His face dropped, sincerity crossing his features as he dipped to glance at your hand once more. Silence over took the two of you, the faint sounds of the streets of LA below you, Steve's staggered breathing as he willed himself not to cry. You were patient, finding comfort in the air as he found his words.

"We were all so young, and it feels so long ago, almost like it doesn't exist anymore," he finally said, voice even. "But I know it does. I just have to face it, I've been running from it ever since it happened."

He gestured to his surroundings, and the puzzle clicked into place. This fame and jerk persona that Steve carried himself in, hid the real him. He ran from all of his problems, like anyone else would, especially when dealing with something as traumatic like he had.

You didn't know the details, didn't care to ask, since it seemed to affect him so much. All you knew was that person who had passed so long ago did matter to him, in ways that you couldn't imagine.

Letting him continue his mumblings about the person he used to know, you found out that his name had been Eddie, the one you heard on the phone before. Robin, long time best friend of his, was trying to get him to come out to reconnect with everyone, he hadn't seen much of them since the 'accident', as he had called it. He kept in touch with everyone over the phone, but seeing them in person was a whole different story. It opened up old wounds that he was afraid of what it might bring out.

The story was slightly confusing, him mentioning something about how they all had nearly lost their lives, details that would leave you wondering what this man had gone through. None of this information was available about him in the public, his childhood always being a vague story that never connected.

"So you have kids then?" You questioned, confused on how you never picked up on this detail. There had to have been at least five of them, names you had never heard before now.

Steve laughed suddenly, shaking his head as his hand rested on your own thigh. The two of you were much closer now, as his story unfolded. Your thighs were touching, each other's hands on resting upon each other, mere inches away from your faces.

"No, I don't have any. I guess, I should stop calling them kids now, you know?" His laugh was low in his throat. "They have kids of their own at this point, so they're far from it."

"Oh..." You were dumbfounded, all of this information being at a loss to you. You weren't here to understand, just here to listen.

"You know what, I'm sorry," he suddenly said, removing his hand from your leg. You wanted to whine at the absence, cold replacing his warm touch. "Maybe you should go, actually. This is pretty, uhm..."

"Unprofessional?" You supplied, inching closer as your boss sat there, wide eyed looking at you. In the dark light of his apartment, you could see the way his brown eyes glimmered at you. "I guess we're even then, me calling you a twat earlier."

Steve cackled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought of the events earlier.

"I knew you said that!"

You blushed, fighting back your own smile.

"It's not my fault, you were acting like one." Your lips pursed together, observing the older man in front of you.

Silence crept over you, the first break in conversation since his phone call ended earlier. Steve stared at you, eyes darting over your features as his teeth scraped over his bottom lip. You felt shy under his gaze, not knowing what to think of the moment as your boss was closer in proximity than he had ever been in your life.

"Can I make it up to you?"

His voice was low, and you were nodding before you even knew what he meant. Grabbing your cheek in his hand, the man leaned forward, capturing your lips into his. The gasp in your throat was lost in his mouth, a shuttering moan coming out instead.

His lips were soft, slightly chapped as they moved against yours. Fluttering your eyes closed, you leaned into the kiss, moving your hand so it rest at the curve of his hip, belt loop curling in your fingers.

He tasted of whiskey, the remnants of the few shots he had earlier lingering on his tongue. Steve pulled away slightly, muttering, "This okay?" against your lips as you nodded, pulling him in by his hair with your other hand.

Your breath grew more shallow as the kiss continued, leaning back as Steve began to tower over you. He shifted in his seat, covering your body with his own as he began to push you back into the couch. His figure was large over yours, scent of vanilla and cedar nearly suffocating you.

With your back flush against the couch, Steve removed himself from your lips, pressing a slight kiss against your jaw. You arched into the touch, palms running over the tight muscle of his back.

"S-steve," you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as his lips kissed over your neck. Each press of his mouth sent fireworks down your spine.

He returned his lips to yours, moving with a passion that was lacking previously, confidence replacing the apprehension he once felt.

Your legs spread, inviting him to nestle in between, the thick material of his jeans rubbing against your own. A bulge was present, the thought of what lay underneath sending goosebumps over your skin.

Steve was lost in the kiss, his mouth nipping at yours as he reached down to unbutton your pants, slipping a hand to run over the front of your panties.

"W-wait," you muttered, grabbing his wrist as you pulled away from the kiss. He was confused, mouth red and swollen. His fingers pressed at your covered clit, a small shot of pleasure running through you.

"What's wrong, Yn?" The hand connected to his elbow that propped him up, ran through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. Concern crossed his features, searching your face as doubt crossed it.

"I just, uhh," you felt shy, avoiding his eye contact as the words stumbled out. "I've never really done this before?"

His eyes bulged out, sitting up suddenly as he leaned over you. Closing your eyes in embarrassment, you pressed the palm of your hand to your forehead. Way to ruin the moment.

"Oh," he breathed, eyes wide as he scanned you. "We don't-- fuck, sorry. I'm so, uh, wow."

He stood up suddenly, leaving you laying on your back as embarrassment colored your cheeks. You didn't know what to say as the older man panicked.

"Maybe, uh, maybe this was a bad idea," he shook his head, hand reaching down to palm at the front of his pants. Your eyes followed his hand, noticing the prominent bulge.

You spoke out, shaking your head as you didn't make any effort to move. The turn of events tonight made you realize how much you did want the man who stood before you.

"No, we can, it's okay," you said, reaching out to grab his hand that hung by his side. He looked down at your grasp before bringing his eyes to meet yours. "It's alright."

He hesitated, sputtering over something to say.

"Steve, it's okay," you pulled him down, his knees straddling the sides of your hips as he reluctantly settled into the couch. His eyes ran over your body, lingering at the spot where your pants were unbuttoned, cotton panties exposed.

"A-are you sure?" He questioned, moving to lean back down over you. You nodded, leaning up on your elbows to press a chaste kiss to his lips. His tongue darted out, wetting your bottom lip.

A breathy moan escaped your mouth, palm caressing the front of his shirt.

"I want to, it's fine."

You knew it was now or never, this moment with your boss being an opportunity that you couldn't have passed up. You always had a crush on him growing up, the face of Hollywood you would see in your teen magazines, posters covering the room of your friends. Working for him would've never had you imagining that it would lead to this moment.

Steve took control of the situation, kissing down your neck as his hand returned between your legs, pants thrown across the room somewhere. It had happened so fast, you barely noticed the cool air that pulled goosebumps from your skin.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?" He muttered, freshly shaved stubble prickling against your chin. You could barely get out a moan as your underwear was pulled down your legs, catching at the crook of your ankles.

You felt his fingers brush over your folds, pressing lightly at the slick entrance. His thumb rubbed in small circles over your small bundle of nerves, an eye-rolling feeling that spread your legs apart. His fingers pushed inside, his own moan coming out over yours.

The feeling of the intrusion had you panting, spreading your legs wider while his thick fingers worked you.

"M-more," you begged, throwing your head back as his fingers found a rhythm. He stretched you out over two fingers at this point, thumb collecting slick as it rubbed over your clit.

Steve's fingers curled inside of you, brushing against your sweet spot deep inside. The look on his face was one of admiration, mouth slack as he looked down at you falling apart under his touch.

"That's okay?" His voice was husky, deep with arousal as your hips began to move in time with his fingers. Your orgasm was approaching, hips moving on their own accord as you chased that high.

"God, yes, Steve."

Pushing your shirt up past your bra, Steve gaped at the sight before him, your fingers dipping inside your bra to toy at your own breasts.

"You look so perfect, angel," he muttered, leaning down to capture your lips into his as you fell apart. That white blinding of your orgasm crept in, starting at the base of your spine and blossoming through your entire body. Against his mouth, you shouted out, squeezing your eyes shut as he fingered you through the high.

It took a minute for you to catch your breath, legs spasming from the shocks of the orgasm. You hissed at the over stimulation, Steve pressing into your clit one last time before removing himself from you.

You felt shy suddenly, the haze from the orgasm clearing as you realized you had just done unimaginable things with your boss. Seeming to read your mind, Steve pressed small kisses around the perimeter of your face.

"It's alright," he said, hovering over you. Against your thigh, you could feel his bulge rub against you. "How are you feeling, good?"

You nodded, words at a loss in your throat. You reached up to place a hand on his neck, the other at his waist as you played with the hem of his shirt. His eyes fluttered close briefly before glancing down at where you were slightly tugging his shirt up.

He made eye contact with you, chewing on his bottom lip. "I need words, angel. Gotta make sure everything is 100% okay, okay?"

"I'm alright, Steve," you gasped, looking down where your own hand rubbed at the exposed part of his abdomen. You needed more, wanted to feel him all over you. You began to pull his shirt over his body, watching as he glanced down at you with hooded eyes. "Just need more of you."

He slowly nodded, sitting back on his knees as he unbuttoned his own pants and slid them down his legs. You giggled at him as he struggled to get them off, the smoothness he had previously disappearing as he nearly toppled off the couch.

You pulled your own shirt and bra off of you, dropping them on the floor next to the couch. "Nice own, old man," you laughed, returning to your spot against the couch.

He frowned at you, lip jutting out in an over exaggerated pout. "Heeyy, I still got it."

You were left breathless, the laughter disappearing at the tip of your tongue as his figure returned to cover your body. The tip of his cock nudged at your entrance, the wetness pooling at the head leaving you gasping.

Steve reached down to rub his cock against the length of your cunt, spreading the slick all over as you arched into him.

"Fuuckk, Steve." You hooked your ankle over his hip, warmness pooling in your belly at the thought of him being inside you. His eyes raked over you, lingering on your nipples as they shook with each moan you gave.

"You sure about this, Yn?" He asked, leaning down to dart his tongue over the skin of your breast. It sent shivers down your spine, another wave of heat rushing to your core. "I don't want to do anything you'll regret."

"'M not gonna regret this," you gasped, feeling the way the head of his cock slightly pushed at you. It burned, fuck, he was big.

The slight intrusion had you gripping at his back, leaving crescent moon marks in the skin. Your breath came out ragged, a whine scratching at the back of your throat.

Steve grunted at you, pushing in slowly as he buried his head into your shoulder. He stopped every few inches, hips stuttering slightly as he fought back to urge to fuck back into you full force.

Being an all new feeling, you couldn't help but mewl at every burn of the stretch, a fullness you had never experienced before.

He pressed to the hilt, hips flush against yours as Steve gasped for air in tune with you. He pulled his head back to make eye contact with you, forehead resting against yours. You felt the slight grinding of his hips against yours, the fullness becoming too much as you were stretched over him.

"You gotta bare with me, baby." The nickname had you moaning, fingers reaching down to dig at the plumpness of his ass. You could barely keep your eyes open, senses overwhelmed with Steve. "'S been a while for me."

Nodding, you gasped as he reared his hips back before they stuttered into you again. The movement sent a wave of slick between your thighs again, pleasure blinding you.

He found his rhythm, hips fucking into you slowly, languidly as you fell apart beneath him. You rocked with every movement of his hips, hands running over the tan skin of his body above you.

Finding his lips, you moaned against his mouth, savoring the feeling that was building up in your abdomen as the two of you moved in sync.

Steve gave you words of affirmation, hips drilling into you over and over as his cock brushed over your deep bundle of nerves. Bliss approached you once more, wetness dripping all over him as you were brought to that high again.

"Gonna cum, Steve," you whispered against his mouth, back arching into him. He reached down between you, fingers toying at your clit as they began to rub in small circles.

"Cum for me baby," he breathed, voice low as your eyes rolled back. His voice brought you over the edge, high shout escaping your lips as that pleasure took over you again.

As he fucked your through your orgasm, his own approached, hips losing their rhythm as you felt his release deep inside you. A low groan of his came out, a breathy fuck being the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes.

Your body felt light, head foggy as you came down from your orgasm. It was pure bliss what you felt, heart pounding in your chest as sleep took over you.

You shot out of bed, frantically searching for your phone as you realized the sun was creeping through the curtains. Crisp, white sheets were pooled around you, swallowing you up whole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you muttered, trying to search for your device in the darkness of the room. The dark curtains were drawn, only allowing a sliver of light in, but enough for you to realize how late in the morning it was.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, anxiety crept over you, realizing you weren't in your room. A tossing figure lay next to you, his body half covered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. In that moment, everything from last night came crashing back, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

"Hey, Yn, what's wrong?" Steve's voice was groggy, as he blinked in the darkness of the room. He glanced towards the curtains and then to you, noticing the way you covered your frame with the corner of the sheet.

"What time is it?" You half shouted, looking on the bedside table for your phone. Steve was no help, slowly stretching out his limbs as he yawned.

"Too fucking early for you to be that loud," he muttered, sitting up on his elbows. The sheet pooled around his waist, exposing his bare abdomen and a deep V that cut below his waist.

You quickly looked away, blush deepening on your face. "We have to go, Ste-Mr. Harrington. We're gonna be in so much trouble."

You heard him chuckle at you, sighing as he relaxed once again in the bed. His arms circled your waist, pulling you down into him as you continued to panic. He lay behind you, your head resting on his chest as he buried his face into your shoulder.

"Shhh," he whispered, tightening his grip on your waist. "Called in today, came down with something apparently."

You shook your head, resting your hands on his where they rested on your stomach. "Can you even do that?"

"What are they gonna do? Fire me?" He laughed, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. The anxiety that built up in your spine disappeared at his touch, the familiarity of his body replacing it. You turned in his arms, now chest to chest with the man.

His eyes were closed, sleepiness still evident over his features.

"Are you going to fire me?" You whispered at him, watching as his brow furrowed before he squinted open his eyes at you.

"What? No, what are you talking about?" He seemed genuinely confused at your question, hand rubbing at your waist. Relief took stake in your chest.

"I slept with my boss last night," you laughed at yourself, voice dropping even lower as you saw a smirk cross his face. He was smug, shaking his head with laughter as you playfully slapped at his chest.

"Pretty sure I'm the one with a lawsuit pending if anything," he said, laughter dying as you placed a small peck to his lips.

As you pulled away, he leaned into it further, tongue darting out to lick at yours. A wave of arousal pooled in the pit of your stomach.

He towered over you, mouth nipping at you as you sighed into the kiss. The two of you moved in sync, you moving onto your back as Steve leaned over your figure. A breathy moan escaped your lips, only to be cut off by his phone ringing.

"For fuck's sake," he grumbled, separating himself from you as he reached for it on his side of the bed. He answered it quickly, realizing it was his publicist as he placed it on speaker. "What d'you need, man?"

His lips returned to yours briefly, before kissing down your neck. The sheets were slowly pulled off of you as he made his way down, nipping at your chest, then your nipple, and soft kisses pressed to your stomach.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, trying to stay as quiet as possible as his publicist droned on about some appearance he had to make in the next week. Steve was staring up at you, making small confirmation 'mhm's' in response to the phone call. A coy smile was on the corners of your mouth as you looked down at him wide eyed.

'Stop' you mouthed through gritted teeth. He nipped at your hip bone in protest, shaking his head at you.

You couldn't tell if it was Steve's mouth pressing to your heat or the next word's of his publicist that made your stomach drop.

"While we're at it, Steve, how about we talk how Page Six has pictures of you with a mysterious somebody in your apartment building?" They grumbled, voice staticy as it came through the phone. You felt Steve smirk against you, tongue lapping between your legs. "Aren't we a little too old to bring people back to your own place like that?"

A moan escaped you as you gripped at his hair. Steve looked up at you, wide eyed as he reached up to slap a hand across your mouth. 'Shhh', he mouthed, his own laugh threatening to spill out as his publicist's voice faltered at the noise.

"St-steve?" It said, apprehension in the tone. "Are you doing what I think you're doing? Really, man?"

Steve laughed as his hand remained over your mouth, muffling the sounds of your own laughter. They would recognize it if they heard it. He grabbed the phone from where it lay abandon, speaking into it as his thumb hovered the 'end call'.

"Something came up, gotta take care of it," he grimaced at you as you licked his hand. "Bye!"

He hung up right as the voice protested, tossing his phone aside as he leaned over you once again. His long hair hung in his face, eyes raking over your naked body.

"Now... where were we?"

an: I had to sneak in a line from All of Us Strangers because that movie was so moving. If you know, you know. I promise one of these days, I won't make Steve an asshole right off the bat, he'll be lovable.

masterlist. inbox and requests are open!

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #fanfic #my writing #writing my dark fantasies and praying they come true to my alt universe self

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lejapexovulu · 2 years

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Singer iron on patch instructions how to

nds! No sewing required! ; Embellish & Repair. Multi-sized patches in assorted

Grab a clothing iron, ironing board, your iron-on patch(es), and a thin piece of fabric. Use an old t-shirt, pillowcase, or cotton fabric sheet to protect the

Use dry iron only - no steam. Instructions: 1. Preheat iron to "High" or "Cotton" setting for 5 mins. 2. Heat fabric where patch is to be applied by running

Turn the article inside out. Ironing it to get the area warm than placing the patch on the area warmed up and ironing again until the patch has adhered to the

https://puwamutadik.tumblr.com/post/694451854400225280/meditator-s-handbook-for-the-new-paradigm, https://puwamutadik.tumblr.com/post/694451854400225280/meditator-s-handbook-for-the-new-paradigm, https://puwamutadik.tumblr.com/post/694451854400225280/meditator-s-handbook-for-the-new-paradigm, https://puwamutadik.tumblr.com/post/694451854400225280/meditator-s-handbook-for-the-new-paradigm, https://puwamutadik.tumblr.com/post/694451854400225280/meditator-s-handbook-for-the-new-paradigm.

#http://vk.cc/c7jKeU #nofollow #  <center>SINGER IRON ON PATCH INSTRUCTIONS HOW TO >> <a href= rel= targe # how to iron on patches on backpackhow to use iron-on patches for holes # how to iron on a patch without an iron # do iron-on patches go on the inside or outside # how to use iron on patches for jeans # how to iron on patches on polyester # how to put a patch on a shirt with an iron # #   The SINGER Iron-On Dark Colored Twill Patches are perfect for fixing or embellishing light colored pa #jackets #shirts and skirts. Ten twill patches in navy #Instructions · 1. Preheat iron to high or cotton setting for 5 minutes. · 2. Heat fabric where patch is to be applied by running iron over

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scolek · 2 years

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apprently theres some doctor on greys anatomy, and grandma was talking about them to grandpa, and she didn’t really know what was going on with the character, so i looked it up and it turns out the doctor (and the actor) are nonbinary, so i piped up and explained non-binary gender identity to two conservative octogenarians and they just... got it? like, no questions asked, they were just like. well, that explains that!

so that’s cool.

#well no grandma did have one question: apparently this doctor is in a romance plotline with mcdreamy's sister #and grandma was like mcdreamy's sister is heterosexual. so like. how does that work.#and grandpa. grand 'there are no gay people in the navy' 'marriage is between a man and a woman the gays can have civil unions' pa #he said 'what does it matter!'#and like. yeah! that's correct! that's exactly right!#but from him????? holy fuck.#thats huge

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soon-palestine · 2 months

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America’s goal in establishing a seaport is primarily military & political, not humanitarian: - Gain control over Gaza’s gas resources - Establish US-Israel military presence - Dismantle UNRWA & have aid distributed through local militias. - Isolate Gaza from the Palestinian body

Gaza City has a long history as a crossroad of regional trade & travel. As a port city, Gaza was a stop on the Incense Road. In more recent history, until WWI, Gaza seaport was a main hub for import & export trade to southern Palestine, & its hinterland, including Jordan and Iraq

Since 1967, Israel has exercised full control of Gaza’s 43km coastline and territorial waters, blocking ships from reaching the city. Gaza seaport is the only Mediterranean port closed to shipping, because of Israeli colonization and continued destruction.

Between 1967 and 1994, the existing infrastructure was severely neglected. Railways, air and seaports were no longer at the free disposal of Palestinians and were only there to serve Israel, its army and its settlers.

As part of the 1993 Oslo Accords, the Netherlands & France governments committed $42.8m to the reconstruction of the Gaza seaport and to the training of port personnel. A Dutch-French consortium that specialises in seaports signed a construction contract in July 2000 with the PA.

The seaport was scheduled to be completed by August 2002. But Israel being Israel, in 2000, Israel halted any construction & in 2002, Israeli navy attacked the PA naval patrol boats in Gaza, causing extensive damage and no further implementation of the project was allowed.

Since 2007, Israel has repeatedly bombed Gaza’s seaport, which only now serves Palestinian fishermen. It has repeatedly shot & killed fishermen and destroyed their boats. Israel is also imposing a maritime sea blockade on Gaza for more than 60 years. Israel is cutting life short.

In June 2010 the EU Parliament urged EU Member States to “take steps to ensure the sustainable opening of all the crossing points to and from Gaza, including the port of Gaza, with adequate international end-use monitoring”.

Establishing a maritime window from Gaza to the outside world is possible, if the focus is put on ending Israel’s state violence, war crimes & genocide. What the Americans are now doing isn’t providing LIFE to Palestinians, but actually entrenching Israeli colonization.

#palestine #gaza #free palestine

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from-izzy · 16 days

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show you the stars | tbz kim sunwoo

“Why's my girl misbehaving today, hm? Shouldn’t you be nice to the birthday boy?”

pairing » the boyz kim sunwoo x fem!reader

trope/au » friends to lovers, (or should i say...) 'friends' to lovers, situationship (?), non-idol au!

genre » very suggestive!! (as compared to my other one), it's kinda fluffy uwu (everyone act surprised), a dash of angst, dom!sunwoo at times, sub!sunwoo at other times, kim sunwoo being whipped and sweet for you, but he's also flustered, he's flirting with you, reader is a bit of a tease and is confident, you're also flustered at times, sunwoo loves you and you love him (again, act surprised), finding love and comfort in each other after past relationships, kim sunwoo who just wants to be close to you

word count, estimated reading time » 4987, 18 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » very suggestive!!, dom! and sub!sunwoo, mentions of unhealthy past relationships, a ton of kissing, making out, marking (teeth and kiss marks; reader receiving), pet names (baby boy, baby girl), reader licks cream off sunwoo, sunwoo licking cream off reader's neck and collarbones, sunwoo is physically bigger and taller, reader has medium to long hair, HIGHLY suggestive at the end, rapid proofread once

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

happy birthday to (one of) the loml 🥰

uhm...

yeah...

so!...yeah...

i'm just gonna go...

The delightful aroma of your hard work fills the volume of Sunwoo’s apartment easily. You've been chopping, stirring and sizzling ingredients for the last two hours, excited for the first birthday that you'll spend together with him.

To elaborate on your relationship with Sunwoo, you're ‘friends’. The explanation would give most people deadpanned looks, accompanied by the raised eyebrows that would follow. Otherwise, others would only facepalm at the stupidity that you both seem to obviously share. Anyone could tell that with the way that you both would drop any conversation that you're in or literally drop the paper cup in your hand whenever the other comes into even slightly just their peripheral vision, that you're more than the label that you both have decided to nonverbally settle for now.

Like your best friend from diapers would say, there's no way those kisses on the forehead, trailing down side to side across your eyelids, back medially down the slope of your nose, along the underside of your jawline, were things that ‘friends do’. Not with the way that Sunwoo would subtly slide his palm down from the comfort of your back to cup one of your bottom cheeks, smirking when he feels the heat radiating from your cheeks.

And for you? You can't help but feel the disappointment in your chest whenever he passes the quiet but rapid breathing of your lips whenever he bypasses them to work on that sensitive spot on your neck, sometimes whispering compliments to the shell of your eyes with that husky, low voice of his—but well, it's not like that anymore.

Friends don’t look at each other’s orbs and are so immersed that they say “I miss you” in the most dewy, honey-dripping voice. In public where they're most disciplined, they don't hold each other’s hands while walking, a thumb smoothing over the other when they’re just walking along the empty night street or the aisle of the grocery store.

Friends don't give each other their spare apartment keys or sweep them off their feet as soon as the front door opens, distracting their worries and other thoughts by locking lips with each other. You would never let any of your other friends carry you in their arms and pull the same blanket that they will use in the night over your body. In the same way, you would never snuggle to the warmth of the person next to you, kissing them a sweet “good night” and “thank you”.

But knowing the manipulation and tears from your past relationship, none of you could bear to address the looming label that others already deem you as. Sunwoo is too scared to ask too, going through the same thing from his past relationship. Through the healing of the break-up that you both had in your respective lives, came the comfort that the other’s lips would give, and he would chase that feeling from you over and over again.

You're okay with how things are now. You respect him and you don’t want to push him or the title that you personally want to have with him. For now, you decided that actions will speak louder than words and when the right time comes, you both will address it without the influence of the outside world.

Today is just one of those days that you use your spare key to use Sunwoo’s kitchen to cook up a little feast. The dining table is decorated with a vase of roses in the middle as you hop between the stove and make sure everything looks presentable. The light dimming system of his house is perfect for the shooting star projector that you aim towards a blank wall. You're satisfied with all the preparation for the main meals, making sure that the moment he walks in through the door, you can cook and plate it up swiftly while it’s still freshly pipping hot.

“Oh gosh,” you're proud of your efforts with the vanilla whipped cream for his cake. “I'm a genius.” You sang variations of the phrase to yourself.

Curse your horrible time management skills because the clock in front of you only reminds you that you have little time until the main key is used on the front door. The sponge cake is assembled quickly, with a thin layer of crumb coating and cooling before you make the smooth layer of cream at the end topped with some chocolate and strawberries.

You stepped back to admire your work, making sure the fruit was on the perfect slope and that the chocolate bar next to it complemented the negative space around the centrepiece. Your hand under the cake was about to slip when you heard the keys rattling from outside and you swore the fridge door hated you by how you had a hard time opening it.

On the other hand, Sunwoo could smell your home-cooked meal a few doors down the hallway. His stomach only grumbled in anticipation but his heart was jumping at the thought of you greeting him behind the door. The smile on his face grew, his overgrown bangs tickling his eyelids with his rushed footsteps towards the door.

The sweet scent of your perfume is what he manages to pick up first, and he remembers how his time was well spent when he was shopping for the bottle for you.

“I'm home.” Something that he has always loved to say, hating the lack of light in his house after a long day at work. His fingers were about to switch the light on but your shout stops him halfway.

Your body crashed against his before he could comprehend. Sunwoo groans a little at how his back hit the door behind him but his palms settled on your hips lovingly while your arms were wrapped around his middle, face hidden to his chest, nose inhaling your favourite cologne.

Chuckling at your small apology, his fingers raised to tug at the hair tie around your ponytail. He tugs down on the elastic, now savouring the scent of your perfume and shampoo. It left you goosebumps with the way Sunwoo massaged your scalp, his other hand untucking his tight shirt that he gave you, from your skirt so that the pad of his thumb could feel your skin better.

“Happy birthday, baby boy,” exhaling at the gentle swipes of his thumb on your waist.

“Thank you, baby girl,” trailing kisses from the top of your head to the side of your head. You tried to escape from the ticklish feeling but his arm wrapped around you, keeping your lower bodies flush against each other, “Where do you think you're going?”

You giggle at his lips down the side of your face, his breaths reaching the crook of your neck as he takes comfort there. It's only now that you realise the fabric of his material, is no longer the white collared polyester. Your heated cheeks brushed against the metal around his neck and Sunwoo could feel the start of your complaints from your deep inhale.

So he closes the gap and kisses you to quiet you down.

He ignores the little muted surprised sound from you, pulling away only slightly to smirk at you before diving in deeper. His palm grips on the curve of your waist, keeping you in control. He whispers for you to pull him closer by the neck and he knows the roll of your eyes isn't an indication of annoyance. Your lips danced between his, a hand over his nape to pull him down, your other palm cupping his cheek as you tried to control his hunger for you.

“Sunwoo,” Slightly out of breath, “What are you wearing?”

As if he didn't see the deadpanned look on your face when he decides to give your poor lungs a break, he leisurely answers, “This is the suit and tie of someone who decided to leave the desk early,” fingers hooking around the metal chain around his neck whilst simultaneously peering down at you with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “so that he could look hot for his birthday and his girl.”

You couldn't deny that. Shamelessly, you let your eyes roam over the somewhat tight shirt that he has. His pectoral muscles are defined with the grey stretchy fabric and the silver accessory around him only made him all the more irresistible. Kim Sunwoo knows how to make you swoon, styling his hair lazily with his strands covering his field of view.

Sunwoo makes it known that your stare is invited, loving the attention that his special day gets him. You're looking at him so delicately that his smug confidence falters into a softer look. His lips form a straight line but the moment your eyes meet his, there's a deep resonating chuckle from his chest, a happiness that spreads to you.

“Let's go eat?” With an affirmative hum and a quick peck, Sunwoo lets your body go and links with your palm, letting you guide him deeper into his house.

As soon as his eyes take a glance at your work, he's momentarily still. From the tablecloth draped over his table to the stars on his wall when he realises, you remember his wish to make a wish to the star. He's always found the idea to be a bit innocent, unlike his relationship with you but the fact that you kept it in mind, and how his grip on your hand only tightens, tells everyone that Kim Sunwoo is ready for more.

He daydreams of a day when he would kiss you awake, and how you're the last voice he would hear before falling asleep. How you'll greet him when he opens the door and kisses all over his face and more. How he’ll be able to spend his money spoiling you instead of only spending it on himself. How you’ll be his number one and how you’ll be his. These thoughts have roamed his head for a very long time and he used to keep it in, hide it for the sake of not ruining whatever you two have.

But with the way that you would kiss his nape as a greeting whenever he would be sitting down in front of you, or the way you would sit down on his lap and crane his neck up to meet his lips with yours. How the heated sessions would only flare up more when he sneaks his fingers around the band of your bra, and the whole intimacy that you show each other—Kim Sunwoo is undoubtedly in love with you.

Besides the intimacy, it’s the things you do for him. Namely, it’s the view of his house right now and the welcoming scent of his favourite food that you prepared for him. It’s even more precious to Sunwoo as he knows that you do this even when it isn’t a special day. You have done this whenever he would hint how much he misses you and you would show up to mend his tired heart the next minute. It’s not just the kisses and skin on skin. If you stopped guiding him to his designated chair and looked back at him right now, you would see that lovesick look on his face.

Sunwoo offers to clean up the space whilst you’re cooking but you quickly refuse, saying that he should take a rest, even if it’s for a while. After a few tries, Sunwoo finally listens to you, sitting down where you want him to. He takes this time to admire your decorations, snapping electronic memories of his surroundings and taking extra shots of the wall that seem so much more inviting with the video of falling lights.

His eyes are stuck there, entranced by the view. You see from across the room how he readjusts his position and closes his eyes. Your heart swells with that, keeping the view of his head down slightly as he mouths inaudible words to the stars you projected. When he opened his eyes, you diverted back to dinner, happiness evident in your face at he appreciated your work.

While you focused on the pan, Sunwoo found a couple of metres gap between you cooking and him sitting too far away, so he took a seat from the other side of the kitchen island, the significant piece that separated you two. Soon enough, you pout at the return of the multiple camera sounds, this time louder and clearer. You tried to lean over the island to snatch his phone away and Sunwoo mirrored the playful smile on your face.

“Behave,” he knew it worked like a charm when he saw you flustered. Your outreached wrist from your attempt only gets caught up with him and Sunwoo draws you in closer while he leans in to meet you in the middle. The dim lights overhead set the mood more as they angle the shadows and highlight all the kissable parts of your face and Sunwoo swears he could kiss you all night. You watch the gulp down his throat and his stern eyes drifting to the knobs of the stovetop to turn off the fire. Kim Sunwoo is no longer playful like a minute ago.

You’ll admit that he sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach but it didn’t stop the tugging of the corner of your lips and Sunwoo’s eyes widening when you decided to turn off the fire but never returned to him. Sunwoo lets out an amused scoff at the way you cross your arms over your chest, leaning your back on the free space next to the stove.

His eyes narrow to you, a tongue poking his inner cheek at your sudden surge of confidence, “Now,” You watch him turning his body sideways, walking along the opposite side of the island towards you. He stays silent for a bit longer, letting you know that a question is coming; and that he wants answers to it. Copying your gesture, Sunwoo leans before you not even a metre and nothing separating you anymore. “Why's my girl misbehaving today, hm? Shouldn’t you be nice to the birthday boy?”

“You really want me to be ‘nice’?” You shake your head, finding the statement amusing, “You love it when I play with you like this. What's life without a bit of misbehaviour?”

The boy couldn’t even get a word out when you suddenly took a big step towards him. Your palms rest on the edge of the table, caging his figure. You purposely lean into his chest, eyelashes subtly fluttering underneath the still orange lamp from above. There was no longer a chance that Sunwoo could think straight anymore. Not with the way that just like before, you cradled the underside of his jawline.

However, your hold on him this time is different. It didn’t feel like you were going to pull him and have your kiss marks all over his skin like the way he would never refuse to when you asked. The confused lines between his eyebrows only deepen more when you just keep staring at him with a dazed look in his confused orbs but it’s then that he sees a glimmer of hope for the relationship that you both could share.

It may have been the light or it may have been the reflection of his own eyes or—and this is what he hopes—it’s the glimmer and stars in your eyes that you hold as you look at him at the moment. Sunwoo tries his best to understand your unspoken feelings but his train of thought is cut short when he registers the dollop of coolness on the left side of his jawline.

His breath hitches in his throat when your right hand hooks around his necklace and you latch your lips around the cream on his face. Your tongue swipes the food off his skin, alternating between kitten licks and long swipes. Your left-hand swipes the wall of the metal bowl behind him, trailing down a path that you would soon wipe clean. Sunwoo shudders, his light moan hitting your ear and his little whiny begs encourage you to keep going.

Your breath hitting his skin would normally rile him to put you in your place but all he could do with his lower back digging against the edge of the table is to clench his hands onto your mid-outer thighs to stabilise himself.

“God…” Sunwoo calls out when he opens his eyes to meet your daring ones. “You're so beautiful.”

“Enjoying this?” And he responds with a harsher grip, hands raising and starting to lift your skirt to your upper thighs.

The coolness of the cream, followed by your light alternations of sucking and kissing on his skin, and the way the air cools the area after is perfect and Sunwoo’s head tilts back in satisfaction.

Too bad you wouldn't let him because you finished trailing his jawline, stealing a kiss straight to his subtle, hungry lips. The taste of vanilla and the pressure of your lips makes his head light and the room seems like it's spinning. But now, it's his turn and you know it with the way he pushes you away with all the strength he has left in him. He bends down to wrap his arm around your mid-thigh that has crescents of his nail on your skin and he sits you on the countertop and slots himself between your knees.

Sunwoo’s eyes are darker than the night outside but it doesn't fear you at all. You're now the one caged between him but unlike Sunwoo, you knew you didn't have any strength to push him away—nor did you want to. You bite your lower lips when he starts tugging your left sleeve down your shoulder to have more area to work with.

“My turn, baby girl,” metal against marble is heard next to you and Sunwoo uses his pointer and middle fingers to scoop the sweet white.

A smirk comes up his face when you grow visibly weaker for him, your posture faltering underneath his dominating presence. Sunwoo held your chin between his thumb and ring finger and applied a thin layer between your open mouth.

“Take a deep breath for me.” And you did so almost immediately.

You soon found out that the deep breath is needed as Sunwoo not only takes your breath away by covering your mouth with his own but that he multitasks to smear the food all over your neck and collarbone area. Unlike you who preferred things to be more uniform and clean, Sunwoo loves how you squirm and whimper under him with multiple senses. His fingers traced the horizontal line of your collarbones first before he came up and around the side and front of your neck less uniformly; he’s getting impatient now. You soon found out that the skin he exposed earlier wasn’t so that he could have a reason to place his tongue there, he’s just hungry for more of you, wanting to feel every part of you, just like how his tongue pushes against yours.

You find his little huffs of annoyance endearing as he mumbles about how the lack of oxygen has him pulling away from him showing his love. In reality, it was just a few seconds, but every second without you felt like a lifetime to him. He cleans the last bit of cream on his pants and he finally detaches his lips from you.

Sunwoo straightens his posture, looming dominance over your wrecked mind and half-lidded eyes. A hanging weak string of saliva still connects you both in the air for a minute and his right hand wraps around your left forearm in place. You didn’t mind his sticky fingers that started to brush the strands of your hair from the top of your nape. It’s a lovely feeling from the adrenaline he gave you but he raises your heartbeat once more when he plays with the wind to your ears, “Tasting lovely, baby girl.”

Nothing else is said as his lips dive into the sweet trail that he made for himself. Your body reacts to the sudden warmth by pulling away, but his hold on your shoulder reminds you of your place to stay where you are. The same hand reaches to drip on his elbow for mind stabilisation but your free one pushes against the broad of his back. Your legs hook around the back of his thighs to feel him indefinitely closer. It seems like the boy has learnt quickly, especially when it’s from you because just like the way you made him see the stars on the ceiling, he made you see it but with more intensity and brightness.

Sunwoo loves unpredictability over anything, even though he appreciates how you value the opposite. One of the reasons he appreciates it is because he knows what to anticipate next whenever you both feel each other, and he loves the building climax. But you who is receiving his unpredictableness, can only curse him out whenever he tries something new on the body that he has come to be familiar of. The thrill of your groans and whines makes him feel in control and just like any other time, Sunwoo didn’t hesitate to plant something new on the curve of your neck. You sharply gasp at the way his teeth very lightly plunged into you but whimper louder at how he hallows his cheek on the area. From the corner of your eyes, you see the vein of his neck start to appear with his actions.

“You’re right.” He pulls away slightly to admire a part of him on you before diving again to properly clean your skin. “I do love you like this.”

Your lips are trembling in pleasure too much to string in proper words so you only whine to his acknowledgement. When one side of your neck is clean, he doesn’t bother keeping his touch to himself, briefly swiping anything that he can get on the way to the other side of your neck. Kim Sunwoo drives you crazy and your legs around his body tighten for another attempt to stabilise yourself.

Your jaw slacks when he bites again, this time just a tiny bit stronger as a response to your lower body. He lets you drop your head back, hand still on your nape so that he has control over the area he’s marking and maximises the pleasure that he can give. The tip of his tongue starts to alternate between the sucking and long stripes that you did to him. A satisfied chuckle hits a sensitive part around your collarbone area when Sunwoo feels his shirt further define his pectoral as you clench his fabric in your fist.

Ragged breaths along with a mixture of wet kisses are all that’s bouncing between the four walls. Flushed bodies and heated skin press against the two who are afraid to love again. You’re aware of his heart pounding against his chest, knocking on yours to let him in. The closer he travels down to your chest, you’re afraid that he will feel the pounding, afraid that your hidden desires may show through and be overwhelming for him. The meaning behind your clench changes in time that your skin is now littered with a different colour because of his actions. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling and stepping back to admire his work.

You do the same, chest raising rapidly to account for the lost air, taking advantage of the space now that he’s pulled away. Sunwoo couldn’t help the small chuckle at your pout and he wipes them away by granting you another kiss, palms resting on the edge of the table, trapping you once more. Your noses comically bumped into each other, still lightheaded from before but you enjoy the atmosphere that would always come along after the intensity you poured out to each other. Your legs relax between his figure and both your hands delicately cradle his cheeks.

The realisation strikes again: all you want is him.

Him and everything of him.

The thought of him kissing someone else churns your stomach and makes you green, even though he’s not yours. You didn’t want anyone else cupping his cheek the way you do, and you didn’t want to see anyone else next to you when you opened your eyelids to the song of the morning birds. You want to be greeted by his chest or hairline when he needed comfort the night before. You want his “I love you”s and “I’ll miss you”s even if one of you is just going to another room in the building. You want to be the person that he can always lean on for whatever and whenever. You want him to be the person that you can cry ugly to. The wishes filled your body as you wished he would kiss you like this forever with or without the title that you would love to establish.

You feel the clenching of your heart when you open your eyes with the final pull of the remnants of vanilla, greeted with the shimmering orbs that you’ve fallen in love with. Your eyes are stuck onto the smile lines around his face and he’s entranced with every single part of you, staring at you with the honey dripping from his eyes. The smile you offer him is bashful and slightly tense. Of course, he caught up to that, humming at the sight of your pretty head filled with worries. His thumb glazes upon the apple of your cheeks and you wish he didn’t just so that you could save yourself from heartbreak.

Kim Sunwoo makes you believe that love is worth it; that you’re worth it.

You wish you were more confident to tell him that.

Sunwoo leans his forehead onto yours, eyes planted on your downcasted gaze, “Hey, can I tell you what I wished for at the shooting stars?” but you only hum back, refusing to look at him, “Can you let me be the only person to touch, hold and kiss you like that?” There was a moment of silence as Sunwoo let you register his words. When it does click to you, your eyes shot up to his. A nervous chuckle is what he offers you but he doesn’t plan to take his words back, “It’s okay if you’re not ready. I’ll wait for you. But,” he swallows the anxiety down his throat, letting his face roam around your slightly confused face, “I can't stand the thought of someone else littering kisses all over you other than me.”

It’s genuine.

Kim Sunwoo’s eyes are different than any of the eyes that you once put your trust in.

It’s obvious.

“Jealous?” It was supposed to be more striking and playful but it turned out to be more tiring and insecure.

Again, he caught up to it and decided to carry on the narrative of your words with a careful tone, “You’d be fine with other girls running their tongues all over my face?”

The mention of your past actions started the multiple offences to his chest and the poor boy loves the flustered look on your face, complaints flying out of your mouth. In this moment when you both indulge in the comfortable relationship that you share, your posture relaxes and your hands rest on your laps. Shortly, Sunwoo joins his own there, fingers intertwining between yours and just like how he soothes the heaviness that you hold internally, his thumbs swipe across the back of your hand.

“If you do, I won’t let you off easily, Kim Sunwoo.”

You hope that he realises the real implication behind the words. Sunwoo’s brain buffered a little bit but soon enough, the straight line shape of his lips raised into something more. Along with it, his naturally mischievous personality also raised his eyebrows. “That’s my girl.”

You couldn’t help the giggle at how his face flush red after, bashful at the effect you had on him. Your fingers brush along the ends of his hair that seems to get in the way of his eyes.

“You should cut them or something.”

“I look hot like this though.”

“You always look hot.”

And there comes little shy Kim Sunwoo once more.

“I-Instead of flirting with me, why do you grant my other wish instead?”

“Oh yeah?” You lean back on the table, hands behind you for support, “I granted you your wish, shouldn’t you grant mine first before you ask for another one?”

“How about I grant them both at the same time?”

“You don’t even know what I want.”

True.

As much as Kim Sunwoo has been paying attention to you, you’ve always been the girl to never fully express what they want despite the encouragement from your loved ones that they will always stand beside you no matter what. An idea brews in his head when you lean back and he catches the glimpse of the white rays shooting out from the sky behind you. You know with the way that his tongue swipes along his bottom lip, mouth slightly agape that he’s up to no good.

His hand leaves the marble you’re on, drawing closer to the side of your thigh to your waist. Innocently, he displays his big, round eyes to you and his actions contradict them heavily. A few of his fingers slip past not only the waistband of your skirt but also the fabric underneath it. You thought he would stop his ministrations there but his other hand traces the same path on the other side of your body, this time however even though his hand did not go under the underband, the clip behind clicks open.

“You can’t wish for anything until I show you the stars.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿 @sanaxo-o

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saylorsaysstop · 4 months

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Third Date Etiquette | Bucky Barnes

a/n: Bucky is def my comfort character and writing for him when I haven't in so long is AHHHH. please enjoy 💗

pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

The ingredients lay before you on the table. Potatoes, onions, garlic, carrots, and most importantly–chicken. Your nerves were wracked as you studied the contents of the recipe over and over, practically committing it to memory. It was your third date with the extremely captivating and handsome man, Bucky Barnes. You two quite literally ran into one another at the local Starbucks–you with a very sweet and frothy latte, Bucky with a bitter iced black coffee.

“Hi,” Bucky had said to you, piercing blue eyes like windows to the soul. You immediately took comfort. Weird, but you felt safe and you hadn’t been in his presence all but for 30 seconds.

“Hi,” you answer with a sheepish smile, admiring your hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

He smiled in the friendliest of ways. It wasn’t every day you slammed into the hard chest of a man who looked as though he just stepped off of the latest Men’s GQ issue. His scent was homey, earthy. Woodsy and aromatic, he smelled like citrus and sex. The good kind of sex, too. Mouth-watering sex, the kind that will have your toes curling and aching at a memory recalled throughout your normal day.

Introductions were quickly exchanged and you were shocked when the stranger who you found to be Bucky asked for your number. By the end of the day, he asked you to dinner, and now just a few weeks later this was lucky date number three. And you offered to cook for him. Your grandmother said that a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. So with that information tucked away nicely in your brain, you asked if he had any food allergies, and mentioned chicken, and Bucky was immediately on board. He offered to bring the wine.

As you began to prepare your chicken and cut up your veggies, you heard the knock on your apartment door. A soft smile spans across your face as you wash up your hands and race for the door, eager like a teenager falling in love for the first time. Inhaling slowly to try and dampen the quick thud of your heart, you check your reflection in the mirror and ensure you look presentable. Opening the door, Bucky stands there in a pair of dark jeans that hug thick thighs wonderfully, a navy blue v-neck tee, and his jacket. In his hand is a bouquet of roses and the bottle of wine he promised to bring.

“Hey, Doll,” he smiles. It didn’t take him long to give you a sweet little pet name, and ‘doll’ was so fitting, as if he came straight out of the 1950s.

“Hello, handsome.” you say breathlessly, ushering him to come inside. He steps over the threshold and pops a gentle kiss onto your cheeks, his warm lips and slight scruff a perfect mixture that sends your heart into overdrive and an ocean down below.

You take the flowers and wine from him, laughing over your shoulder as he comments on your sweet little apartment. “It’s very cozy in here.” he laughs, admiring the bookshelf in the corner filled to the brim with all of your favorite reads. From historical romance to paranormal, all the way to romantasy and the occasional dark romance, you had something for every mood.

“Thank you!” you beam. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

Bucky felt his heart soften at that. It’s not much but it’s home. There was nothing more he wanted in this world than to feel at home. To be quite honest, he hadn’t felt the essence of home since Steve, and he wasn’t so certain that he’d ever get to experience it again. But then there you were… bumping into him in that coffee shop. With your bright smile, ease of conversation, and breathtaking beauty. He was smitten and starstruck by you.

“The flowers are gorgeous, Bucky. Thank you so much.” You exhale as you place the vase of water and flowers as a centerpiece on your kitchen table. Bucky looked around, noticing the prepped chicken sitting in a stainless steel roasting pan. Veggies were lined around it like a little bed for the chicken to rest on. He smiled to himself, eager to have a woman offer to cook for him on a date. It wasn’t something he was used to and he wouldn’t take for granted the sweet gesture.

“I’m glad you like them.” He answers. You look at his jacket and laugh.

“Go on, make yourself comfy. Take your coat off. You can lay it over one of the chairs.”

Bucky wets his lips as he shimmies out of his leather and lays it over the back of the wooden chair as you instructed. He admired the full view of you for the first time tonight. You wore a dress that dropped just to your knees and a pair of blush pink flats. You wanted something semi-formal but comfortable. The dress hugged your curves and Bucky’s mouth watered at the image of his hands tracing every single one, committing them to memory. He opened and closed the fist of his metal limb, his eyes fluttering shut. He wanted desperately to know how you tasted and not just what lay beneath that dress and panties he coould only imagine looked like–but your mouth. Your mouth looked so sweet and delectable, lips that were made to fit perfectly against his.

“Do you need help with anything?” Bucky asked, gazing around at the nicely-kept kitchen. You had cleaned up as you went along cooking this evening.

“Yeah… You can make yourself useful.” You smirk with a playful tone to your voice. “You can open that bottle of wine while I grab us two glasses… You grabbed my favorite.”

Bucky laughed. “I remembered you ordering it on our first date.”

You stalled in front of the cabinets, the memory of that first day clouding your mind. How much of a gentleman he was despite everyone saying that chivaraly was dead. He pulled out your chair, let you wear his jacket on the way out because it was practically freezing, and he walked you to your doorstep where he kissed you goodnight. Not on the lips, but on the cheek, because he wanted to set the standard with you–that you were worth more than jumping headfirst. He wanted to feel you out, take his time. After all, you would be the first woman he’d grown to fancy in a very long time… and after Sam’s whistling over the picture Bucky showed him of you once he confiscated your socials, Sam was hollering for Bucky to quickly lock it down.

“You paid attention.” you giggle, realizing that the wine glasses were sitting on the very top shelf. Grumbling, you were about to grab the stepstool before a warm hand ghosted across yours and a hard chest was felt against your back. Bucky effortlessly grabbed two glasses and locked eyes with you, his eyes not helping but to drop to your lips.

If you weren’t trying to impress him with your cooking skills, you would’ve forgotten dinner all together and jumped straight to dessert.

Bucky smiled at you as he unloaded the two glasses into your grasp before he went to work on popping the cork. You were enveloped with that homey scent once more, that citrus sending a shock appeal through your loins, your eyes fluttering closed. If you weren’t paying attention to maintaining your balance, you might just pooled to the floor then and there.

As he popped the cork and you put the chicken in the oven and set a timer on your phone, he offered you a glass.

“Cheers,” You smiles, clinking your glass to his and taking a sip. The feel of the wine on your tongue was smooth and silky, causing you to ponder if Bucky’s tongue felt the same. You lick your lips as you sat the glass down and admire him.

“What?” Bucky asks.

Smirking, you shake your head. “I’m just surprised is all.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at the statement. “Surprised?”

You nod your head. “How I happened to score running directly into the arms of someone this good looking.”

Your comment on his appearance sent a flush down the back of his neck. Bucky Barnes was not the kind of man that blushed, but he suddenly felt an odd sense of heat rise on the apples of his cheeks. He tucked his tongue into the pocket of his cheek and chuckled, cursing under his breath at how a woman, for the first time in his life, had the upper hand on him.

“You’re all for flattery tonight.” Bucky chuckles.

“It’s the truth.” You don’t back away. That was another thing that pulled Bucky into your orbit. He loved that you said anything that came to mind. It didn’t matter how outlandish or awkward it could sound, he loved it. You spoke your mind. You were the epitome of fearless and he knew he could use some more of that in his life.

The longer you two stood there and the silence grew, it was one of comfort. You both drank from your glasses and Bucky knew that if he didn’t take his chance now, he wouldn’t ever do it. He stepped closer and circled a hand around your waist, dropping low on your hip. The feel of his large hand through the fabric of your dress sent a jolt of electricity down your spine as you peered up at him.

“Jumping to dessert first?” You dare to ask.

“Doll, dessert has been on my mind since I woke up this morning.” Bucky drawled, his voice rich and deep. His warm breath fanned over your bottom lip as he searched your eyes, waiting for the invitation, eager for your confirmation that you too wanted some dessert before dinner.

Grinning wildly, the tip of your head and the subtle pushing into his hard frame was all he needed. Bucky caught your thin between his fingertips and dipped low, his lips slotting against yours.

Perfect fit.

His lips molded to yours. They were soft and pleasant and warm and everything you could’ve dreamed of. He kissed you with such softness that it stole the breath from your lungs. You unhooked your fingers from around the stem of your wineglass and raised them, laying them over his shoulders. You took the leap of courage and deepened the kiss, being the first to run your tongue across his bottom lip, asking for permission to infiltrate.

Bucky opened his mouth a little wider and your tongues touched which sent both of you into a frenzy. A low grunt of approval climbed up Bucky’s throat followed by a breathy moan leaving yours. He turned you both so that the curve of your back was pressed into the island. He pushed forward, your body folding slightly across the granite as he kissed you deeper, kissed you as if you were the oxygen that was snatched from his lungs, kissed you like there would be no tomorrow.

“Bucky,” You gasp his name as you pull away for a breath of fresh air. But you were so desperate to kiss him again. You never wanted to stop.

Bucky’s eyes flickered with a deep sense of want and you had a strong feeling this date might just go to third base.

He smirked down at you, the playfulness of his eyes putting you on high alert. His thumb grinded into your hip and in a flash, he had you lifted and your bottom on the counter. Wedging his body between your knees, a shrill of laughter escaped you as you drape your arms over his shoulders. Bucky comes back in, diving head first for more, this time with a lot more passion.

He didn’t hold back. Bucky’s hands gripped your sides and danced up until he was grabbing your face, the gasp flooding your lips at the mix of cold of his metal hand and warmth of his flesh one. You groan louder against his mouth as you tangle your legs around his waist and locking your ankles.

“How much longer on that timer?” Bucky asked between deepening kisses.

You glance down at your phone. “30 minutes.” You giggle.

Talk about some third date etiquette. You wanted this more than anything.

“30 is all I need, Doll.” Bucky laughs, lifting you off the counter and leading you to the couch where he climbs on top of you, his hard body pressing against yours.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes one shot #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel fic #sebastian stan character #sebastian stan

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fayes-fics · 9 months

Text

A Blessing

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Turns out the father of your favourite pupil, could end up being your favourite adult

Warnings: none really… this is flirtation and fluff. Developing relationship.

Word count: 2.1k

Authors Note: This is a request fill for Anon (ask HERE) about a meet-cute between single dad Benedict and teacher reader. This is also dedicated to my lovely mutual @bridgertontess on the occasion of her birthday this weekend. Happy birthday my dear! Thank you for choosing the name of Benedict’s daughter in this fic. Many thanks to wonderful @colettebronte for giving this a read through, the title and for her generosity in creating the lovely artwork above. Enjoy! <3

You sigh as you fiddle with your nameplate, awaiting the start of Parents Evening. It’s always a night you dread - having to be polite to the parents of nightmare kids. There are a few pupils you simply adore, but somehow, those parents seem to linger less than those you struggle to find nice things to say about.

One of your favourites - yes, you know you’re not supposed to have them, but you do - is little Georgia Bridgerton. She is cute as a button with blue eyes and chestnut curls, but mostly, it’s her sweet temperament and intelligence you admire. You hope her parents turn up. You are intrigued to meet whoever created this little blessing, although you have only heard her talk of her Dad.

About an hour in, you have talked to six sets of parents of mostly middling pupils. You are just sneaking a look at your phone when someone flops into the chair opposite, and you hasten to drop it back in your bag.

When you look up, your lungs feel tight. Quite the most beautiful man has taken a seat, and you are temporarily dumbstruck as you glance at his name sticker. In the ‘hello my name is’ box, he has written Ben in large looping black letters. The ‘my child’s name is’ box has been left blank.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” you stutter, slightly distracted by his hazy eyes. “I don’t see your child’s name on your tag; who are you here for?” you ask.

He glances down at his navy shirt. “Ah shit, sorry.” Then he immediately winces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear.”

“It’s fine,” you bat a hand. “The kids aren’t here tonight. You should hear me when they aren’t within earshot,” you jest, attempting to break the ice, even as you feel your face prickling hot at just the sight of him.

He laughs heartily, his face creasing up in quite the most handsome way, and you squeeze your legs together reflexively, hidden under the table. Good lord, he’s beautiful.

“I’m Georgia’s dad,” he explains as he stops laughing.

“Oh, my star pupil!” you gush, then have to stop. “Shit, I’m not supposed to say that,” you confess, eyes darting around the buzzing gymnasium to all the other parents and teachers, but no one seems to have heard.

“Or swear…” he adds for you, with a wink.

Oh fuck. You could be in trouble here.

You briefly dip your head, cheeks heated, until he starts talking again. “But it’s wonderful she’s doing so well. She talks about you a lot, to be honest. Always saying Mrs y/l/n is her favourite teacher,” he smiles.

“I am her only teacher,” you remind drolly, even as you can’t hide how pleased that makes you. “Should we wait for another parent before we dig in…?” you ask, gesturing to the empty chair to his left.

His face clouds slightly, and you worry you have made a faux pas. “Oh, she, uh, won’t be making it tonight,” he says quietly.

“Gosh, I’m sorry that was rude of me to presume,” you cringe.

“No, no, don’t worry,” he placates kindly. “Georgia’s mother left me when she was just a toddler. But six months ago, she cut off all contact and moved abroad. It’s been…” he pauses to sigh and roughly rubs his eyebrow, “…a tough adjustment, to be honest, mostly for Georgia. It’s been challenging trying to explain gently but honestly to a six-year-old that, in essence, her mother wants nothing to do with her.”

“I’m so very sorry,” you murmur, and part of you itches to reach out and give his hand a sympathetic squeeze as he picks his cuticles, probably unconsciously. “I can’t imagine why anyone would abandon her; she is quite the sweetest little child imaginable.”

You know it’s unprofessional to say so, but you want to comfort him human to human. And for some reason, you feel completely at ease being open and honest with him. His eyes flick up from his hands, and they are so soulful you once again feel tongue-tied.

“Thank you,” he demures.

“She talks about you a lot, too, in class. My dad did this; my dad did that. She looks up to you so much. You must be an excellent single parent,” you reassure, then lean forward over the table. “Umm, please don’t let anyone know I said any of this; it’s very unprofessional.”

His face morphs into a look of surprise, and then a lopsided smile tugs at the right corner of his mouth as he mirrors your stance, leaning in. “Your secret is safe with me,” he chuckles as you feel your blood run warm. “But it will cost you….” he adds teasingly.

Your eyes dart to his uncertain. “W-what?” You stumble, genuinely concerned for the first time about your job.

He leans back in the chair, assuming a very relaxed stance, that crooked smile growing more prominent. “Yes. The price is your apple crumble recipe. Georgia brought some home; she said you had made it for the class to commemorate the school centennial. And it was quite the best dessert we have ever eaten.”

You exhale the breath you were holding, relieved and can’t help the giggle that bubbles up. “Deal,” you agree.

This is quite the most casual and flirtatious you have ever been with a parent, and you suddenly become cognisant of it. Sitting up straighter and clearing your throat, you shift gear a little, discussing the details of his daughter’s progress. He listens intently, nods, and asks questions at appropriate moments.

“Usually, I would conclude with suggested things you can do at home to assist your child,” you wrap up, “but, to be honest, for Georgia, I have no suggestions. She is just a delight and could not do any better. Just keep doing as you are; she will go far in this world.”

He clutches his chest, patently proud of his little girl, but you find yourself fixated on the crisscross of raised veins mapping the back of his large hand. Your traitorous brain chooses this moment to give you a vivid flash of that hand grabbing your flesh, making you squeak in your throat and a shiver run down your spine involuntarily, goosebumps breaking out over your arms.

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry, must be a draught from somewhere,” you fib, tugging at your cardigan sleeve. “Old school buildings and all,” you titter nervously.

He nods in understanding, but his eyes linger slightly longer than necessary on your body.

“Why are you a Mrs if you wear no wedding ring?” he blurts, then looks mortified. “God, I’m sorry, that is really none of my business,” he admits, blushing endearingly.

Your heart leaps into your throat at the idea he checked, but you maintain composure by waving a dismissive hand. “No, don’t worry, it's fine. I’m, umm, actually a widow,” you confess, seeing his eyes soften with sympathy. “Oh, it was a few years ago now,” you preempt the platitudes, “and I never took his last name for work, but I did change to Mrs at the school’s suggestion. I keep thinking I will change back to Ms one of these days, but all my pupils know me as Mrs you know,” you shrug with a nonplussed look.

He chuckles understandingly. “I’m sorry that happened,” he offers more soberly, and you nod.

“And I’m sorry for what happened to you and Georgia. She is doing remarkably, considering.”

Your time together is naturally wrapping up, but you are reluctant to voice it, and he seems in no hurry to move.

“At the risk of sounding completely inappropriate,” he hedges with a very beguilingly almost sheepish mien, “may I have your phone number?”

Your heart pounds, and you resist the temptation to squeal like a teenager or even show it on your face.

“Certainly,” you respond brightly. “I am always available to parents to discuss anything to do with their child’s education,” you try to justify as you scribble your number on a new page of your notepad.

“And what if I don’t want to discuss my child?” He asks quietly, his tone turning smoother, “may I still text you?”

You almost rip the paper straight through as you try to detach it from the metal spirals. You are certain your face is giving you away now, feeling flushed from your toes to your eyes.

“Yes,” you whisper, nervously glancing to meet his eyes for a brief second that feels blistering as you fold the paper and push it over the table towards him.

His fingertips brush yours as he takes the paper, and your body riots at that simple touch.

“Thank you,” he says sotto voce. “I look forward to connecting more,” he adds as he stands. You try your best not to ogle his body in his fitted dark wash jeans as he tucks the note in his pocket, but it’s at eye height now. And you try to ignore how his shirt hangs off his broad shoulders when you look up, but mostly, you fail.

You stand too, feeling awkward, and hold out your hand to shake, as you do with every parent.

He looks briefly bemused, then takes your hand in his. It’s warm, the skin soft except for some callouses where he holds a pen or maybe a paintbrush, and the size engulfs yours. You never want to let go. Fireworks explode behind your ribs as his eyes dance even under the harsh gym lights.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Mr Bridgerton,” you parrot your usual parting line at him, but somehow, it feels weighted with additional meaning.

“Likewise, Ms y/l/n,” he replies pointedly, not using the Mrs, as his thumb swipes distractingly over the back of your hand, not letting go. “And please call me Ben,” he requests duskily, finally stepping away, his fingers gradually slipping from yours.

You just nod, almost unable to speak, not trusting your tongue at this moment. You try not to watch Benedict walk away towards the exit, but again, you fail miserably.

Less than thirty seconds later, your phone buzzes in your bag. It’s a number you don’t recognise.

BB: I’ll need that apple crumble recipe for tomorrow if you don’t mind. I have a big family lunch on Saturday and have been roped into bringing dessert.

You giggle, your fingers fly over the screen, composing a response in your lap, even as the next parents pull up to take a seat.

Y/N: Okay… but good luck. Most of the secret is in the prep…

BB: Hmm, then a demo might be best. Fancy being a culinary teacher tomorrow after work?

Your heart flutters hard, and you must mumble an apology to the waiting parents as you can’t resist firing off a flirty response.

Y/N: But what if I don’t want to give away my trade secrets just yet? 😉

BB: Fair. Then my family will have to settle for Tesco’s finest cake instead…

Y/N: I can’t in all good conscience let that happen. OK, you have a deal. 7pm tmrw?

BB: 👍😁

You spend the rest of the Parents' Evening floating on a little cloud. You even smile through the meeting with Damien’s parents, who couldn’t be more aptly named.

The next evening, when his front door sweeps open, Benedict and Georgia are wearing matching pinstripe aprons, faces so eager. They look so adorable you crack a smile from ear to ear.

“Where’s your apron, Mrs y/l/n?” Georgia pipes up.

You smile, then reach into your shoulder bag and pull out your trusty apron with a flourish.

She breaks into giggles and does a happy little dance as Benedict gestures for you to come in with an exaggerated bow.

By the time you leave, hours later, they have a delicious apple crumble for their family lunch the following day, and Georgia is sleeping soundly. You have an apron dusted in flour, a tingle on your lips from his wondrous kisses and a lightness in your being that fizzes like champagne.

The following day, he texts that the apple crumble was such a success his mother demanded the recipe on the spot. Then, a few seconds later, another message asking you to drop by. You practically trip in the rush to get out the door.

When his front door sweeps open this time, he’s alone and dressed handsomely in a white shirt with those jeans. You are powerless to do anything but push up onto your tiptoes and kiss him immediately. And when he whispers hotly in your ear that Georgia is staying with her cousins for the night, you almost melt right into his doorstep.

It turns out Georgia was not the only blessing you got from the Bridgerton family.

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say-al0e · 1 year

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Sleep Tight

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Jake Seresin knows he’s a good pilot. But what happens when skill and luck run out and you find your husband in the hospital for the first time. | Ft. Anon Request: “Should I stop talking?” “Please don’t. Your voice is… comforting. I’ve missed it.” + “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Warnings: Jake gets in an accident, hospitals, anxiety, questioning mortality, v knows nothing about medicine or Navy protocol, hurt/comfort, Dagger Squad is family; anything else, let me know and I’ll tag it.

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k (Look, I see a pretty blonde southern man and I blackout. It is what it is.)

Hospitals had always been a source of - understandable - anxiety.

In your experience, nothing good ever happened in hospitals. It was where you were taken as a teenager, in desperate need of stitches after a schoolyard mishap; where your mother was taken when you were only seventeen, confined to a hospital bed after a particularly nasty car accident; where your brother was taken, face and uniform stained red after a football accident nearly took his eye.

The hallways were always too bright, the harsh scent of disinfectant always too strong, and certain sections rivaled only a library in terms of quiet. Getting the scent out of your nose, out of your clothes and off your skin, seemed next to impossible and the beeping of far off machines rang in your ears long after leaving. But, as life went on, you were fortunate enough to avoid hospitals, for the most part.

There was always a chance that would change upon meeting - and falling in love with - a Navy pilot. Every mission Jake went on, every training exercise he flew was a trip to the hospital in the making but he was too good for that. Human error or natural disaster, technical failure or birdstrike, freak accident or routine incident; Jake Seresin trusted himself and his skills enough for the both of you.

Once, early on in your relationship - not long after you realized it was love that kept you coming back to him, not just an appreciation for his pretty face - Jake grinned at your obvious but unspoken worry as he prepared for a mission. “I’m damn good at what I do, sweets,” he assured you, warm hands cupping your cheeks as he searched your eyes. “The best of the best. Don’t you worry about me.”

While you valued his trust and belief in his own abilities, Jake knew you still worried simply because you loved him. He appreciated it - told you once, in the darkness of your shared bedroom not long after you moved in together - but promised he would continue to do everything in his power to make it home to you. Regardless of how good he was, your worry only ceased when he stepped foot through your front door.

Jake himself worried, you knew that, though he buried it deep beneath a layer of bravado to keep from impacting him flying. Neither of you spoke of it and, really, you wouldn’t have known had you not fallen so ridiculously in love with him. Instead, you simply smiled and shook your head fondly as he paraded around, loud and proud.

The only thing you could do was hope beyond hope that he was right. However, hope only lasts so long.

A phone call from Javy was, usually, a good thing. More often than not, it was at Jake’s expense - tattling on something your husband did or said that would earn him an eye roll and an unimpressed look, poking fun at a mistake Jake made or a faux pas he committed, or, most recently, relaying the reason Hangman continued to draw the ire of other Naval officers.

Other calls were excited, bright declarations that he’d been sent something wonderful from home. You both shared an affinity for the chicory coffee his mother sent from New Orleans and, if asked, you never hesitated to help him whip up a batch of beignets to accompany it.

But you knew the moment the phone rang that it wasn’t a call you ever wanted to receive.

For nearly a week, a nagging, anxious feeling plagued you. Jake attempted to explain it away, reminded you that the holidays had rattled your nerves and you were simply stressed by the amount of work you’d returned to. There was an ever-growing to-do list pinned to the fridge and not enough hours in the day so you agreed, brushed it off and redirected your thoughts any time they veered into dimly lit territory, but it didn’t help much. And though Jake was destined to spend his first real week as a Top Gun instructor in a classroom, you made yourself feel just a little better by urging him to be careful, anyway.

That anxiety proved necessary when, instead of returning your greeting, Javy quietly informed you, “Jake’s in the hospital. I’ll meet you out front.”

As the words registered, the world seemed to fade around you. Whatever else he said - if anything at all - dissolved into a high-pitched ringing, lost to the ether, as “Jake’s in the hospital,” played on a loop.

For a long moment, you stood frozen. It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head, chilling you to the bone as every horrible scenario you’d ever imagined and quickly brushed away suddenly became a reality. Dread filled the pit of your stomach as a weight settled on your chest, compressing until you feared your lungs might give, and your hands shook as you reached for you keys.

Try as you might to tell yourself that whatever landed Jake in the hospital likely wasn’t as serious as you were fearing, you knew that wasn’t the case. If it was simple - a few stitches, maybe an x-ray, possibly even another concussion - there was a good chance you wouldn’t have been notified until someone (likely Javy) drove him home.

With those thoughts plaguing you, everything between Javy’s phone call and your arrival at the hospital melded into a blur of trees and afternoon sun.

The hospital itself wasn’t that far from your new home, thankfully, but it was a miracle you made it in tact as the only thing on your mind was Jake. Javy himself likely didn’t know much and likely wasn’t supposed to be the one to call, however, you were grateful he had. Knowing that he was waiting for you, just as concerned about your husband, made the thought of stepping foot into the hospital just a little more tolerable.

True to his word, Javy waited near the entrance when you arrived. Seeing him stood there, worry crystal clear - obvious in the way he blinked just a little too fast, stood with slumped shoulders and furrowed brows as he folded his arms across his chest and tapped usually still fingers against his bicep - and only seeming to worsen as you rushed across the parking lot to meet him made catching your breath that much harder.

Seeing how shaken Javy was - usually so light and strong - made you feel as if you’d just run a marathon. Every step felt like a monumental task, each more difficult than the last, and your heart thumped so loud you worried everyone could hear. Tears pricked at the backs of your eyes, clumped in your throat and threatened to choke you, but you refused to break down when you still weren’t sure what you were walking in to.

“They won’t tell us anything yet,” he explained, forgoing any niceties as he ushered you inside. His voice was rough, quiet and solemn as he steered you down a long hallway, and you could feel the bile creeping up the back of your throat as he spared you a sidelong glance.

No one bothered to question you with Javy at your side. With his jaw set and shoulders squared, determined to keep himself composed (at least in part for your sake), you were thankful for his presence as he guided you through the brightly lit halls. In that moment, you were half-certain you would still be frozen in the middle of your kitchen had he not promised to be waiting, especially as he pushed open the door to the intensive care unit.

The weight pressing on your chest returned full force, heavier than before, as you realized where you were heading. Remaining upright took a concerted effort and, though he kept his distance, you could see Javy tense by your side, just in case.

Before you, a group of pilots - still dressed in flight suits, in various states of dishevelment after a day of work - crowded a doctor who looked more exasperated than anything. They filled the waiting room that was, mercifully, otherwise empty and you were unsurprised to see them. Though he hadn’t been back at Top Gun very long, Jake had finally found himself amongst friends and, like you, they all wanted answers.

Still, the doctor seemed reluctant to give them anything more than a stern look.

“Look,” he began, tone firm but not unkind, “I’m sorry. I understand your frustration but I cannot release any information at this time. Lieutenant Seresin’s commander or family can share information about his condition if they so choose.” It was as if he’d already repeated those exact words a thousand times over - which, based on all Jake had told you about the group, you assumed he had.

Jake could be personable when he chose, friendly and bright, but he’d never been the type to make friends easily in his line of work - especially with those he saw as competition, once upon a time. Since returning to Top Gun, however, the group of pilots had become something of a second family and you were grateful he’d managed to find a sense of belonging. It was clear that they cared about him deeply, despite their rocky start, and that made catching your breath just a little easier.

Though the tension grew more palpable the closer you stepped, there was no hesitation as you rounded the group to approach the doctor. None of them paid you any mind until you cleared your throat. “I’m his wife,” you announced, voice cutting through the aggravated chatter of the pilots as they continued to demand an answer.

In a split second, the group fell silent. Every set of eyes fell to you, all but two widening at your declaration, as Javy nudged a pair of pilots to the side to give you space. Their gazes burned into your skin, warmed your cheeks and would’ve been enough to send you stumbling under any other circumstances, but you paid them no mind.

With a shaking hand, you reached forward and introduced yourself to the doctor. From the corner of your eye, you could see the confusion written across every face as the group shared glances while the doctor scanned the file in his hand. You knew what was running through their minds but the questions could wait as you willed the doctor to speak.

“Mrs. Seresin,” he finally greeted, taking the hand you offered with a terse nod. “If you’ll come with me, I can give you an update on your husband’s condition.”

Javy remained close, gaze trained solely on you as you shook your head and folded your arms over your chest. “I’m just going to repeat everything you tell me,” you informed him, willing your voice not to shake. “Might as well say it here, that way I don’t leave anything out.”

Though it was clear he wasn’t pleased with your answer, the doctor nodded once more and began to explain Jake’s condition.

Most of the terminology went over your head, entered one ear and flew out the other, but you dutifully nodded along as he explained the steps they’d already taken to counteract the injuries he’d sustained. Javy hadn’t elaborated on what happened - and you weren’t sure you wanted to know - but the severity was made clear as you pieced together what little you could understand.

The doctor made it clear that Jake was lucky - he would claim skilled - to have made it and you could feel your knees growing weak as he explained that Jake was still in triage. The sting of your nails pressing into your forearm kept you tethered to the moment and inhaled slowly through your nose to keep your breathing even as he concluded.

“We’re going to keep Lieutenant Seresin sedated for now, until the swelling on his brain begins to go down, and then allow him to wake on his own. When he’s transferred to a room, you’ll be allowed to visit. Until then, you can wait out here,” he offered, gesturing to the empty lobby. “You’ll be notified the moment you can see him.”

With that, the doctor offered one more terse nod before turning to disappear through a door marked ‘staff only.’

For a long moment, the waiting room remained silent. There was a sharp ringing in your ears, drowning out the all too heavy thump of your heart, and you wondered if your breathing sounded as ragged as it felt. In the back of your mind, you were aware of the attention on you - the sets of eyes studying you for answers to a question no one knew existed - but the only set of eyes that you could meet belonged to Javy.

“You okay?”

The answer was no - he knew that, and wasn’t either, judging by the set of his jaw and the glassy sheen to his eyes - but neither of you were willing to admit it aloud. He was a solider, strong and tough, and you refused to play the part of weeping partner when you needed to believe that Jake would be alright. Strength mattered in that moment, composure in the face of tragedy, so you nodded.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, voice quiet but stronger than you hoped it would be. It was clear he didn’t believe you - no one would - but he didn’t question it. Instead, he returned your nod with one of his own and waited as you turned your attention to the group of pilots staring with uncertain frowns.

Javy took the initiative to introduce you, though it did little to answer the question on the tip of every tongue. Neither of you elaborated beyond your name and relationship with Jake and you could see that there were at least a dozen questions each of them wanted to ask. There was a quiet confusion, a bewilderment that would’ve made you laugh under different circumstances, even as they all politely agreed that it was nice to meet you.

If all had gone according to plan, Jake would’ve made the introduction himself and you would’ve smiled at their bewilderment as you stood with a strong arm tossed around your shoulders. There would’ve been an amused declaration that you hadn’t intended to keep your marriage a secret, an explanation that their friendship hadn’t existed when you wed and no one had questioned his relationship status since he returned.

Work had kept you in Lemoore a little longer than Jake, as had dealing with the last of the paperwork necessary to sell your home, and you’d jumped headfirst into a new position that kept you busier than you would’ve liked the moment you arrived in San Diego. You’d planned to visit the Hard Deck, join the fun and meet his friends, there just hadn’t been time.

Regret, bitter and biting, lingered in the back of your throat the moment you considered time. There were so many things you’d intended to do, so many plans you’d made with Jake, that had been delayed by the excuse of never having enough time. You were both focused on your respective careers - Jake, determined to make it to admiral someday; you, eager to follow your dreams - and never stopped to consider what might happen when time eventually ran out altogether.

Though Jake faced death relatively often - more often than the average person, certainly - the thought never really crossed your mind. Losing him was a fear that lingered, buried deep lest it immobilize you each time he set out for a flight, but it never felt like something that could become reality. Jake himself instilled that belief in you, urged you not to worry despite the circumstances he faced daily, and you’d clung tight to it.

Jake was too lucky, too confident, too good to die.

There’d always been all the time in the world, another day just around the corner, and the reality of the situation felt like a slap to the face as it suddenly dawned on you. There might never be another moment, might never be another day. All the plans you’d put off, all the plans you made; suddenly, there was a chance they would never come to fruition.

As the realization sank in, you could feel your knees growing weaker. The edges of your vision began to white and the bile crept higher and higher in your throat. Breathing was a chore, more and more difficult with every second that passed, and you were only vaguely aware of the hand at your elbow tugging you in the direction of uncomfortable wooden chairs.

Time passed slowly the moment you sat, crept by in a muddled mess of ticking clocks and faraway voices. The other pilots remained for a while, all scattered around the room and talking softly amongst themselves, but Javy remained at your side long after they’d gone.

The waiting room itself remained empty, devoid of others sharing your nauseating worry, and you couldn’t decide if you appreciated the quiet or not.

For the most part, Javy remained quiet but steadfast in his observation of you. Every so often, he stood and returned with bottles of water and nearly stale packets of Oreos from the vending machine down the hall that neither of you ate but he figured might come in handy. It was only a matter of time before he was forced to leave, you knew that, but you held tight to the comfort his presence brought as you struggled to keep your thoughts from wandering.

There was no use dwelling on the past. Nothing good would come of regret, of thinking of the time you’d wasted holding off on taking this trip or going on that date, so you forced yourself to think of the future. Jake was lucky, he was good, he would make it and there would be time to atone for the sins of the past.

Still, even the most optimistic thoughts were plagued with the whisper of ‘what-if’ that now lingered all too prominently in the back of every thought.

Eventually, after nearly three hours of anxiety-inducing, nauseating waiting, Jake was settled into a room. When a nurse retrieved you, she informed you that visiting hours would start soon and that Javy wouldn’t be allowed in until they did. You, however, were given a few moments alone with Jake.

Wandering down the hall behind her, close but far enough to keep her from hearing your ragged breathing, nearly sent you into an anxiety attack. Jake would be sedated, that much you knew, but everything else remained a mystery. Would there be bruising? Had he needed stitches? Would you even be able to recognize him?

Each question hurt more than the last and, when the nurse stopped in front of Jake’s room, you could tell she wasn’t surprised by your hesitation. “We’re optimistic,” she shared, voice a mere whisper in the quiet of the hall. “Lieutenant Seresin is a fighter.”

There was no doubt that Jake would do all he could to pull through - she was right, he was a fighter - but her soft encouragement did little to calm the churning of your stomach, even as you nodded. There would be no calm until he woke, a fact she likely knew as well as you did, so you swallowed your fear and stepped into his room.

Seeing your husband, usually so bright and boisterous with a seemingly permanent grin etched across his face, lying lifeless in a hospital bed was devastating. He looked frail, pale and bruised, and the tears you’d been narrowly keeping at bay began to fall as you took in the sight of him.

A gash, held together by stitches, ran from temple to forehead. A bruise, still fresh, was beginning to blossom along his jawline. The beginnings of a black eye were noticeable, as was a busted lip, and a handful of other scrapes and bruises along his neck and arms. The doctor mentioned a cracked rib and the need to monitor for internal bleeding and you lifted a hand to cover your mouth in an effort to muffle your sobs.

For nearly an hour, you sat in the small chair at Jake’s side and allowed yourself to feel the hurricane of emotions raging in your mind. Fear, regret, anxiety, anger, sorrow; each one was more powerful than the last and each one hurt worse. There was no estimate of when Jake would wake - if he woke at all - but you did your best not to dwell.

Jake was strong, he would make it. And maybe if you repeated that enough times, it would be true.

The only thing that kept you from losing yourself completely to worry was the arrival of visitors.

Javy was, of course, the first to arrive.

Though you offered to give him a moment alone, he refused. He insisted you remain in the seat you’d made your own and, instead, offered you the duffle bag he’d retrieved from your home. Anything you could’ve needed - or wanted - was placed neatly inside.

Pajamas - both yours and Jake’s, pieces of his he knew either of you would love - and a small bag of toiletries, the cell phone you’d dropped the moment Javy ended the call and forgot about, a few personal items; the sight of it all made your eyes sting with another wave of tears and Javy accepted the grateful squeeze of your hand with a nod.

For a few moments, the pair of you sat in silence. Like you, Javy seemed unable to look at Jake for too long without getting overwhelmed and you imagined the rest of the squad would likely endure the same difficulty. He was the first - as far as you knew - to experience such a serious accident and, though you wished like hell it hadn’t been him, you hoped no one else would follow.

Somewhere amidst the beeping of the heart monitor, the far-off hum of voices, Javy turned to you. “I promised him if anything happened, I’d be there for you,” he confessed, voice rough with emotion. His eyes, like yours, were swollen and rimmed red. The promise was likely one he’d made when deployed, uttered in the heat of battle, but you could tell he’d taken it seriously as he spared Jake a glance. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

There wasn’t much you could say that could adequately convey your gratitude - both at him treating you like family and him loving Jake like a brother - so you squeezed his hand once more. In that moment, in that circumstance, that was enough.

Later, when Javy needed to return to Top Gun for a debriefing, Fanboy arrived and replaced him in the seat to your left.

Mickey - you’d come to learn his name the moment he sat down, uttered in an outburst of nervous energy that saw Javy shaking his head upon exiting the room - offered you a smile. He seemed to have no idea what to say, at a loss for words as he spared glances at Jake and blinked back a frown of worry, and you imagined silence wasn’t as comfortable for him as it had been for you. There was a chance he didn’t want to offend you, unsure of what was appropriate to discuss with the wife of a friend he hadn’t known existed in the midst of said friend’s hospital room, so you broke the silence for him.

“Where’d Fanboy come from?”

Callsigns always intrigued you - the story behind Jake’s was the first question you asked, though you hadn’t gotten the real story until much later on. The silence didn’t bother you but Mickey seemed grateful for the question, if a little surprised, and shot you a smile that managed to touch his eyes.

“I love nerd shit,” he explained with a quiet laugh. “Star Wars, Star Trek, comic books, superheroes; all of it. I became a pilot because of Han Solo,” he admitted, expression brightening when you smiled at him. “I can get a little… into it when I talk about it, so, fanboy,” he explained, only a little sheepish.

“I love Star Trek. And Star Wars, but Star Trek has my heart.”

The confession was met with wide eyes and parted lips, though there was a hint of delight beneath the winged eyebrows. Mickey spared Jake a glance, blinked hard at the reminder of why you were there, before he returned his attention to you.

“Hangman’s married to a Trekkie? No way.” Mickey paused, as if considering all he knew about Jake - which was, from your understanding, a little less than the rest of the squad - before a look of understanding lit his eyes. “His nerd jokes were always a little too detailed for him not to know anything about Star Trek,” he declared, head tilting as he met your eyes.

For a moment, the room felt nearly normal. It was a conversation you could picture having with him at the Hard Deck, laughing over a few drinks as Jake played a round of pool and rolled his eyes fondly with every secret you spilled, and you willed yourself to keep from glancing at him as you nodded.

“If you tell him I told you this, it’ll be the last thing you do,” you warned, tone clearly teasing as you tilted your head to meet Mickey’s eyes, “but back when we first started seeing each other, when we were just friends with benefits, he made fun of me for being a Trekkie. He thought it was hilarious and so embarrassing that I was a nerd. It was the only thing he ever truly teased me for.”

A brief pause interrupted your story, a moment in which you finally spared Jake a glance and took a steadying breath. The memory of Jake’s teasing was one you loved, especially as it indirectly lead to the true beginning of your relationship, and it helped to distract yourself with stories of the past. The smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth was a little more real, a little easier, as you continued.

“One night, though, he was having a really hard time. Javy got deployed and his dad was really sick. We’d only been seeing each other for a few months and it was still a casual thing so he tried playing it all off. I could tell he wasn’t himself, though. He wasn’t interested in sex but he didn’t want to be alone so I told him we could just hang out. I was watching Star Trek in chronological order, starting with Enterprise, and was only on the first season. He made fun of it at first, called it cheesy and weird, but he got so into it. He asked me a thousand questions, mostly about why the Klingons hated everyone and why the Vulcans were so disliked when they were right about pretty much everything. But every night for two weeks, until he got deployed himself, we watched Star Trek together. And when he got home, he came back to me and we picked up where we left off. It went from him coming over for sex and leaving immediately after to him coming over for dinner and a few episodes of Star Trek. It just kind of became our thing and he’ll deny it until he’s blue in the face to anyone but me but Jake Seresin has a soft spot for Star Trek.”

Mickey’s eyes grew brighter with every word, clearly surprised but pleasantly so. The wonder with which he glanced between you and Jake lifted a fraction of the weight on your chest and brought a small smile to your own lips as you recognized the look in his eyes. It was awe, something a little too hopeful for the setting you found yourselves in, and you were suddenly grateful for Mickey’s bright-eyed enthusiasm.

“The first Halloween we spent as a couple, we were the mirror versions of Trip and T’Pol,” you confessed, grinning when he gaped at you. “Jake only agreed because he could lie and say he was a pilot who’d been in an accident, because of the jumpsuit. I think I was the only one who really knew who he was but it was nice.”

“Do you have pictures and can I see them?”

Though you hadn’t known what to expect, stuck in a hospital room with a friend of your husbands that you’d never met, you were grateful for Mickey’s presence. There were parts of Jake you knew he wouldn’t want shared with his teammates - not yet, anyway - and you kept those tucked close to your heart. Other pieces of your shared life, however, were laid bare with every enthusiastic question Mickey asked.

For nearly an hour, you sifted through photos documenting your relationship with Jake - from the first picture you took, pressed close together in the dim light of a dive bar near a naval base, to photos from your wedding day, to a selfie taken on the beach only a few days prior. Though, somewhere along the way, Mickey’s questions shifted from reminiscing on the past to planning for the future without you even realizing.

When he left, after a great deal of chatter and even a little laughter, the weight on your chest felt lighter. Jake’s condition hadn’t changed miraculously over the course of your conversation but Mickey managed to steer you away from the dark clouds and back into the sunshine. When he left, you felt a little hope, a little peace, and could breathe a little easier as you reached for Jake’s hand.

Before the levity of Mickey’s visit could wear off, a third visitor stepped through the door of Jake’s room.

From the moment Phoenix entered the room, it was clear that she felt out of place. She and Jake weren’t the closest and would likely never be the best of friends. There was no real animosity, not anymore, but their personalities clashed more often than not. He was something of an annoying older brother, a pain in the ass that refused to disappear, and he knew it.

Because of his unapologetic Hangman tendencies, Jake once admitted he wasn’t sure Natasha would ever truly like him, despite how much he’d grown to respect and admire her. However, despite knowing that she was the one person who continually called him on his shit, it seemed that his fears were unfounded.

A soft frown curved her mouth and pinched her brows as she settled into the seat at your left. With every second she spent glancing at Jake, her concern grew clearer. It seemed new, as if it had taken her by surprise, but you’d expected it. Though Jake doubted his place in her heart, you had little doubt that she cared about him as much as he cared about her.

Of all the aviators - aside from Javy - Natasha was the only one you’d met prior to moving to San Diego. It was in passing, in the presence of a friend of a friend of a friend, and long before you married Jake. There’d been small talk, brief chatter that neither of you could remember, but you could see the dim recognition on her face as she finally turned to face you.

“I’ll be honest,” she began, voice soft after a few long moments of silence. “I really don’t know what to say.”

It was apologetic but you understood. If you were in her shoes, you likely wouldn’t know what to say, either.

Their relationship wasn’t built around feelings, had never been fuzzy and warm and truly friendly. Jake was cocky, a little too loud and brash and full of himself, and she reminded him of those facts every chance she got. Their friendship was witty quips and sharp remarks, rolled eyes and huffs of annoyance.

Soft declarations of hope were out of character, as were heartwarming - and, no doubt, embellished - stories of his contributions to the team. That was of no surprise to you, little about your husband surprised you, so you shrugged and offered her a half-smile.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

The declaration wasn’t unkind, simply an acknowledgement that you expected nothing from her, and Natasha seemed to understand. Though her pinched brows remained, frown still darkening her face, she nodded and allowed her gaze to return to Jake.

Though you were thankful for Mickey’s spirit, you found yourself grateful for Natasha’s quiet. The adrenaline that pushed you out of your house and to the hospital had long since worn off. The tears you’d shed left your eyes in a state of discomfort and you could feel a migraine beginning to form. Everything felt heavy, like the weight of the world resting on your shoulders, and holding a conversation felt too much like work in that moment.

It was clear that she worried for Jake, that she’d begun questioning her own mortality, and it hurt to know that Jake was the catalyst for such difficult soul-searching. As you gently traced the back of Jake’s hand, fingers a featherlight touch over his bruised skin, you wondered how long it would take for the squad to return to some semblance of normal, regardless of the outcome of Jake’s accident.

Natasha, however, didn’t leave you long to dwell. Instead, she tipped her head to truly look at you for the first time since stepping into the room.

“Hang- Jake,” she corrected herself, blinking just a little too fast. You knew the look well, had worn it a handful of times yourself, and smiled softly as she spared him a fleeting glance. “Jake is the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.” When you laughed, head tilting in quiet agreement, Natasha’s frown lifted into the smallest of smiles. “He’ll be okay,” she assured you.

There was a finality to her statement that told you she clearly believed it. Though their relationship seemed to be the roughest around the edges, Natasha’s certainty calmed your heart. If she believed he would be alright, if Mickey believed he would be alright, if Javy believed he would be alright, you were going to have to believe it, too.

“Yeah.” There was little you could say in response - even less that wouldn’t leave you in tears - so you nodded and traced the faint tan line at Jake’s ring finger. “Thanks for coming. I know he’d appreciate it.”

Natasha left shortly after, eyes a little glassier than you’d expected and shoulders slumped in a way that made your chest ache. However, you weren’t given time to dwell on the effect Jake’s accident might have on the squad - on Natasha and on their relationship moving forward - as another visitor stepped through the door.

Unlike the others, Bob lingered near the foot of Jake’s bed. He stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, taking in the sight of Jake with a deep frown darkening his face. Of the visitors, Bob seemed to be the most upset, and you found yourself surprised as he pulled in a shuddering breath.

“Can I ask a question?”

Bob’s voice was soft, timid, and though he had yet to spare you a glance, you smiled as you twined your fingers with Jake’s. “Sure,” you permitted, though you were quick to add, “but I’m not promising an answer.”

The frown he wore deepened into something nearing hurt, an anguish you weren’t expecting from someone who never seemed particularly close with your husband - someone who, like Natasha, Jake feared may never really like him - as he finally lifted his gaze to you.

“How come we didn’t know Hangman was married? I was stationed at Lemoore, too, and I never knew.”

That was the question you’d been waiting for, unasked but lingering on the tip of every tongue. You were surprised no one else had asked - Mickey, in particular - but it seemed as if the answer truly mattered to Bob. There was genuine hurt in his eyes and you felt your heart clench at the furrow of his brows.

There were no memories of him from Lemoore - he wasn’t someone you remembered seeing out at a bar, not someone you remembered having over for dinner - but he clearly remembered Jake.

“It wasn’t intentional,” you consoled him, voice just as soft as his had been as he slowly stepped closer. “Jake’s never really been one to make friends. Javy knew because he and Jake have been through a lot together but you guys are the first real friends he’s made since Javy. He was planning on bringing me to the Hard Deck to meet you all but I’ve been so busy with my new job and unpacking the house that the time was just never right.” A huff of laughter, devoid of any humor, escaped as you cast a sideways glance at Jake’s face. “That sounds really stupid now but it all felt so important at the time, you know?”

Bob made a noise of understanding, one that confirmed he understood the pang of regret you felt each time you truly looked at Jake, as he finally took the seat to your left. “Hindsight,” he mumbled, corner of his mouth kicking up in a rueful smile as he folded his hands across his lap. “We met a few times, me and Hangman,” he admitted, gaze dropping to his lap. “He didn’t remember me but most people don’t. He was nice to my grandma when she came to visit. Helped her find me when she got lost.”

“He can be nice when he wants to be.” Bob hummed, a noncommittal sound that acknowledged he’d heard you, and allowed himself a glance at the way you continued to caress Jake’s hand. “Grandparents love him,” you continued, though you weren’t quite sure why. “I’m my grandmother’s favorite but he’s a close second, even though she’s got six other real grandchildren.”

A small smile lifted the corner of Bob’s mouth. “How long have you been married?”

“A little over a year. We got married a few months before he was called back to Top Gun,” you informed him, smiling as you squeezed Jake’s hand.

The wedding itself was a small affair - a handful of friends and family - on his family ranch and brought a smile to your face each time you thought of it. Before Jake, you hadn’t given marriage much thought, hadn’t really considered what your wedding might look like, but looking back, there was nothing you would change.

“It rained, near the end of the reception. I panicked for a second ‘cause it felt like bad luck, you know? But Jake just smiled and pulled me out to dance in the rain.” There was a moment of pause, a moment in which you took in the deceptively peaceful look on his face, before you turned your gaze to Bob. “I know Jake can be… a lot. But there’s good there, too. Just takes him a while to let other people see it.”

Jake was an acquired taste, that much you knew to be fact, but Bob’s understanding nod confirmed something else you knew to be true; his return to Top Gun had flipped a sort of switch. Details were fuzzy, as they always seemed to be, but Jake had grown more comfortable in the last year.

A small part of you wondered if it was love, being given affection he’d doubted himself worthy of for so long, but another part of you wondered if it was acceptance. He’d finally come to accept that not only was he worthy of romantic love, he was worthy of familial, platonic love, too. The people he’d seen as competition for so long, the people he’d pushed himself to be better, stronger, louder than weren’t out to get him. They were there to work with him, to be part of the same team, and you were glad that others had seen the change, too.

While Bob wasn’t as quiet as Natasha or as chatty as Mickey, he still managed to make you laugh with the odd deadpan remark. He asked a handful of questions about your relationship, mostly wondering how you managed to live with Jake, and answered questions you would’ve asked had you met in any other setting.

It was nice, another pleasant conversation in the midst of a dark moment, but you were grateful for the silence that followed once he left. For the first time in hours, you were left alone for longer than a few moments. There was a slight worry it would be overwhelming, give you too much time to think about the dozens of potential outcomes that awaited you, but you felt a sort of peace you hadn’t expected.

Regardless of the outcome, knowing that Jake had managed to find a family that loved him, despite his past misgivings, granted you serenity. Knowing that that same family had taken the time to embrace you, despite learning of your existence only a handful of hours before, was enough to ease the weight on your chest and make catching your breath less of a monumental task.

Jake was loved, well and truly, and you were grateful for it.

Though you imagined the night was over, the visitors would stop funneling in, a final member of the team appeared with thirty minutes to spare. Rooster stepped into the room with a brown paper bag that smelled of Chinese takeout and a coffee that looked suspiciously like your go-to order.

When his offer was met with a frown of confusion, Bradley smiled. “Coyote,” he explained, not giving you the chance to ask. “You should eat."

Hunger was the last thing on your mind. The thought of eating turned your stomach but you knew he was right. So, instead of arguing, you took the coffee with a smile. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

Bradley sat in the chair to your left and began rifling through the bag. He produced a few of your favorites - an order Javy no doubt relayed - before pulling out a carton of his own food. When you realized he was waiting for you to begin before he would, you laughed quietly.

As the pair of you ate, both slow and methodical, Bradley spared you glances every so often. Like Javy, the silence you shared was comfortable. Despite not knowing one another, there was no overwhelming, awkward need to fill the quiet with mindless chatter. Still, Bradley managed to break the silence before you could.

“I never told him,” he began, voice a quiet rasp in the still of Jake’s room, “but I figured he was seeing someone. He’s got a photo of you in the cockpit of his jet.”

That was of little surprise to you. Jake had taken a handful of polaroids throughout your relationship, each with the excuse of being able to carry you with him wherever he went, and you smiled. “Is it still the one from the beach?”

Bradley returned your smile easily as he shook his head. “No, it looks like you’re in the snow. I tried not to stare too much. Figured he would’ve said something if he wanted us all to know.”

“That was right before we got engaged. He knew I’d never seen snow so he took me to see it.” Bradley paused, placed his chopsticks onto the small tray and turned to face you as you swirled the straw of your coffee. “Is he still an asshole? Absolutely. Do I want to smack him for being an asshole? Regularly.” Bradley laughed, smile as real as you imagined it could be, and tipped his head in acknowledgement as his eyes shifted to where you squeezed Jake’s hand. “I know that it’s hard sometimes, seeing Jake beneath Hangman, but I’m glad you’re all getting a glimpse.”

“When we first got called back,” Bradley began, “I told him that he hadn’t changed. But that was a lie. We can all see that he’s changed. He’s still an asshole, but he’s more tolerable now.”

“I can’t lie and say that I’ve never seen that side of him because I have. I’ve seen Hangman. But I see Jake more often. I see the man who dances with me in the kitchen to old country music after we do the dishes. I see the man who asked me to marry him in the snow, even though he hated every second of the cold.” Bradley frowned, if only slightly, as he watched you blink back the tears that stung the backs of eyes. “Jake loves you guys. He spent so long trying to be the best, seeing you guys as competition. I’m just glad he’s learning how to be part of a team.”

Bradley hesitated for a moment, seeming to question whether he should speak, before he spared Jake a glance. “He saved my life,” he admitted quietly, eyes on Jake as he shook his head slightly. “Out of everyone, he was the last person I expected to come back for me. But he did.”

The shift in their relationship had been the most obvious to you. Jake had gone from lamenting being passed over in favor of Bradley Bradshaw to laughing at his antics in the span of a few weeks, and you wondered what happened. To know that your husband, who felt overshadowed by Bradley for years, had gone out of his way to save him brought you comfort rather than instilling fear.

“He doesn’t talk a lot about deployment,” you confessed, shrugging slightly when he turned his attention back to you, “so I appreciate you telling me that. I’ve spent the last few years kind of terrified, just waiting for a call like this, but now that it’s here, I don’t really know what to do.”

“There’s not much you can do other than be here.” When you frowned, gaze falling to the cup in your hands, Bradley sighed. “I can’t tell you it’ll be okay because I don’t know that. But I can tell you that he’s good at what he does and he’s stubborn. Knowing he has you here, waiting for him, he’s going to fight like hell to stay with you.”

Bradley sounded just as confident as Natasha had, convinced that Jake would be fine, and you were grateful for his assurance. It filled your chest with a little hope, though you were careful not to allow it to inflate too much as hope was the thing that killed.

Instead, you attempted to keep some semblance of the peace the Squad’s visits brought, even as Bradley bid you goodnight. You knew that there was no chance of sleep finding you, even as tired as you found yourself, so you shuffled through the bag Javy bought and smiled when you came across the book he’d plucked from your nightstand.

It was a book you’d taken to reading when you couldn’t sleep, one you’d already read at least a dozen times, but it helped remove you from reality as you flipped it open and settled deeper into your seat. The nagging anxiety, the worry that Jake may not awake, lingered prominently in the pit of your stomach - made the tips of your fingers tingle and the intake of a deep breath seem next to impossible - but you attempted to swallow it as you removed the bookmark and began to read aloud.

Jake was never overly fond of the books you read - he preferred nonfiction, biographies or deep dives into historic events - but you’d found a happy medium in the form of modern classics. The Illustrated Man was one he’d gotten into and it helped that the book was comprised of short stories, split into pieces for those nights he was home and sleep seemed to evade you both.

While the hospital continued to move around you, while the machines Jake remained tethered to beeped and blinked, you began to read aloud. A story of explorers, searching for a force greater than themselves, followed by the tale of men driven to madness by eternal rain filled the relative quiet of the hospital room before you paused at the title page of The Rocket Man.

The story of a man who left his family for months at a time, off in a spaceship exploring the galaxy, was not one you gave much thought before falling in love with Jake. But the story of a young boy who desperately missed his father and a wife who once loved her husband greatly having resigned herself to knowing that one day her husband would walk out their door for the final time weighed a little too heavy on your chest these days.

There was no future in which you could see yourself growing numb, resigned to a fate you desperately wished to avoid, and you hoped beyond hope that Jake would continue returning to you. The pair of you hadn’t discussed a family, a future beyond loving one another, but you knew that Jake Seresin was it for you and that you were it for him.

So, instead of allowing yourself to fall deeper into the anxiety you’ve barely kept at bay, you flipped through the pages in search of a different story.

As you thumbed through the book, however, a quiet sigh drew your attention. The book was quickly abandoned as you lifted your head to glance at Jake. Those green eyes, a sight you marveled at even on the best of days, met yours and you nearly pinched yourself as you blinked back the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

In that moment, every emotion possible filled you. Breathing simultaneously grew easier and more difficult as the weight on your chest shifted. The tingling in the tips of your fingers eased, if only slightly, as you struggled to latch onto one particular train of thought.

Before you could speak - and say what, you weren’t sure - Jake beat you to it. “Why’d you stop reading?”

The question was so mundane, spoken as if he’d simply woken from a nap to find you pausing din the midst of a story, but the gravel of his voice and the injuries marring his face reminded you of exactly what happened. The story was one you made it a habit to skip, especially with Jake around, so you simply shrugged.

“I… the next one isn’t my favorite,” you nearly whispered, gaze never leaving his face as you dropped the book into the chair and reached for his hand. “I’ll keep reading after someone comes and looks you over, alright?”

Jake hummed, a noncommittal sound, as he tilted his head to offer you a lazy smile. “Good. Missed your voice, sweetheart.”

Though he didn’t mean for it to, Jake’s comment broke the dam that had kept the tears at bay since the aviators left you alone. Relief, so bright and warm, filled your veins even as Jake squeezed your hand and frowned at the sight of your tears. But before he could speak, you shook your head.

“I’m going to go grab a nurse. I’ll be right back,” you promised, squeezing his hand in return before untangling your fingers and rushing out of the room on jelly legs.

As the nurse, followed by a doctor, stepped into Jake’s room, you remained in the hall. With your back pressed to the wall, you scrubbed at your eyes to stop the tears from falling. You made it a point to keep your composure, especially in front of Jake as it related to his work, and did your best to settle yourself. However, the weight of the day, combined with the lack of sleep, made it difficult to pull yourself together.

Jake was lucky, you didn’t need a doctor to tell you that - though he made sure to point it out the moment he stepped back into the hall - and you knew that the day could’ve ended in tragedy. This was the closest you’d come to losing Jake and you had no desire to ever relive this day.

But this was his life, the path he’d chosen and a path you knew he would continue down the moment he was cleared to fly once more, so you swallowed your fear and thanked the doctor for letting you know that they’d be keeping Jake for a little while longer, just to observe.

After a few moments, when the nurse finally left the room, you stepped in and returned to your seat at Jake’s side.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure what to say to Jake. The silence felt awkward, painful in a way it had never really been, as you took a moment to study the injuries Jake had sustained.

“Doc assured me there are ways to get rid of scars. Just gonna have to deal with me lookin’ like Two Face for a while.” The joke was weak, unable to hide the anxiety he clearly felt, and you frowned as you lifted a hand to gently brush the uninjured cheek. When you found yourself unable to speak, voice stuck in your throat even as you so desperately wanted to say something, Jake sighed. “Want me to stop talking?”

“Never.” The reply was quick, stronger than you intended, but it made Jake laugh quietly - and then wince - as your hand returned to his. “Please don’t. Your voice is comforting. I’ve missed it.”

Jake sighed once more, a quiet sound as he attempted to shift in bed, and turned his head to a more comfortable position. “I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

The apology was soft, a whisper in the still of the room, and you shook your head to keep him from speaking further. “You’re awake,” you dismissed, “apology accepted.”

Sensing your desire to change the subject - you weren’t ready to talk about the accident and you were assuming he wasn’t either - Jake hummed. “Anything exciting happen while I was out?”

“I met some of the Dagger Squad.” Jake smiled - the barely there lifting of his lips - as you idly brushed your fingers over the back of his hand. “Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Rooster; they all dropped by. Javy said the others planned to come tomorrow but hopefully they can all visit at home, instead.”

“Anybody get a picture when they figured out who you were?”

“No, but they all looked a little like fish out of water.” Jake laughed quietly at that - a sound that seemed to pain him as the hand you weren’t holding lifted to his ribs. “I spilled some of your deepest, darkest secrets while you were out.”

“Mm, only fair,” he decided, hand turning to hold yours still as he waited for you to meet his eyes once more. “Know you don’t wanna talk about it right now but I’m glad you’re here, darlin’. You were the last thing I -“ Jake cut himself off, quickly realizing that line of thought was not one you needed to hear in that moment, so he corrected himself. “You’re always on my mind. Just wanted to make sure you know that.”

Jake made sure you knew that - often made it a point to remind you that he was thinking of you, whether it came in the form of flowers or a quick text - so you nodded. “I know.”

“Good.” Jake took a moment to really take you in, then, eyes roving your face for the first time, before he sighed and squeezed your hand. “You should go home, get some rest. I’ll still be here in the morning.” When you raised a brow, clearly unimpressed with his idea, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You leave when I leave. Fine, at least try to get some sleep. I’m the one in the hospital bed but you look like hell, sweetheart.”

“If you didn’t have a head injury, I’d be really offended,” you huffed, though the joke came out a little weaker than you intended.

“How long you think the squad’ll let me get away with shit before they start calling me out again?”

The laughter was still light, brittle, and accompanied by a wince but Jake seemed to truly be in better spirits than you expected. You knew that it was for your benefit - the real damage would be uncovered later, when you were both in a headspace to discuss what happened, how he really felt - but you still laughed as you shook your head.

“Not even for a second. You’re lucky, babe, but not that lucky.”

Jake smiled, happy that his joke worked at least for the moment, and gestured to the small couch in the corner. “Still gonna push my luck, sweetheart. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, promise.”

Though you had no desire to lose another moment with Jake, the need for sleep was overwhelming. You could feel the adrenaline of the day wearing off, the worry and anxiety calming just enough to leave you exhausted, so you sighed and slumped in your seat. “Fine, but only because you’re cute.”

Everything that awaited you both remained to be seen. The conversations you needed to have, what the future would hold, could wait. You were granted tomorrow with Jake, the only thing you could’ve asked for, and figured that would be enough for now. And with his hand clasped firmly in yours, you allowed yourself to rest with the knowledge that when you woke, he’d be there.

______________________________________

Author’s Note: If the tags don’t work, I will scream.

Taglist: @lulu-noodles, @holachicos, @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth, @withakindheartx, @ssprayberrythings, @verin93, @totalwitch2, @malindacath, @alexparkxr, @hangmandruigandmav, @alexxavicry, @calicokel, @jaymum, @dracosluvbot, @little-wiseone, @specialk6802, @mandylove1000, @xlynnx07, @julesclues, @archetypesoflife, @oliviah-25, @benhardysdrumstick, @caatheeriinee07, @prettymucheveryothernamewastaken, @yvespoems, @chloereidwayne, @flower-name, @ccristata, @feltonswifesworld87, @mxdi0, @angellwingggs, @s00buwu, @mjsvinyl, @woodlandmouth, @hngmnslver, @wifey-halstead, @pr3ttyr0s3xs, @winchester126, @peoniarose

#hangman x reader #hangman imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #top gun one shot #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick x reader #v’s fics

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wordsbyrian · 1 year

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Royal Navy - Alessia Russo x Reader

Summary: Royal Navy!R was childhood friends with Less and things ended sort of poorly between them, they meet again. years later.

A/N: Alright so I don't know a lot about the Royal Navy but I do know a lot about the US Navy so everything in here is a combination of research and filling in the blanks with American military knowledge.

Sometimes, life doesn’t give you everything you want.

Correction, most of the time life doesn’t give you anything you want. This explains the conversation that you’re currently having while sitting in your girlfriend’s room.

“I just don’t know why you would want to volunteer to join the army,” she says, flopping back onto her bed.

“I’m joining the Navy, Less,” you tell her for what must be the one-thousandth time. “Besides, there's not anything for you to understand. I don’t understand why you're going to school in America but I’m not trying to stop you.”

“I’m going to play football and learn,” Alessia says, “Not signing up to get myself killed.”

“Yea, well, we all can’t be the next Kelly Smith, can we?”

“Don’t get smart with me Y/N, I don’t want to argue with you,” she says, finally sitting up to look at you.

“But you do, because if you didn’t we’d be making out not having this conversation the day before I leave for Dartmouth,” you respond, getting up from your seat at her desk, “I won’t be able to use my mobile so often I’ll write you but don’t bother answering if you’re gonna keep at it like this.”

With that, you walk out of Alessia’s room and as a result her life.

You do hear her calling after you but you know she hasn’t changed her mind so you don’t bother turning around.

That was over 5 years ago and while you did keep your promise of writing and calling her; after your first three letters received no response, you gave up.

That doesn’t mean that you stopped cheering her on, you’ve seen all her major moments, no matter how far away you were.

Over the summer, you along with practically every other sailor on your ship watched as she along with the rest of the Lionesses conquered Europe.

And now, you’re standing on the touchline at Kingsmeadow in your dress uniform for some surprise your sister planned with Chelsea.

But if you had known they scheduled it for the weekend the Blues welcome United, you probably would’ve waited a little longer to take some leave time.

Anything would be better than having Alessia attempt to burn holes in you with only her eyes as you carry the ball out for the coin toss.

You can’t tell if she recognizes you with your hair cut so short and your body so stiff but when you hear the PA ask everyone to turn their attention to you, you know that she’ll figure it out soon if she hasn’t already.

“Everyone please join us in a round of applause,” the voice says over the speakers, “as we welcome back former Chelsea youth player, Lieutenant Commander in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, Y/N Y/L/N. Thank you for your service.”

You allow yourself to smile slightly as Emma Hayes hands you a Chelsea shirt with your name on it before a stadium hand comes to lead you to your seat.

The match is good and you enjoy it as much as you can with strangers coming up to you every two minutes.

When it ends, 2-1 Chelsea, you make your back pitchside having agreed to speak with the players in the small window of time Hayes and Skinner have managed to get them to give up.

When you're led to a back room you’re shocked to see both teams there intermingled but you quickly remember that women's football has always been much more cordial than the men’s game.

After another quick introduction from the assistant who led you there, you stand alone in front of the two teams.

“Hello,” you say, standing pretty stiffly with your hands clutching your cover behind your back. “I’m not going to introduce myself again but now seems like a good time to mention that since my dad is from Newburn, I’m a Newcastle fan.”

That gets a few scattered laughs that help to break some of the tension and ease your nerves.

“I’m supposed to be talking to you about leadership, team building, and morale but I watched the game and I can definitely say that neither team needs to hear from someone whose idea of team building is sticking people in the middle of the ocean for months at a time and seeing who can get passed their problems long enough to survive,” you say plainly, not bothering to hide your disinterest for the situation. “So I figured you can just ask me questions until they let us leave.”

Murmurs of agreement go through the group so you press on, alternating between teams to ensure you’re being fair.

Most of the questions are the normal ones you get when people find out you're in the Navy. So you explain what it means to be both a Lieutenant Commander and a Surface Warfare Officer.

There are a couple of shocked faces when you tell them that you’re trained to operate all the heavy artillery on the ships and a couple of faces that fill you with more than a bit of concern because of how glee-filled they are.

When you tell them that you joined the Navy because of family tradition you can see Alessia roll her eyes and whisper something to Toone but you divert your attention to Millie Bright, who you recognize from the time you spent training with the full team.

And based on her question it seems like she recognizes you too.

“You made some appearances with the full team, why’d you choose the Navy over football,” she asks.

Laughing a little you answer her, “I played 30 minutes in the Conti Cup and was in Hayes’ office the next day quitting. That was literally the worst half hour of my life and I almost drowned in the sinking ship exercise.”

It’s then that you notice Alessia put her hand up to ask a question and considering you want nothing more than to not have to interact with her, you ignore it getting through a few others before you notice Ella with her hand up as well.

So you make the mistake of calling on her.

“Are you ever going to let Less ask a question,” she says with an unbelievable amount of sass.

“I suppose I have to now,” you say, “Crack on, Russo.”

Alessia doesn’t take this well because she glares at you and asks in the coldest voice you’ve ever heard from her, “How’s your sister?”

Never one to be outdone when it comes to being petty you respond in kind.

“She’s fine. Your family?”

It's your words that seem to spark a realization in some of the players’ faces that the two of you know each other but before any of them have a chance to say anything the same assistant from earlier comes to tell you that you’ve completed your time agreement.

For your part, you can’t get out of the building fast enough, barely stopping by the manager's office to tell Emma bye.

Getting to your car, you rush home probably breaking a few minor traffic laws in your haste.

When you do get home, you rush past your sister, Sarah, and her husband straight to your room, where you make quick work of changing into comfy clothes so that you can hide away for the foreseeable future.

You manage to go a full two days before your sister gets sick of your bullshit and barges in opening the blinds to let light into your cave of despair.

“Alright, it’s time to get up,” she says, pulling the blankets from on top of your head.

“Fuck off,” you say, turning away from her.

“I won’t," she replies, "You’ve been locked away in here, not eating, for days. All because you had to see the girl who broke your heart at 17. Grow up.”

Rolling back over you glare at her harshly but she continues speaking before you get the chance to tell her to go away again.

“Don’t make that face at me, it won’t work,” Sarah says, plainly, “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take a shower and then when you’re done, you’ll come eat lunch before going to walk Magpie.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument and if we’re being honest, you’ve always been appropriately cautious of pissing her off. She did practically raise you after all.

So you did what she asked.

You showered, you ate with her and her goofball husband, and now you're sitting at the park with her idiot dog that is named after a bird.

“Oi, Magpie,” you call out, getting the dog’s attention, “Stop trying to eat that rock you berk, it’s bigger than you are.”

Somewhere to your left, you hear a familiar burst of laughter that has you panicking more than a little bit.

You do your best to ignore it, hoping that she would choose any of the other benches to go sit on. But that doesn’t seem to be in the cards for you as Alessia takes a seat right next to you, her dad’s dog coming to rest at her feet.

“Hey,” you say to her, not wanting to be rude before you turn your attention to the dog, “Sup Rocco, getting up there in age, aren’t you old boy?”

Alessia laughs again and you feel your heart skip a beat and a fluttering feeling begins in your stomach.

The two of you sit in relative silence for a while, the only words spoken are from you, usually a shout at your sister’s idiot dog.

You get so used to the silence that you almost miss it when she starts speaking.

“I owe you an apology for the way I treated you at the game,” Alessia begins, “It wasn’t fair of me to treat you like that, especially in front of so many people. -So, I’m sorry I did that.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting her to say but it definitely wasn’t that, so it takes you a moment before you respond.

“I can’t accept your apology,” you tell her after you finish processing. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see her shocked reaction so you continue before she can spiral too far. “Mostly because I was definitely a bigger dick than you were that day. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have acted that way, not in front of your team.”

You can see a small smile tug at her lips and you grin at her in response.

“We were both pretty big idiots, huh,” she says.

“Proper bellends,” you respond, “You’d think we would’ve done some growing up I guess not.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you and you let it stay for a few moments before you speak again.

“I think if we had been better at communicating, we probably would’ve been back on speaking terms at least four years ago,” you tell her seriously albeit with a joking tone.

“Are we?”

“Are we what?”

“Back on speaking terms,” Alessia clarifies.

“Obviously,” you say, “I don’t watch Magpie try to eat all the inedible things in sight with just anybody.”

The smile that had been threatening to break out on Alessia’s face is out in full force now and you can feel the fluttery sensation in your gut get stronger.

With that seemingly settled, the two of you fall into a pattern of conversation that is both familiar yet different.

In the past, most of your conversations centered around school, football, and making weekend plans. Now, it’s more of a catch up session but the vibes are the same.

It's perfect.

You don’t know how long you sit there but you’re eventually interrupted by the sound of both of your phones going off.

Your’s a call from Sarah telling you to bring her dog back and her’s a reminder from her dad about family dinner.

You stand up ready to try and catch Magpie and go when Alessia stops you.

“Y/N,” she begins, “Do you know where you’ll be stationed once your vacation ends?”

“Headed back to Dartmouth for five months to train the next batch of SWOs,” you tell her, “Then probably gonna be on shore duty for a while so might end up in command of a URNU. Depends.”

“On what?”

“Lots of things but mostly where the open postings are,” you explain.

“Two more questions but one relies on your answer to the other.”

“Shoot.”

“Will you be able to make and receive phone calls while at Dartmouth this time around,” she asks with a slight blush.

“I’ll be in charge so I can do what I want.”

“So would you be opposed to giving me your number so I can call you?”

Unable to resist teasing her a little bit, you let a coy grin spread across your face.

“Alessia Russo, are you trying to get back in my pants,” you ask her.

You watch as the blush on her deepens and she begins to sputter trying to defend herself.

You laugh a little and continue, “I mean it’s fine if you are but I’d prefer to know so that I don’t fuck it up like I did last time.”

“Y/N/N,” she says, still blushing and stuttering.

“My number is the same,” you say, taking pity on her, “so you better call me.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I am but now I’m an asshole that you’ve got to call.”

“It’d take the entire Royal Navy to stop me.”

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