majac08

[majac08]

I continue to wonder how Cyclone found them all at the beach. Did he just drive around looking for their cars. Is Mav chipped

[majac08]

Operation Apollo | 2.5 | Jake Seresin x reader

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Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents

…

Five year olds rarely understand politics. The weaving webs of deceit — all for the greater good — it quite simply doesn’t match up to the daily right from wrong lessons that they’re receiving. It never made sense to you back then. But, five year olds also rarely understand chess, and yet, you did.

Sitting in your father’s study whilst he was still governor of that teeny tiny state, in that small seeming house that you barely remember these days, brows furrowed and lips pursed as he asked you if you understood the move you had just made.

Being quick to adapt was always one of your strong suits. Your daddy hadn’t wanted to play dress up and tea parties like the other girls’. So, you had learned to play chess. In tow, you had learned to understand politics. Each move had a consequence and so, had to be carefully thought out, just like in chess.

You sit now, in a different office, feeling very much just as small, and think of the three moves in which you have ruined Jake’s life. Truthfully, when you had kissed him for that first time on the couch a few months ago, you hadn’t been thinking of where it would land him. You had thought about it before that, toying with the idea of having him do something to get him fired.

But, when it had come down to it, all that you’d really wanted was for him to be around all of the time. He had been so kind to you that night, and you had wanted that feeling to last forever.

That had been the first move, it hadn’t been definite — there was still room for recovery back then. With the other two, it’s more difficult to distinguish. Had the option for redemption disappeared when you had come crawling into his bed that first night in Texas, or had it still been there until you had let him tell you that he loved you?

Either way, it’s long gone now.

Worst of all, the last thing you had told Jake was that you hated him.

He stands six feet to your right now, and there’s not a single thing that you could do or say that could fix the things that you’ve done to each other. Your father, sitting suited and powerful behind that big desk, is going to make sure of that.

Sitting here, yourself and Allen on the couch. Your mother, opposite with the press secretary to her right and your father’s lawyer, Owen, on her left. When he had called this meeting, demanding everyone to be dressed and prepared, you had known that your time with Jake was over.

Now, the second of his careers is in tatters and this time, there’s no coming back from it. There’s no amount of time that can heal the damage that you’ve done to Jake’s life, your father can make sure of that. The leading candidate is a friend of your father’s from law school — his power is going to extend far beyond the expiry date on his title as president.

Brushed velvet, freshly cleaned but not for this occasion, navy blue under your fingertips. Baited breath, shoulders tense, colours faded, you pick at the upholstery to keep from crying.

“You have to think of the family right now, Princess,” He’s still reclined back in that chair, those white walls and heavy gold curtains behind his head. It looks fantastic in pictures, the white, gold and blue of the office, that’s why he had picked it. “This isn’t the kind of publicity we want on our names as we leave office.”

Mid-morning — such a strange time for the end to occur. It doesn’t seem right. You’re far from done fighting.

“The only mark on our name right now is that six people died at an event in your honor less than two weeks ago.” You bite. Standing at the back, his arms folded in front of his waist, a muscle in Jake’s jaw ticks. He wants to butt in and tell you to just stop talking, but he can’t. Speaking is just going to make things worse.

“I know you aren’t stupid, so do us all a favour and stop acting like you are,” Your father’s voice hardens, growing more stern as he leans forwards, hands clasped together. It’s all very formal. The security, the suits, the tone. “You know what a scandal like this can do. You’ll ruin your life before you’ve even had an opportunity to live it.”

Jake’s teeth press into his tongue until his mouth is all copper-tasting and numb. It’s interesting. Maybe if he had gone to college, he’d know the word for it — the talent that your father has for passing on the blame. It’s your life at the risk, it’s your fault. Jake can’t help but wonder what exactly it is that does manage to fall under the scope of your father’s personal responsibility.

More recently, it’s been feeling like that has kind of already happened. The question has always been at the back of your mind. How anyone expects you to move on from this, to live a normal life after everything you’ve been through. Back in highschool, you’d joked about one day sharing your memoirs. How terrifyingly suffocating it had been to grow up in the shadow of the White House.

“I will not let you throw away every opportunity that I’ve given you.” The ‘for him’ isn’t a necessary addition; Jake isn’t good enough, he’s not the right kind and he never would have been. He went to Naval Academy right out of highschool and has only set foot on an Ivy League campus once in his life. Even in the right circumstances, your parents never would have accepted him.

Your mother shakes her head, picking anxiously at her nails from the couch opposite you. Her glare has been searing through you since she had sit down. That jagged, red, puffy scar peeking out from under her sweater. Her crutches at the side of the couch.

“I can’t believe that you could even be this selfish,” She speaks up finally. You know that she has been wanting to for a while. Briefly, you glance to your right and you meet Jake’s gaze. Then, you look back to her. “You’ve completely disregarded everything that this family stands for, you’ve made fools of your father and I — and for what? — Was this to punish us for something? — Have we truly been such awful parents?”

Biting your tongue, you just stare back at her. It’s hard to decide which would be more childish: to fold your arms over your chest and outright refuse to answer, or to finally scream like you’ve been wanting to. Your arms cross calmly, you inhale and keep her gaze.

Jake turns his attention towards the floor. Allen looks across at the younger agent, taking his time to study him. In all of his years with you, he knew that something like this would happen eventually. The way you used to taunt those poor sons of bitches until they broke and quit or got reassigned. Not one of them had ever given into your teasing, but Allen knew that it was going to happen.

He hadn’t, however, ever thought that he would feel bad for the guy who fell for it. In his heart, he feels that Jake isn’t a bad guy. Different time, different circumstances, maybe things could have been different between the two of you. It’s a little late for that kind of wishful thinking now, that decisions already been made. It’s why Allen got called down here at the ass-crack of dawn to sit in on this meeting.

Jake’s out. Everyone in this room knows it already.

“Jake goes back to his home, you go back to yours and start grad school as we had planned,” It’s clearly not a suggestion, and it’s a better offer than Manny had been expecting. Your father’s gaze hardens as he looks towards Jake, “You’ll both sign a non-disclosure agreement, we’ll forget that this little indiscretion ever happened.”

“No.”

Jake swallows, curling his hands into fists and uncurling them again, willing you to just stop talking— just this once. His heart throbs at the sadness in your voice. He’s glad, now, that you let him fall asleep still holding you last night.

“I’m not signing anything, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Your other option is that we pursue criminal charges.” Owen speaks up finally. A weedy little redhead that your father has known for decades. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and straightens out his suit. He looks across at Jake, who doesn’t seem too bothered by that.

Manny slowly inhales, his fingertips brushing the cotton of his pants as he braces himself for what comes next. No one else seems quite as prepared for it as the three men who know you the best.

“Were you dropped on your head as a child or something?” Voice raised, nostrils flared, taking a step forwards like you’re just about ready to vault over that nice little coffee table separating you from the lawyer. “Criminal charges? — For what?”

Allen reaches out and rests his hand against your knee, like it will do something to keep you tethered down to that blue, velvet couch.

Owen’s mouth curls up, an amused snarl as he leans forwards and reaches into his expensive, embossed book bag and pulls a manual from it. It lands unceremoniously on the coffee table before you, spinning so that the words are facing you. Professionalism within the workforce handbook. Homeland Security Fiscal Year 2021 to Congress.

“I think it might be beneficial for you to familiarize yourself with this book, Miss.” He sneers.

Jake has been saying since he arrived that Allen’s too slow to still be in the service. All of his suspicions are confirmed as you lurch forwards, fingers curling around the book before Allen has even clocked the way that your expression has changed. Jake closes his eyes, exhaling slowly as the book sends Owen’s fragile, wire frames clattering to the floor.

“Fuck you.” All of those years of training, all of those expensive schools — everything that your mother has done to turn you into a well-mannered young lady, shattering faster than those cheap lenses in those wire-framed glasses. Jake’s lips quirk at the corners, just slightly, as he looks past you to study your father. There’s a look of almost confusion on his face. He doesn’t recognize you.

Four different people call you by your name at once. Your parents, Allen, and then Jake. An argument could be made that it’s the difference in Jake’s tone that makes you look to him first. Everyone else is shocked, appalled by your behavior. Jake’s uncharacteristically calm in a way that makes your heart throb.

Short hair, clean-shaven, every freckle and frown line painfully familiar. He’s standing close enough that you could reach him in a few small steps. Jake gives you a soft nod, a barely-there ghost of a smile.

“It’s alright.”

“Don’t you dare—“ Your mother’s on her feet in an instant, rounding towards him with her eyes wide.

Jake still hasn’t moved an inch from where he had been told to stand at the beginning of this whole circus. He’s calm as he looks towards your mother. Calmer than he thought he would be in the event of this happening.

“You won’t press charges,” You look towards your father. He quirks a brow at you. “If you want to keep this quiet, you won’t press charges.”

“Either we keep this civil, and you sign the agreement — or you’ll leave me with no other choice.”

There’s a moment’s pause. Briefly, Jake thinks you’re about to find another projectile to launch across the room. Matthew interjects before you get a chance to make this worse.

“We’ll give you two a moment to discuss.” Matthew decides. You don’t dare to look away from him, your glare burning into him as he clears the room for you.

Jake waits until all the doors are shut before he moves, turning you silently to face him and wrapping his arms tightly around your middle.

“I can — I’ll fix this,” You mumble into his shoulder, fingers curling into the jacket of his suit. Jake squeezes you closer to him. “You can’t leave.”

“A few more months and then this is all over,” Jake whispers, breathing in your smell, pressing his lips softly to your neck. “You’re out, I’m out. Just a few months, and we’ll figure something out.”

A quick shake of your head and you tug yourself closer to him. “Please don’t leave me here.”

“Look at me,” His palms hug your cheeks, keeping your attention on him. His eyes look especially green when he wears black. “You’re going to listen to Manny, and you’re going to be good for a couple of months, and then we’ll figure this whole mess out. Alright?”

“No,” You breathe out, voice trembling. “Fuck, this is all your fault.”

“My fault?”

It’s difficult. Knowing that this moment is fleeting, not wanting to spend it arguing, but just reeling with this anger that makes you want to rip down those heavy, gold curtains and set them on fucking fire.

You’re still holding on to Jake, hands curled around his shoulders, vice-like. He presses his lips once, gently, to your temple, then closes his eyes.

“If you hadn’t lied to me, if you hadn’t just listened to that fucking asshole then we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“I know, I know,” Jake whispers, squeezing you tighter against him, resting his chin against the top of your head. His palm smooths along your spine. “We’re going to sign the NDA, you’re going to go back to school. I’ll figure something out — once you’re out of office, I’ll come back.”

“I can’t go back to that house if you’re not there,” You mumble into his shoulder, hot and cold at the same time, on the verge of tearing up or screaming your lungs out at the end of every syllable. “What if something happens again?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Jake doesn’t know that for sure. He doesn’t know how this began, or how it’ll end. He knows that the safest place for you is by his side. He lies to you anyway. “You just listen to everything Manny says and you’ll be fine.”

Swallowing, the only thing that your brain can conjure is his name. Lips trembling, you give a small shake of your head, “Jake…”

“I love you, and I’ll see you in a little bit, alright?” Jake squeezes at your biceps, trying to meet your gaze until finally you give in and look at him. Your throat squeezes in protest, trying to bring forth another sob. You can’t keep crying. It’s all you’ve done for days. “Just promise me that you aren’t going to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

The silence that follows makes Jake sigh. He knots his brows together sternly. “Promise me.”

“I don’t want you to go.” You say quietly.

“I don’t want to either, but it’s going to take the heat off of both of us — I’m not leaving here if you’re going to put yourself in danger to get back at your father.” Jake frowns at you.

“I promise.” You mutter finally.

“Alright,” Jake nods slowly, smoothing his hands along your arms. He takes his time in looking you over before he finally cups your jaw and tilts your head back. “I love you.”

You’re still furious. With him, with them, with this whole fucking situation. Most of all, with your powerlessness to it. But, you love Jake. You press your face into his chest and murmur it begrudgingly.

Jake glances towards the door and knows that you’re probably being listened to. His hand curls gently around the nape of your neck as he tugs you back from his chest and presses his lips to yours. He can still taste the salt on your lips from this morning’s tears.

He has half of a story about how this morning had played out — snippets of details that Manny had been able to give him. It was going to happen sooner or later. You still won’t sleep, you’re restless and agitated — you don’t trust anyone around you. He wishes that he didn’t have to leave now.

Reluctant to let you go, Jake squeezes your hand softly and walks over to the closed file on the desk with his name on it. He nudges it open with his index finger, lips quirking immediately at what’s before him.

It’s a screencap of a security tape. From a few months ago, when you’d gotten shitfaced and he had thrown you over his shoulder to take you to your room. Followed by a picture of him leaving your room hours later, the time stamps circled. On the next page, there’s a screencap from a security tape again. This time it’s from your house. The balcony between your room and his. Jake sitting on his chair, you sitting with your foot on the seat between his legs and a big grin on your face — just slightly, your underwear is visible between your parted legs.

Admittedly, Jake’s pleased that this is as scandalous as it gets. The mustn’t have dug too deep — he knows that they could have found much more if they had.

Swiftly, he turns back to you and wraps his arms loosely around your hips. “I’m not sorry for us. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Promise me.” You squeak out, throat dry and tight.

“I promise.” Jake confirms, pressing his lips to your temple once more, then nudging your jaw back so that he can kiss your lips. Confirming his suspicions that they had been being listened to, the door opens. He takes his time in withdrawing from you, letting the security see that he had been holding you.

It’s tough. Biting your tongue as Jake’s given an already drawn up agreement and a pen, as he signs away these past few months. He leaves first, heading back to collect his things with two details tailing him. You won’t see him again before he leaves, they’ll make sure of that.

Then, your parents, Owen, the other staff — they watch intently as you’re given your own agreement and the same pen. You lean forwards and study the page, taking your time to go through every word. You’ve signed these before. Hell, some of the parties you had been to with other politicians’ kids had these to sign at the door before you were allowed entry. This is different.

You’ve never felt the urge to break every clause on the page before in the same way that you do today. Scrawling your signature on the dotted line, it feels like you’re just about signing away the right to say his name. To think of his smile.

Glancing up briefly, the ink isn’t even dry, and there’s something on your father’s face that makes your gut tense up. He changes his face immediately, gracing you with something that resembles sympathy.

It lingers on your mind, that expression, as you turn to study the relief on your mother’s face. For her, this problem is solved — you’ll stay away from Jake, you’ll be with someone that she likes instead. For your father, it’s something evidently different. Equally pleasing.

Once the ink has dried, you’re certain now more than ever. His reason for hiring Jake, one person, rather than expanding your team from the beginning — calling you to and from D.C. like a lapdog — the secrecy and arms’ length relationship. Not only did he know about the danger you were in, he knew from the beginning that these plots were more than just displeased voters.

He sits back in his seat as you squint your eyes at him from across the room. Jake’s gone, in a couple of weeks, he’ll take the hit as a mole — this will all blow over. Maybe if your father had spent a little more time playing tea parties with you instead of chess, he’d have a better insight into the way your mind really works.

The room empties slowly, people filtering out — security staff sticking to you like glue. You don’t mind their presence one bit. Shoes tapping delicately across those hardwood floors, you lean forwards and rest your palms on the desk.

Matthew raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

Lowering your voice to an almost whisper, loud enough for it to remain undoubtedly sincere, you speak finally. His own eyes, down to the very flecks of lighter colour, staring right back at him. Playing his very own game of bullshit. “I know what you did. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

…

Operation Apollo Tag List

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

[majac08]

Operation Apollo | 2.4 | Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, guns, serious injury, mentions of potential character death

…

Your brows are knitted, fists curled into the sheets. Even your rest is disturbed. This is the longest that you have managed to sleep consecutively in two days. Four hours. Jake’s blinks started feeling heavy an hour ago, and have been becoming more strenuous since then. He exhales slowly and stretches out his legs in front of him, taking the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb.

It’s colder tonight, now a week into September. You’re supposed to be back in Los Angeles, starting the first week of your grad programme. No one expects you to be there and there will be allowances made for you to catch up, but Jake wishes you were anywhere but here.

Staying in the White House seems like it’s making you worse. You’ve barely left your room and when you do, it’s just to venture down to the kitchen or the library. As much as you can, you’ve avoided going anywhere that requires Manny or Jake to be with you. It almost crosses Jake’s mind again; if it were up to him…

It wasn’t. It still isn’t. If it was, you wouldn’t be hurting like this. You wouldn’t be waking up hyperventilating every time that you do manage to get a small amount of sleep. Your dreams wouldn’t be chilling repeats of the blood seeping into that ancient flooring, the shilouette of that man in the darkness of your room or the guilt on Jake’s face in the reflection of that rear view mirror.

This afternoon. The clip you had seen, an interview on a morning talk show amongst a few women much older and far less media trained than yourself. Asking, rhetorically, if this could have been avoided, if fingers could now be pointed. Jake had swiftly turned the television off. You had swiftly pushed yourself up from the couch and marched back to your room.

Your sleep is still restless now. Tossing onto your left side and pushing the covers down a little, face scrunched in concern. Jake knew that it would be. You sat with your mother for a while this morning. The colour faded from her skin and the jagged wound, covered with a cushioned bandage that peaked out from the top of her shirt. You saw it without the coverings. Red, puffy, torn flesh that has been put back together by some of the best surgeons in the US and still looks exactly like what it is.

Breeze blowing the curtains, a darkened navy hue tints the skies this morning. Jake could tell you exactly what every sunset and sunrise has looked like since Saturday, as well as all about the blackness of the night itself. He hasn’t been sleeping much either. He hasn’t left your side much, either. Your record for consecutive hours of silence is doing better than your sleeping. You’ve barely spoken to him since you left the hospital.

Gasping like you’ve just come up for air between the break of waves, you shoot up. He glances back at you from where he had been staring out of the window. Hair tousled and messy, green eyes dark and tired, stubble covering his jaw.

Uneasily, you push the covers back and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Jake catches sight of your legs trembling as you put weight on them. It’s faint, and that stubborn heart of yours forces them straight again swiftly. You walk silently towards the bathroom.

“You alright?” Jake asks softly, right as you pass by him. The bathroom door closes behind you in response, the lock twisting. He closes his eyes, resting his hand against his chin.

Heartbeat thudding in your ears and sweat beading on the back of your neck, you claw your hair back from your skin and brace yourself beside the toilet. Nausea floods your entire being, head spinning. It was stupid of him to ask, if you look anywhere near as awful as you feel.

As per usual, nothing comes. It’s just you, staring at that stupid fucking polished porcelain until finally you give up and move across to the sink. Keeping your gaze pointed down at all costs, you run the water for a moment until it’s sufficiently freezing over your fingertips. It slows that uncomfortable slam of your heartbeat, just slightly. You lean down a little bit and guide a handful of water over your face cautiously.

The thought of Jake being on the other side of that door brings that surge of nausea forwards again. You turn and sit down against the counter, trying to buy yourself a little bit more time. The water streams on at your side, leaning your head back against the mirror. The light’s too bright and you’ve still got a headache, but it’s better in here than out there.

People keep telling you that you’re lucky to have walked away without a scratch on you. Closing your eyes, the brightness of the light still makes them ache. Luck has nothing to do with you making it out. It was just Jake. It’s not just you that was lucky either, apparently. You keep hearing it. The president was lucky. The one that really hurts is hearing that your mother was lucky.

Her colour faded and two of her ribs almost shattered by the bullet that had buried itself between them, six surgeries and a difficult recovery ahead of her. Nothing seems lucky about that.

You’re silent as you walk past Jake, slipping back into bed and pulling the covers up over your legs. He’s staring at you, blank-faced, still sitting in that arm chair.

“You should go back to your room, people will ask questions if you’re here all night.” You mumble dully, settling down and turning onto your side away from him. Jake swallows at the lump in his throat, scratching at the stubble on his jaw and then shaking his head. You close your eyes, impatient, “Please go.”

Silence follows, no sounds of him making any effort to move. You can still feel his eyes on you. Finally, a strained exhale. Briefly, you think that he’s going to give in and leave. You should know better. Jake bites the inside of his cheek and glances downwards. He shifts slightly in the seat, like he’s getting comfortable, letting you know that he’s going to stay.

His eyes are still on you when you sit up. Yours are ablaze, fist curled into the sheets. It’s the most emotion he has seen from you in days. Tears brimming, teeth gritted. He just watches you, calm. The lack of reaction is just fuel to the angry, blisteringly hot fire growing in the pit of your stomach.

Those pretty features darken across the room at him, tongue venomous as you spit, “I don’t want you anywhere near me, get out.”

Again, nothing. He just watches you, heart steady, albeit aching. Jake shakes his head slowly, “I’m not going to leave you on your own.”

You blink the tears back, anger bubbling in your core, “What? — Like you being here means anything? — I don’t fucking trust you, Jake!”

Your words are scalding, and he’s almost certain that they’ve marked him physically, but he doesn’t react. He just keeps on staring at you, folding his arms over his chest.

“Are you hearing me, you asshole? — I can’t fucking stand you.”

A muscle in Jake’s jaw ticks, but he remains steadfast. He stretches his legs out in front of him, sighing softly. “Say what you want, I’m not leaving.”

Finally, gasoline touches that bubbling fire and you snap. There’s a brief pause between the two of you, and Jake has been wounded by women before, but he knows what a kill shot looks like and you’re headed right for it.

“You never would have betrayed Dani like this.” You tone is soft and cold; political. Devastatingly poised, and for this first time, Jake sees your father in you. He has been holding onto that degree of separation, that kindness in your heart and the good that fuels your being. You’re just a product of this game that your parents are playing.

“No, I wouldn’t have.” Jake answers you eventually, his tone is quiet and slow, like this concept might be challenging for you to grasp. There’s a sadness to the cadence of his voice, but no anger. He’s always been so angry at the mention of her name. Now, he just swallows and shakes his head. “But now she’s dead.”

Silence again. You watching him, him studying your face and the wounds he has caused you. He’d take it all away if he could, but that isn’t enough. Finally, your body betrays you as fat, furious tears spill out onto your cheeks. Your chest heaves, a silent sob as you fall forwards and cover your face with your hands.

She steps forwards into the front of your mind, the beaming little girl who sat at the front of her first grade classroom and told everyone with astounding certainty that her dad was going to be President someday. She watches through your eyes, the fat tears and the gasping sobs as you press your face into the bed, confused.

Princess dresses and big, long hallways, meeting the kings and queens of every country in the world, being famous. Every sparkling, shiny idea in her little head, pouring out in damp patches onto your floral sheets. It was never supposed to be like this. This wasn’t what she had dreamed of after being tucked into bed at night. This isn’t what she was promised when she had been perched on her father’s knee, asking him why he had to work so much.

The bed dips as settles against your side and wraps his arms tight around you, enclosing you against him like you’re being tucked in. His lips press softly to your head, arms squeezing tighter around you. “I know, honey. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispers, voice cracking just slightly.

He swallows and composes himself, pressing his face into the curve of your neck. He whispers it again and again, squeezing you tighter as you soak his black t-shirt with tears, “I’m so sorry.”

“You should have told me.” It’s barely coherent with your face pressed into him, gasping between your tears and your voice strained and trembling. Jake nods against you. He guides you back by your shoulders and lifts you chin. Tenderly, he brushes away your tears with his thumbs and tilts his head to meet your gaze. Your lip trembles, feeling sick with heartache. “I told you… about how everyone lied to me— and— you still…”

You cover your face with your hands again. Childish, shrinking in on your safe. Memories of your mother’s hand squeezing around your forearm at important dinners and hissing, “Don’t you dare cry in front of these people.”

You hide yourself away from him, even as he tries to guide your hands away. There’s no way, with these fresh and bleeding wounds, that you’ll ever be able to look him in the eye and tell him how much you hate him for letting himself become one of them. Holding you at night and listening to your deepest, darkest fears, seemingly indifferent to them.

“I know. I know that now,” Jake agrees, smoothing his hand along your back. He kisses your shoulder gently, then your neck. It’s chaste, soothing, almost platonic. He murmurs your name against your skin, pleading whispers for you to just please look at him. Curling your hands into the fabric of his shirt, you press your face into his neck and whimper, the only answer that your body can give him. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I hate you.” Voice broken, fingers trembling as they clutch onto the fabric of his shirt, your tears spill out onto his skin. Jake swallows at the lump in his throat, pulling you tighter against him. “I hate what you did.”

“I’m never going to let anything happen to you again,” Jake mumbles into your hair, exhaling slowly. He squeezes you in his arms, pulling the covers over your trembling legs. “I swear.”

That fire in your middle is all white smoke and ashes by this point, but the tears are warm enough for you to still feel its presence. Jake’s words don’t make you feel any better, they don’t soothe the ache in your chest, but they do make you go quiet. Quiet, warm, and in a dark enough room that sleep comes fairly naturally. Tucked against his chest, tear-stained cheeks and jagged breaths that shallow out into gentle exhales.

The steady thrum of your heartbeat against his chest finally makes Jake stop fighting, his tense muscles aching even more as he lets go for the first time in about a week, letting himself relax around you.

It lasts a while, your head on his chest and him on his back, maybe three hours. Jake doesn’t move when you startle awake, the days of just napping rather than sleeping finally catching up to him. Heartbeat thudding and stomach churning, you try to sit, knocked back by his arms tight around you. Your cheek brushes against the cotton of his t-shirt as you settle back against him.

Judging solely by the purple hue of the morning sky, it’s a little after five. You brush an open palm against his abdomen and allow yourself, just briefly, to be held. You’ve been trying to make sense of it. How you could have let yourself fall for it, and open up to him as much as you had. How you could have possibly trusted him.

But now, you’re back in it. These quiet mornings in his arms, feeling how tight he holds you, how well he sleeps with you in his bed. Even if the rest of it was, there’s quite simply no way that this could not be genuine. So, it leaves you with the same question that you’ve been asking all week. Why?

Lifting your head just slightly, you study his sleeping face. Still tired now, face perpetually furrowed into a soft frown, always serious. He shifts a little and presses his cheek to the top of your head, obstructing your view. Jake usually wakes up earlier than you do. You haven’t had too many opportunities to just sit and observe him like this, to think to yourself.

Your mind races. Lilac clouds pass over the brightening morning sky, breeze coming in through that open window, Jake’s familiar smell warming your senses. It just doesn’t add up.

Jake’s a pretty light sleeper. It takes some maneuvering, lacing your fingers through his and moving slowly like you would if you were still sleeping. Eventually, you’re on your feet and walking down the hall in your pyjamas while he’s still safely in your bed. Old but abnormally clean carpet under your bare feet, never empty halls, none of it matters and your course remains unwavering.

“Morning, sweetheart, your dad’s just in a—“

You step around his assistant’s desk and swiftly side step the dumb looking security guard that’s perched on that desk and flirting with her.

“Oh, no, you can’t—“ She continues to try behind you as your fingers curl around the door handle. Every idiot in a suit and earpiece in that room all look at each other in unison, unsure on if it’s still protocol to stop you after what you’ve been through. They’re too slow on deciding.

You swing open the door and close it again behind you. Matthew turns, brows furrowed and ready to yell, phone pressed to his ear. He calms, fingers curling tighter around the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

He sets the phone down and smiles at you. There’s a look in your eye that he hasn’t ever seen before. Your relationship with him is usually so professional, you’re always so poised — he hasn’t seen you in your pyjamas since you were a kid. For you to have stormed down here like this, he knows that he’s in trouble, and he knows it’s something to do with your cocky little boyfriend.

“What’s up, princess?” He smiles at you.

Wolffish, face cold, you stalk towards him. It’s strange. The little girl he raised, walking towards him in her pyjamas, and yet — Matthew’s gut tells him that there’s something to be afraid of in this woman before him.

“Did you know?”

The thing about this little game, is that he might be surprised by the make, but he’s good enough at it to remain one step ahead. He has tricked people far more cunning than his little girl. “About you and the bodyguard, you mean?”

It catches you off guard, just briefly, he sees it flash across your face. He sits back calmly in that expensive chair behind that famous desk, raising his eyebrows with an inch of expectation. Truthfully, he’d hoped that you took after him a little more than that. But, maybe you’re more like your mother: soft, naive.

“About the attack.”

“Did your boyfriend give you that impression?” His lips quirk just softly, eyebrows still raised. There it is again, that flash of realization and Matthew knows that you know what he did. Maybe you are a little bit like him after all. Your stomach flips, stepping closer to the desk, eyes blown wide — almost fearful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You whisper to him, instinctually moving to protect Jake.

Matthew’s smile grows, he scoffs at you and shakes his head. You watch him pull open the top drawer of his desk and retrieve a simple brown envelope from the carefully carved mahogany. He pulls the photos from the inside, then sets it down gently on the top of the desk and turns it towards you.

You avoid the photos, your eyes on him.

“I had nothing to do with what happened that night,” Matthew answers you calmly, “But I think you and I should have a little talk about the kinds of things that this guy has been telling you, princess.”

…

Tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

[majac08]

Last Man Standing Great Balls of Fire

Bradley Bradshaw x OC!Mitchell (Commander Hailey Mitchell)

"I tell my kids about him, about my great love story, and I'll be damned if one of us dies before I do what I promised Ice I would"

TW Deals with themes of war, death, grief, alcoholism, suicide, depression 18+

Top Gun was always made out to be a once in a lifetime opportunity, like there was nothing that could possibly beat it, or that it would never come around again. But life is a bitch and will throw everything it has at you, be prepared for the unexpected because it will happen and you will find a way through it.

Yet here Haillie Mitchell stood, returning to Top Gun 10 years after graduating, she had never expected to be back. She never expected to be back here obviously, but also she ever expected to be back in a position to fly. Iceman had ordered her out of the sky just under 2 and a half years before after he came out to visit her in the aftermath of the final missions destroying the enemy fleet that had destroyed the naval base at Pearl Harbor, killing 2207, and he saw a traumatised, grieving, practically suicidal girl. Not woman, not pilot. Girl. He had ordered her to be grounded until he deemed her fit to fly, so for two and a half years she had been in radio control. Until now.

"Everyone here is the best of the best, so who the hell are they going to have teach us?" Natasha questioned, looking around at the group of aviators currently sat beside her.

"I think the better question is which one of us here is the best pilot, Phoenix." Jake chuckled lowly, presuming that most would agree it was him.

"Hails?" Bob practically yelled across the Hard Deck. They turned to look where Bob was gesturing, seeing a woman with a bag slung over her shoulder. Seconds after they all had started staring, she turned to notice them.

"Oh thank fucking god you two are here." Bob smiled at the comment, but Phoenix was still confused and slightly unimpressed.

"Why the hell are you here?" She asked, arms folded over her chest.

"I'm just finally paying off my debt to Penny, the 10 year deadline has finally rolled around." The other woman replied, coming closer to the group, but Phoenix still kept her arms crossed over her chest, refusing to move further forwards. Bob, however did, he took a few steps towards her before giving her a hug. Phoenix just scoffed.

"Now you're looking at the owner of the best bar in the Pacific region." Bob proudly told Hangman, Hailey ducked her head. She hated it when Bob insisted on praising the bar in other bars, it didn't feel right.

"So you know Commander Mitchell then?" Jake questioned, she nodded. "Well I heard she was a dick." Bob nearly spat out his drink.

"Yeah, something like that." She mumbled, not particularly wanting any of them to know the truth. Luckily, their attention was soon brought to the final aviator arriving.

"Bradshaw! As I live and breathe," Hangman smirked as the Lieutenant with the Hawaiian shirt made his way to the group. Hailey immediately turned away from him, not wanting a scene and not wanting any of these complete strangers to know anything else about her.

"Hangman, you look good." He replied, removing his aviators.

"I am good Rooster, in fact I am too good to be true." Jake told him, not even looking at the pool table as he pocketed one of the balls. Natasha walked around the table and as she was about to hit Rooster in the stomach with the cue, he moved. To get a better look. A better look at her.

"Hailey?" He asked, convinced his eyes were deceiving him. She turned to look at him properly.

"Hey Brad." She replied calmly. He raised an eyebrow, she hardly ever called him Brad.

"How do you-"

"Our old men flew together, we grew up right next door to each other." He interrupted Fanboy, she was surprised to say the least. Hailey was almost certain he'd yell at her, it's all they seem to do when they were together anyways.

There was a short silence, before the game continued and so did conversation. "Tell me that wasn't the guy who broke you in the academy." Bob pleaded, he'd heard the story from Mac and Derek and quite frankly did not want to have to try and like someone he'd have to trust with his life.

"Okay... I won't tell you that." She smirked back, taking some of the nuts he'd been chewing and crunching them in her mouth. "I'm going to head to the ladies room, I'll be right back." She told him as she weaved her way through the crowd, passing Penny Benjamin.

"If it isn't my best customer, from what 10 years ago now Mitch?" The older woman smiled.

"Nice one, I've come to repay my debts." She told her, pulling out three shot glasses, "There, my final repayment all done."

"Try four sweetheart." She laughed, moving to give the younger woman a hug, which was reciprocated. "I'm so sorry to hear about Derek." Penny told her, concern lacing her voice.

"Yeah me too." Hailey replied, "I've got to go Pen, but I'll see you around."

"You know it sweetheart."

Hailey existed the rest room, the faint sound of piano keys filled her ears as she stood paralysed at the sight in front of her. Bradley. Playing the piano. Again. As the familiar notes began, she felt her stomach churn.

"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain Too much love drives a man insane You broke my will, but what a thrill Goodness gracious great balls of fire I laughed at love when I thought it was funny But you came along and you moved me honey I've changed my mind, this love is fine Goodness gracious great balls of fire Kiss me baby, woo, it feels good Hold me baby, ooh, yeah, you gonna love me like a lover should You're fine, so kind, I'm gonna tell this world that you're mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! I chew my nails, I twiddle my thumbs I'm really nervous but it sure is fun Come on baby, you drive me crazy Goodness gracious great balls of fire Ohhh, kiss me baby, woo-oooooo, feels good, yeah Let me love you like a lover should. You're fine. So kind. I gonna tell this world that you're mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs I'm real nervous but it sure is fun Come on baby, you drive me crazy Goodness gracious great balls of fire"

The whole bar had sung with him and was now chanting "ROOSTER ROOSTER" repetitively. There was a time when Hailey Mitchell would have gone and gotten so drunk she couldn't walk, but that was 10 years ago, now she was a grown woman who didn't need to get wasted to feel better about her ex boyfriend who totally wasn't most definitely the love you her life. Quickly hurrying past everyone she ran into Bob. "Are you okay?"

"Great balls of fire." She mumbled very distracted, "I can't do this. I'm going back to base, I'll see you tomorrow." She told him and he brought her in for a hug goodbye, kissing the side of her temple affectionately.

"Love you Hailey Mitchell." He smiled.

"Love you too Robert Floyd." She smiled back, before swinging her bag up and over her shoulder and leaving the bar. Something that wasn't missed by one Bradley Bradshaw and he'd be lying if he said his blood didn't boil at the sight of the only person he knew for absolute certain he loved being so cosy with somebody else.

[majac08]

Operation Apollo | 2.2 | Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, guns, serious injury, mentions of potential character death

…

You study the reflection in the mirror intently, standing with your arms at your sides. Wearing nothing but a pair of black underwear, situated snugly on your hips. You turn, tilt your head, look back and turn again. Not too sure of what you’re looking for. Just looking at anything other than him.

Jake’s leaned back on his palms at the foot of the bed behind you, also studying your reflection. “That was a big sigh.” He notes, tilting his head to get a look at your face. He’s already dressed, clean-shaven and his hair smoothed down with a matte-dry wax. Beyond handsome.

You lift your gaze to meet his through the mirror, saying nothing. Jake says nothing either. The weight bears heavily on you, and it’s difficult when he is so kind to you. Knowing that you’ve already ruined everything and that he’s going to be furious when he finds out.

Jake sits forwards and swats his palm against your ass, enjoying the sound of his palm against your skin and sitting back again with an expertly put on smile, “Tell me all about it, honey.”

You turn towards him slowly, standing just in your underwear. Your hair and makeup is done, the last thing you need to do is just get dressed. Parading Jake out there in front of all of those people, knowing that it’s only so long until they’re all privy to your little secret. It doesn’t feel right. You want to hold onto this for a little longer.

Jake holds an open palm out towards you and spreads his knees, black slacks covering his toned thighs. So overdressed in comparison to you. You slip your hand into his and let him lead you forwards. Jake rests his hands coolly against your bare waist, pressing his lips tenderly to your stomach. He pulls back to look up at you expectantly.

You swallow softly, resting your hands against his shoulders, feeling the expensive material of the black suit jacket under your touch.

“Thought you said you could tell me anything.” It feels wrong as it falls from his lips. Jake’s face doesn’t give anything away, eyes a calm and stoic sage colour as always. You did say that. Murmured it into his skin one night. I feel like I could tell you anything. You’d never felt that before and you both knew that without it needing to be said. Jake swallows softly.

You fidget, shifting on your feet, never breaking his gaze. Jake squeezes softly, silently reminding you to keep still. You do. Your fingertips skim the black fabric, creeping onto the neatly pressed white of his collar, past that onto the tanned skin of his neck and across his bare jaw.

“Think I like it better when you don’t shave.” You say quietly, watching your fingertips trace along the smooth skin. With two of the windows open, there’s that end of summer chill starting to creep in amongst the early September warmth. It makes you press yourself instinctively closer to him. His arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you down to sit against his thigh.

“Think I like it best when you talk to me,” He smooths his palm along your bare thigh and squeezes playfully at the point of your knee, feeling you flinch under the touch. “Come on, sweet girl, tell me what’s the matter.”

Your make-up is done, your hair is done, you need to be outside and in front of a lens in ten minutes so you can’t afford to fuck up either. But here’s Jake, sitting in front of you and trying to look you in the eye, offering to make everything okay when it never will be again — because of you.

“Please don’t be upset with me,” You tell him quietly, voice catching in your throat as you fiddle with the ring on your index finger. Jake watches you spin the delicate gold band, tapping your feet, shifting around too much. Like it would cause you physical pain to sit still right now. Like the guilt is just eating away at you.

He doesn’t know what you did, or does he particularly care, knowing that it’ll pale in comparison to what he is keeping from you — and that it couldn’t possibly change the way that he feels anyway.

He presses his lips gently to your exposed shoulder and waits for you to go on.

“I told Blake everything.” You breathe out, closing your eyes. Jake has to think for a second about who Blake even is — the redhead by the pool, the girl with the big house near yours. The girl with a huge following and a big mouth.

Jake’s chest squeezes.

“It was stupid, I’m so sorry — it’s just, it was when you weren’t talking to me, and I felt really alone — and—“

He presses his lips to your jaw and smooths his hand along the length of your spine. Closing his eyes for a moment, he inhales softly and there is nothing more than this. Sitting here with you, wrapped around your little finger, taking in the last days of summer. Pushing the realisation that this is the end to the back of his mind.

That the second this breaks, it’ll become someone’s entire job to make sure that he doesn’t see you again.

“It’s alright,” Jake murmurs, turning his face into the curve of your neck. He kisses your skin, squeezes his arms tighter around your middle. When he pulls back, his eyes are so calm that you almost fall for it. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Something in your demeanour changes. Jake has spent long enough studying your face and your body to notice the exact shift — it has taken you much longer to see through him. You stare at his face, your expression just as calm as his as you look him over. He smooths his hand along your waist.

It’s all so disarming. It makes you want to trust him. There’s just something there, a look in his eye that’s almost regret. Not guilt, just regret. The knowledge that there is nothing that he can do tonight but stick to the plan weighs heavily on his shoulders. You don’t know how you’ve not noticed it until now.

An entire lifetime of being surrounded by wormy politicians with nothing to give them away but a look in their eye, you pick up on these things with ease usually.

Maybe Jake is just better at this game than you are.

“Come on,” His hands squeeze around your hips and guide you up again. “You should get dressed.”

You’re silent, watching him through the mirror as he helps you with your dress, smoothing out the shoulders and making sure that the bottom of the backless window sits right. Satin and black, weightless on your shoulders, falling effortlessly over your skin. Jake smooths his fingertips along the exposed length of your spine. Your eyes on him through the reflection. Chilled from the cooling evening air, you hold back a shiver.

He presses his chest into your back, squinting his eyes just slightly like he’s daring you to say something. You lean back into him, the firmness of his chest solid behind you.

“Kind of risqué for a campaign event, isn’t it?” Jake asks, smoothing his fingers along the satin. He resists the urge to bunch it in his hands and instead kisses your shoulder.

“You don’t like it?” You reply with a question, exactly like you were taught to do when you know that someone is being dishonest with you. Jake doesn’t notice your tactical approach to the conversation. He smiles.

“I like it,” He confirms, letting his green eyes trail your body through the mirror. The conversation from earlier is over. This one is lighter, it’s disarming. It almost makes you forget the extra dust swept under the faded pink rug in the middle of this room. Not the first thing to be swept away inside of these four walls. “I’m not sure that your dad will be as much of a fan.”

You shrug your shoulders and turn to face him, tilting your chin upwards and squaring your shoulders calmly. Your lips tug at the corners, hinting at a smile. The conversation from earlier is over, Jake wants it to be. He wants you to smile.

“I didn’t know you cared so much about what my dad thought,” You tease, “Didn’t seem like you cared that much back in Texas.”

“You keep talking, little lady, and I’ll take you back there and keep you all for myself.” Jake mumbles playfully, squeezing at your sides and making you jump. It’s not really as playful as he makes it sound. If he had his way, you’d be there right now, watching shit television with his sisters — safe.

It’s an especially cruel kind of torment. The light brigade, orders called, marching into a massacre; quite simply nothing to be done about it. His smile is gone completely by the time that you’re walking towards the events hall. You’ve met up with your mother, you’re two paces behind Jake and three paces ahead of Manny. Your mother’s security allows her more room to breathe. They know that she’s walking out of tonight’s event safely.

Your smile is breathtaking, it’s landed you on plenty of magazine covers and it’s etched into the back of Jake’s eyelids; the image that his brain sends forwards when he’s trapped in an awful nightmare.

He glances back and catches sight of it, but the nightmare continues nonetheless. Each gentle graze of your heel on the carpet, each portrait in these hallowed halls watch you go like they have all gathered specially, to wish you goodbye. Jake watches, the sound echoing as you tip your head back in contented laughter. It’s rare that your mother can delight you like this, make you laugh so contentedly.

Turning back, Jake looks ahead of him. The thought that crosses his mind makes him sick to his stomach. He has to inhale for seven counts and open his mouth to exhale for ten. Still, the question remains. He wonders if Dani was as happy as you that morning.

He curses himself for not knowing. For staying in bed. For being an asshole that summer and not getting picked for that mission. He hopes that she never knew. He hopes that you will.

His lungs ache as he holds back the weight of wanting to yell at you to stop walking, to turn back and let him take you somewhere else. You’re late. Too long spent in the mirror, too long waiting for your mother. A mixture of the two. There’s already chatter in his earpiece, nothing important, just positions and small updates. That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He wants to know everything.

Jake can barely breathe. The weight of his top button presses into his throat like it’s enough to cut off his air supply all by itself. Charming decorations, warm lighting and pleasant music, polite guests — it’s too fucking much. He almost reaches back for you. He almost digs his hands deep into his pockets.

Your father is already here, chatting busily, grinning at some comment from some Chanselor. Eyes crinkled at the sides, hand curled around an embellished low-ball glass holding a double measure of scotch. That’s not protocol. He’s not supposed to be here first.

Jake stops walking abruptly. It’s like it all stops. The music, the conversations, like even the lights over his head cut out and he’s left in the pitch black with only this image in front of him. Your father, here before anyone else, schmoozing some low-level assholes that don’t mean a damn thing.

There’s a plan for this evening. Carefully executed, well thought-out, complex. Jake knows it intricately. He knows that your father does too. Now, and eight-twelve, your father is supposed to be in his office with this year’s two candidates. He’s not supposed to be here.

The plan is exact — he was told to follow it exactly. No margin for error. Walt Cormac had said it himself — the White House Head of Security had said those exact words: there was no margin for error. The plan needed to be executed perfectly for you to be safe.

Sure, you’re late, but that doesn’t matter. The President never arrives first. The place is already packed, his entrance has been made. You’re just slipping in the side entrance, barely even noticed. It feels wrong.

Your father swears on lots of things. Jake had seen it before, on the news and such. He had been foolish enough to believe that your father was doing everything in his power to keep you safe, when he had sworn that that was the case.

If it was the case, he would be in his damn office right now.

Head turned, talking to your mother, you stop millimeters from bumping into Jake and freeze. You shoot a quick glance towards Manny. He looks pointedly at Jake. They both know something that you don’t.

Brows knitting together, you lift your head and scan the room. It doesn’t look any different to any other event, but something isn’t right. Instinct almost drives you forwards. It would be so easy — all it would take would be one small step, to move forwards and press yourself into his back.

Crawling into his bed every night, letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep. All of the states, all of the houses, nothing has ever held you and told you that you’re safe and at home in the way that Jake’s body has.

If he doesn’t continue forwards, you don’t.

Jake turns quickly. Enough to almost make you jump. He rounds and stands over you, all too close, deadly serious. All eyes on him. Manny, your mother, all of her security. Yours, blown wide and afraid. That small look in his eye — you should have asked more, should have pressed him. He would have caved.

It’s no longer small. It has taken over his face and spreads through his chest like wildfire.

Your mother has absolutely no idea how to read him. He looks calm enough. Features sharp and angular but not creased or flared, eyes calm pools of a soothing green.

He stands before you, angered and afraid all at once, looking you dead in the eye. If Jake is afraid, you should be afraid too.

“Agent Seresin, I strongly suggest that you turn around and keep walking.” The voice rings clearly through his earpiece, belonging to Walt. Manny glances across at Jake.

It doesn’t even cross his mind to comply. In fact, his mind is already busied, full in fact. Trying to remember which cars are in the garage and what Allen’s address upstate was, and how the fuck he is going to get you out of here without someone getting in his way.

“Eyes on Target D. West hallway, first floor, advancing to Events Hall entrance three.” Someone else. Just some agent that Jake doesn’t recognise. One of the guys on the watchlist. Here, on this floor, heading for this room.

Manny makes the decision. Ignoring Jake, he continues into the room — he doesn’t have the luxury of being okay with getting fired. Jake’s fingers graze your wrist briefly as you follow your mother around him.

“Stay with Manny, okay? Real close.” He barely breathes it, eyes steady on yours, trusting that you’ll listen. “I need to —“

“Eyes on Target E, South Hallway, first floor, advancing towards Events Hall entrance one.” That makes five. Jake’s got the mission briefing in the room. There are four printed headshots in there, pictures of the guys identified. Target A, through D. E was never mentioned.

“Yeah, A’s in the south corner of the room. He’s got eyes on Apollo now — waiting for the others to take position.”

You’re continuing with your mother, her manicured nails curled into your arm. Jake feels like the room is spinning; he barely remembers where South is.

He turns, heart in his mouth, and meets a pair of almost black eyes. The face is etched into his brain, he has spent the past week studying all four of them.

Feeling you pass behind him, Jake’s eyes remain on the man with his back to the wall. This is completely against protocol, breaking every rule in the book, looking him straight in the eye and letting him know that he’s caught.

Something doesn’t feel right. Jake studies the man ahead of him. Sunken eyes, skin a sickly grey and tinged with sweat. Shoulders narrow and hunched forwards. Just enough that Jake can see the brown leather peeking out from under his suit jacket.

“Manny.” Urgency in his voice, Jake reaches behind him for you. His gaze flickers to the other entrances in the room. People still wandering in and out — a steady flow by each door. He can’t see the others yet. Jake doesn’t even know what the fifth one looks like.

He looks quickly back to Target A, the man now watching him. The target knows that he is caught. His position exposed, likely his plan too. The brown leather holster just visible from under his suit jacket peeks out just a bit more as he leans forwards to set his glass down.

“Manny, stop.”

Manny doesn’t stop. He does his best to ignore Jake, thinking of his career and the orders he has been given. Orders that have kept every single hair on your head safe this whole time. You stop.

You turn and look back at Jake. He isn’t looking at you. His gaze is straight ahead, the colour flushed from his face. This time, the music does stop. It seems like the conversation goes with it. A pause between songs and all that you’re left with is your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“Eyes on B. Can we get some interference between him and Axel?” Too calm for someone with eyes on a target, and a target that’s got the President in a human checkmate already.

They don’t think that anyone’s going to make a move. Jake might have thought the same. Playing it by the book, knowing that he was the best and that he could handle whatever his job threw his way — it didn’t work last time. His first love is in a grave in Southern California because of it.

“Agent. Turn around, follow the plan. That is an order.”

The words ring in Jake’s head long after he has decided not to obey them. He stares at Target A. Grey skin, shaking hands, holster. He watches those trembling grey hands lift and tuck into the side of his blazer.

Your eyes widen as Jake pulls his gun without hesitation. Swift, it’s retrieved from his holster, safety off and it’s aimed — but it’s not the one that the first shot comes from.

It’s in your peripheral before it’s in your ears. Not the bullet, just the catastrophe that follows. It tears through flesh and sinew at your side, splintering. There’s no exit, but the entry wound is enough.

Ears ringing from the blast, pupils blown wide, your head turns. Blood pours from the agent’s torn open next, spilling down the collar of his white shirt, getting lost in the black of his suit jacket.

The pause in the song, the gap in the conversations, the quietness in the room and then that huge, roaring bang. It’s all gone, all together; you’re left with four senses, stumbling back as he sinks to his knees. Brown hair and pale skin, in his late twenties, spilling blood onto hardwood that precedes even his grandfather.

You’re certain that he’s dead before his front hits the floor. Bloods soaks the ground, his head turned unnaturally. It gushes from his neck and spills from his mouth, his blue eyes wide open and staring ahead of him. Freckles on his nose and plans for tomorrow — you don’t know his name.

He worked with your mother. Maybe he held a door open for you once or twice. Maybe he’s got someone waiting for him to come home tonight.

Another sense fails you; you don’t even notice that you’re crying until fat tears are welling in your eyes and blurring your vision. Faintly, you’re aware that you’re gasping. Fighting them back, fighting to keep your wits about you.

Fingers curl around your forearm. You’re already feeling so heavy, anchored to the ground, limp like the body in front of you. It tugs you back and you barely move, feet cemented to the ground, lungs empty and screaming for reprieve.

Distantly, you hear the word Apollo. No one’s talking to you, not addressing you specifically. Even dazed, sickened and sinking to the ground, you know that. You’re tugged back again. Instinct keeps you on your feet, never once faltering even in your unsteady heels.

“Move.” It sounds far away, almost unrecognizable. Your name follows it with urgency. Your first name. Barely aware, the sound of a second shot — which you will later learn was, in fact, the third — is much quieter than the first. It’s not half as startling when you watch it tear clean through the shoulder of a Governor’s wife.

They’re from a small state. Something landlocked. Her daughter gave you a bracelet on a visit once. Maybe Kansas.

You’ve got a clean view of the bullet’s exit, the searing hot and jagged hole that it leaves in her warm, brown skin. Fingers curl tight into your skin, searing and hot, burning. Your brows knit together, watching her head fall back. She screams faintly. She’s close, close enough that there’s blood on your arm from the wound. Like you’re close enough to feel it.

“Look at me!” Two hands curl around your biceps, tearing you from your daydream and shaking you abruptly awake. You blink hard, turning your head, feeling sick rising in your throat. Jake’s eyes are steady, green. Right in front of you. “You gotta move.”

There’s no cognitive agreement, no decision to do what he says. Your body complies mindlessly finally. The room’s spinning, it feels like your head is spinning the opposite way. You can hear it all, but you aren’t listening to a single thing. Even as you move, you can’t really see where you’re going.

All that you can see are those wide open, blue eyes. Blood pooling on the floor, soaking into the wood. That old room, flooding with it as you leave it behind.

You aren’t even sure that your eyelids are open. Eyes heavy, stomach flipping, your legs numb. You blink hard a few times, long enough to pinpoint where Jake’s hands are. He has one arm around your waist, keeping you up, his gun’s in his other hand.

Jake’s head pounds as voices bark over each other in his ear. Your feet stumble every second step and your eyes haven’t focused on anything in five minutes. You’re not gasping anymore, barely breathing, silent tears streaming down your face. Your arms are cold.

It was never a kidnap ploy, it was an assassination attempt. Jake feels you tug at his sleeve unintentionally as you stumble again. He growls in frustration, turning and tugging you into him, adrenaline fuelling his anger through his veins as he tears you off of the ground and into his chest.

Manny struggles to keep up, clutching onto his arm, gritting his teeth. Blood spills from the wound in his bicep through the tear in his jacket. Targets A and C confirmed dead. An unknown amount of casualties. The door to the parking garage slams into the wall as Jake kicks it open, struggling to keep you against him.

Shocked and numb, the sound echoing off of the concrete walls, the next announcement rings devastatingly clearly through their earpieces. Jake sets you on your feet again and grabs your bicep, dragging you along without slowing.

“Does anyone have eyes on the First Lady? — Any eyes on Alder?”

You falter, heels scuffing along the concrete as you tug hard against Jake’s grip long enough for him to stop. Wide open blue eyes, ripped open skin, blood on your hands. You double over, feeling it burning through your stomach and throat.

“She was headed downstairs. Are there any units on the ground floor? - Basement? I want a visual on her, now!”

Jake glances back at Manny. Manny swallows softly.

“We have to…” Manny decides, already starting to shake his head. Retching again, nothing left in your stomach, you stumble and almost fall. Jake grabs harshly at your bicep and tugs you upright.

“I don’t have to do anything other than get her the fuck out of here.” Jake bites back. You stumble into his chest, head spinning, ears still ringing. Steadied and finally stationary after being dragged the length of three hallways and down two flights of steep stairs, you blink hard enough to focus.

There’s blood on Jake’s collar and his neck. Immediately, your fingers curl into his jacket. That torn open wound, gushing blood and those limp, lifeless hands outstretched in front of him. It’s not Jake’s blood, there’s not enough of it for that.

“Leaving her mother—“ Manny tries, shaking his head. He’s in no condition to be saving the First Lady by himself. He can’t even feel his fingers anymore. Or the pain. Just a pulse in his bicep, blood gushing from the open wound.

She wouldn’t have chosen to stay for you. Jake would. Jake has chosen you every single day since he first met you, even on the days that you had him tearing his hair out and cursing his choices. He has always chosen you. If he could say the same for either of your parents, maybe he would have stayed.

“Come with us or don’t. I’m done.” Jake’s touch softens as his fingers smooth over the goosebumps on your arms. Maybe just a physiological reaction, maybe because you’re just cold. He presses a hand to the middle of your back and holds you against him.

In that moment, dripping blood onto the concrete floor of a basement level parking garage, Manny knows. He might have known before. He might have turned a blind eye to those lingering looks and whispers from behind Jake’s locked bedroom door. Plausible deniability or whatever you could call it.

Jake turns without waiting for Manny to make his decision. Personnel access only, the cars down here belong to the government and have the keys in at all times for situations like these.

Manny grabs the door and slides into the backseat beside you while Jake crosses around to the front. Jake shrugs off his jacket, balancing the wheel with his knee, tossing the expensive cloth into the backseat.

“Give her this, try and get her talking — do you know Allen’s address?”

Heels discarded into the footwell, knees tucked up to your chest and Jake’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders. Every time that you close your eyes, you get that first image in your peripheral. The first splatter of deep red when the impact was made. The scream of the Governor’s wife from Kansas. Your empty stomach flips at the thought.

Manny’s murming at your side. Asking questions, trying to prompt answers. You blink numbly with the pass of each streetlight as Jake leaves D.C. behind. Their earpieces tell them everything; you’re in the dark once again. Lights whizzing by beside you through the blacked out windows of the SUV. The cool chill of summer saying its goodbyes, even through the barely open windows.

Truthfully, it doesn’t even cross your mind to worry for your parents. They’re parents, they’re always fine. You keep your eyes open for long enough at a time that they ache and start to stream again, mascara coating your cheeks. It’s better than them being closed.

Turning slowly, you meet Jake’s gaze briefly in the rear-view mirror. There it is again. That glimpse of something that you didn’t quite understand, something that he hadn’t shared with you again. Your stomach flips and drops, heart leaping up into your throat.

Jake looks quickly back towards the road. Soaked cheeks, disheveled hair and a broken look on your pretty face. He is guilty. It eats away at him each time he looks at you. Guilty in plenty of ways. But, not guilty for leaving when he did and getting you out of there.

You stare at his avoidant gaze, sitting up slowly, shakily. He watches the street signs pass him by. Not that far left to go. He won’t check the mirror.

“You knew.”

Your voice trembles, achingly quiet. Jake’s fingers flex around the steering wheel, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Finally, he lifts his gaze. As calm as ever, he looks you in the eye and doesn’t answer.

…

Tags:

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

[majac08]

I Can't Do This Again Part 3

Top Gun:Maverick x Grey's Anatomy Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x OC!Grey

Summary: Victoria Grey is Lexie Grey's younger sister, she is a naval aviator, who was part of the Dagger Team who took out the uranium plant. After the mission, they were ordered to stay in North Island to continue to train to be the best squadron the US Navy had. After hearing a conversation she wasn't supposed, Rhea begins to question her place in the team, and a tragedy in her personal life makes her question her place in not only the navy, but family too.

A/N: this is as if Grey's is set in San Diego and I don't follow the years that Grey's take place in. Also talks about major character deaths in Grey's. Spoilers for Top Gun Maverick and Grey's Anatomy. Keep reading

"So what do I owe the pleasure of having you all in my kitchen?" Rhea scoffed, as she took the pills she'd be taking for the past few months. "We wanted to get to know you, considering the fact we've all been very uninformed about you." Phoenix started, testing the waters for all of them, she scoffed yet again. "What the fuck would you like to know?" Gesturing for them to all sit at the table with her. The whole team awkwardly shuffled down to sit down, "How about your family, it's so big." Fanboy suggested. Silence overtook them, while she started, “It’s Meredith’s family. I’m only related to her and the kids. My family is not that big I mean-”

“RHEA WE NEED TO TALK!” Jackson’s voice rang out before he arrived in the kitchen, “I don’t care if I’m interrupting some team building thing this is too important.” She just rolled her eyes, rounding the counter and gesturing for him to continue. “The foundation wants a change of policy and the rest of the board is refusing to meet without Mer all I need is one person to agree then we can make it happen.” He said in a rush. Rhea was stunned.

“You mean to tell me that you walk into my home unannounced, scream bloody murder while my nieces and nephew are sleeping upstairs and then demand for me to side with you on a policy for the hospital because you won’t wait for Mer to be released. That’s bull crap Avery and you know it. I mean the foundation helped us out but I don’t think that you should be able to be a monopoly in dictating policy.” Rhea reasoned back, while the rest of her coworkers looked on stunned at how calm she seemed. “Yeah well if you didn’t want the foundation to dictate policy you shouldn’t have all sued the hospital, it’s not like anyone asked you to.” Jackson Avery regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. “Get the fuck out Jackson.” He tried to explain before she held up her hand. “I know damn well you didn’t just say that. My sister died out there in the woods. Your ex girlfriend. Remember her? Remember Lexie? There was nothing left of her body to identify her by because she was eaten by wolves Jackson. She died and then was eaten by wolves. My big sister is dead because of decisions that hospital made. So I know damn well you didn’t just say that to me. Get the fuck out now.” He turned around walking out in defeat. Rhea inhaled deeply before turning to the others left, “I suggest you all leave too. I wouldn’t want to waste your time. Thank you for dinner I’ll see you at the briefing next week.”

"Hey, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for not standing up for you to all of them, it was wrong." Rooster spoke up from behind her. So close to closing the door too. Damn. "It's fine don't worry about it." She said, trying to dismiss him, "It's not like you don't think I'm annoying." He shook his head, "That's not true Rhea, I like you, I like you too much for my own good." He laughed, hands coming to her waist, in an attempt to pull her closer, "Stop it." He took a step back, "I don't want your pity Bradley, so just get out of my house." He went to speak but she just slammed the door in his face. Bradley knew he’d fucked up. That they all had, he just hoped that it still wasn’t too late.

[majac08]

Masterlist 18+

Bradley Bradshaw

Can’t do this again Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Victoria Grey) greys anatomy x top gun

Habits

Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Daphne Mitchell) criminal minds x top gun

Last Man Standing

Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Hailey Mitchell)

Meant to Be

Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Elizabeth Kazanky) greys anatomy x top gun

Out of the Woods

Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Jane Mitchell) ncis Hawaii’ x top gun

[majac08]

Last Man Standing Masterlist

"I tell my kids about him, about my great love story, and I'll be damned if one of us dies before I do what I promised Ice I would"

TW Deals with themes of war, death, grief, alcoholism, suicide, depression 18+

Bradley Bradshaw x OC (Hailey Mitchell)

Great Balls of Fire

A Hard Day's Night

You're On Your Own Kid

I Will Follow You Into the Dark

Wish You Were Here

Mockingbird

I Ain't Worried

Put Me in Coach

Some Kind of Miracle

The Bed's Too Big Without You

Support System

17 Seconds

Things We Lost In The Fire

Now Or Never

Didn't We Almost Have It All

The Night We Met

Everybody Wants To Rule The World

Snow on the Beach

A Glimpse of Us

Brave New World

One Flight Down

Flight

Mama Tried

To Build a Home

Family Affair

Danger Zone

Not Good At Saying Sorry

Tainted Obligation

Til Forever Falls Apart

The Great War

Anti- Hero

Sorry Doesn't Make It Right

Get Up, Stand Up

Time After Time

Don't Stop Me Now

You're My Home

Lover

Everything Works Out In The End

[majac08]

Ngl lost all motivation but here comes a shitty part 3 to Can’t Do This Again. So sorry for the wait babes

[majac08]

Blow by Blow | 1.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni, insinuated grooming but nothing graphic (skip the italics to avoid), the return of an abusive ex, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected pinv

…

Nothing about Tony DeLuca running into Bradley was accidental. Nothing about Bradley winning his first six months of fights was by chance.

Word spread quickly that Maverick was refusing to train, afraid that he would put the poor kid in an early grave like he had to his old man. Poor Bradley didn’t have a clue. As far as he knew, his trusty old uncle just didn’t have the time of day for him anymore.

The kid lived and breathed boxing — and he was good at it too. He didn’t need a backup plan. He was easy to get on board. The promise of quick cash and glory had him hooked on the very first day.

Now, six months in, he really considers the people at Darkstar to be his friends. They’re kind to him because Tony tells them to be.

“This place gives me the fucking creeps.” Natasha mumbles quietly as she pencils in the answers to her geometry homework. Bradley doesn’t answer but that isn’t unusual these days. He’s either on top of the world or he’s furious. It’s hard to keep up with which is which. “Don’t you get weirded out about the people staring at us?”

People stare at Bradshaw’s too, but not the same as it is here. At Bradshaw’s, it’s amusement and surprise to see kids running around the place or training in the ring. It’s not like that here.

Still waiting for a response, she glances up. Bradley’s not looking at her. His head is craned so far around that it’s starting to look unnatural. She furrows her brows slightly and leans to the side so that she can follow his gaze.

“Huh?” Bradley mumbles without looking back at her.

She finally spots what he’s looking at. The tall blonde standing behind Tony, looking at Bradley like he might as well be made out of diamonds. Natasha frowns as she looks the woman over. Natasha knows Emilia. Tony’s wife is around every now and again, but she doesn’t make a habit of coming by the gym too often. Natasha knows that Emilia is too young and pretty for the man that she married, but she still doesn’t like the way that the woman is looking at her friend.

Natasha swings her boot into Bradley’s bare shin. Finally, she has his attention. He frowns at her incredulously, still youthful features contorting into a scowl. “Ow! What was that for?”

“I think that we should go.” Natasha speaks quietly, feeling eyes on her still from various men around the gym. She has known from day one that this wasn’t a safe place for her, but she came because Bradley needed her too. Now, it occurs to her that it has never been safe for him either.

“I told Tony I’d stay and help him set up for his poker game. Why? — What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that woman is looking at you like you’re her next meal.” Natasha whispers, speaking through gritted teeth. Bradley’s lips quirk softly, his heart soaring a the fact that someone else noticed it.

“Yeah, she’s just looking,” Bradley glances back over there and shrugs his shoulders. He looks calmly back to Natasha. “It’s fine, she’s like that with everyone.”

It’s all over his face, though, that he likes the attention. He’s blushing even as he talks to her, a deep pink spreading over his cheeks and down his neck, under the oversized hoodie that he’s wearing.

“Even high-schoolers?” Natasha challenges, her tone cold. She hopes that it will wake Bradley up to what’s right in front of him, but he just shrugs again. He looks down at his homework and pretends to be focusing on it. Natasha looks back over to Emilia. Emilia meets her gaze with no shame, lips quirked at the sides.

“Fuck this place, I’m going home.”

“I fight in, like two hours! — We can’t leave.” Bradley frowns, grabbing her wrist as his best friend pushes herself up from the ground. Natasha stares down at him, completely serious.

“Promise me that you’ll stay away from her.” Natasha says softly.

“Why? — Her husband doesn’t make her happy, she told me so.” The response is immediate and confirms every fear that Natasha has in her head. She stomps her shoe into the concrete floor below them.

“Oh my god, Bradley, you’re so stupid!” Natasha groans, rolling her eyes as she picks her backpack up from the ground. She’s tired of this. Of sneaking out of her room once a month and getting dragged to the other side of the harbour to sit here on the ground and wait for Bradley to win a fight. Of Bradley never even thanking her for what she’s doing for him. He doesn’t see it.

Bradley stares at her, wounded. He and Natasha are frequently annoying to one another, but it’s always a joke. Now, she really does think that he’s stupid. He isn’t stupid. He turns his face away from her.

“Fuck off, Nat. Walk yourself home, if I’m so dumb.”

“Fine!” She bites back.

“Fine.” Bradley mumbles defeatedly as his gaze lands on the homework in front of him. He makes every effort not to look as his best friend leaves him there. He doesn’t get it, a lot of the time — the reason why people don’t like him. Maverick, he’s so tense around Bradley recently that they barely talk. Jake from the junior circuit, he’s had it out for Bradley since they met. Now, Nat.

Still focused on the lined page in front of him, he takes time to read the question and realizes that he definitely had gotten question three wrong. He sits forwards to pencil the correct answer in as the metal door swings shut behind Natasha with an embarrassingly loud clang.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek and exhales slowly. He has only known Natasha for a year and a half, but she’s the best friend that he has ever had. Even if she’s a little mean to him sometimes.

“Was that your girlfriend, sweetie?” The voice is accompanied immediately by gentle touch, slender fingers gliding through Bradley’s loose curls as they’re stroked back off of his forehead. Bradley looks up at Emilia.

“No. She’s my friend.” Or she was, he isn’t sure.

“She’s pretty.” Emilia comments, fingers still carding through Bradley’s hair. It’s long and falls into his brown eyes, he’s practically hiding behind it as she looks over his face. “You would be cute together.”

Bradley gives a slow shake of his head, barely moving, afraid that she will withdraw her hand if he does. “It’s not like that.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t put you off your game tonight. It’s a big one, Tony’s so excited for you.” Emilia explains, sliding her fingers away from Bradley’s soft curls and cascading them along his smooth cheek. He leans away from her touch just slightly out of instinct.

“I’ll be fine.” He says quietly, swinging his homework book closed and shoving it towards his backpack. He sits up a little straighter and squares his shoulders.

Emilia’s scarlet-coloured lips tilt upwards at the corners as she watches him intently. Bradley squirms under her gaze, dropping his eyes down to look at the floor instead.

“Mind if I sit with you for a bit, Bradley?” She asks tenderly, stroking her thumb along the curve of his chin. He swallows softly to make sure that his voice isn’t going to crack when he speaks.

“Sure.”

Natasha watches Bradley now, working with a client who’s around seventeen, still fighting in the junior circuit. She doesn’t ever remember thinking that they looked that young when they were that age. Rounded cheeks, smooth skin where there will one day be stubble. She glances back to Bradley and frowns slightly.

His cheeks, chin and his neck now littered with scars, he looks a little older than she does but he always has. She does her best to think back to what he looked like back then, before the scars and before that stupid mustache.

She can’t quite picture it right anymore, but she knows that the kid he’s sparring with looks like a kid. Now that Nat’s all grown up, she knows the difference. Just like Emilia did.

“Morning!”

You round the corner with Tank in tow, smiling softly. Natasha turns her head and gives you a quick and polite smile. She has already heard by now that Bradley stayed over at your place again this weekend. It’s a shame really, she should be rooting for the two of you. You would be good for him.

But Natasha’s efforts at protecting Bradley have always fallen short. She’s doing better at keeping you safe, and Bradley wouldn’t be good for you. Her priority remains the same.

You glance quickly towards the ring as Bradley swings his glove into his opponent’s abdomen. The younger boy grunts and doubles over. Bradley groans and leans his head back, “Come on, man — does the word defence mean anything to you?”

“Morning,” Natasha smiles. She leans her head into yours as you hug her gently, tucking your arms around her shoulders. You settle as your attention is pulled away from Rooster. “Did you want to go down to the beach or something today? — I could do with getting out of here.”

Your face immediately lights up, lips parting in surprise. “Oh, Nix — I wish I could, Jake wants me training all morning. We could maybe go this afternoon?”

She nods as she lets you go, watching you glance quickly towards the ring again. Your gaze lingers for a second too long before it’s back on her. “Yeah. This afternoon. How are you feeling about your fight tomorrow?”

Bradley rolls his eyes as the kid in front of him trips again. He catches sight of Maverick watching him through the office blinds and straightens up. Maybe he isn’t the best teacher, but Mav was never any better. Mav has always expected more from Bradley than he had from himself. They’ve both disappointed each other plenty already.

The track over the speakers switches to something with a stronger tempo. He turns his attention back to the client and nods for them to continue. The boy sighs and wipes sweat from his forehead.

“Kind of scared.” You admit, brushing your hair back away from your face as your gaze turns back towards Rooster to make sure that he hadn’t overheard you. He hadn’t; too busy barking orders at the teenager in the ring.

Natasha doesn’t really understand. She hasn’t felt afraid for a fight since she was eleven. But she nods anyway, sympathetic as the two of you talk ringside.

It’s all too easy. Natasha nodding empathetically as she listens to your worries. Jake encouraging you through your morning training. Rooster leaving early for a morning appointment so you don’t have to feel him watching you train. Then, an afternoon spent on the beach with Natasha and Mickey.

You wave goodbye to them both outside Mickey’s apartment, only letting them drive you back that far and insisting that you’ll be fine walking the rest of the way. That was your first mistake. You spot him, at first, out of the corner of your eye. Just a shadow in your peripheral.

Without having to turn your head, you know that it’s him. His head turns as you cross the parking lot of a grocery store, hoping to be able to rush right past him without him recognising you. That’s stupid. Of course he’ll recognise you. He’s been actively looking for you.

Jett turns as he calls out your name. You keep walking, stumbling as you try to pick up the pace.

“Babe, babe, slow down.” He jogs to catch up to you, you can hear the soles of his vans hitting along the parking lot as he nears you. Your fingers fumble for your house key, wondering silently why you hadn’t just let Mickey drive you. You slot the keys between your fingers and continue walking, not daring to look back. He calls your name behind you. “Can you just wait for me? — Baby, I need to talk to you.”

Numbness spreads through your limbs like a chill, even with the lingering afternoon heat. You try to keep up your pace, moving as quickly as your trembling legs will carry you.

It feels so wrong to hear him call you that, his voice hangs around in the air like it’s waiting there to suffocate you. You should have brought Tank, or Rooster — no, Rooster being here would be a bad thing. But god, you’d feel better if he was.

His fingers curl around your wrist, icy and rigid as he tugs you back. You pull against him and try not to turn, but you know that having your back to him is even worse than having to look him in the eye. You turn towards him, the cold of his skin spreading up your arm and through your body when you finally meet his gaze.

“Where are you running off to, baby?” Immediately, his free hand reaches for your face. Your reaction settles somewhere between a flinch and a recoil, tripping over the curb behind you as you move to take a step back. His fingers curling tighter around your wrist is an all too familiar feeling, and so is the nausea that follows it.

“My friends are waiting for me.” You answer, knowing that your trembling voice gives you away. You watch his face change, it’s a brief split-second kind of thing, but you know the cues. He hates when you act afraid of him. It only irritates him more.

“Oh yeah, your new buddies over at the gym.” Jett chuckles. You’ve got better control over your reactions than he does, so he doesn’t notice how much of a punch to the gut this is. That he knows where you are, and where you’ve been this entire time.

“Yeah.” You try to sound calm. There’s probably someone still there, maybe Maverick. Fuck, you hope that he’s still there.

“Baby,” Jett tries to close the gap between you as you stumble for footing, backing away as much as his iron-tight grip on your wrist will let you. His voice is so gentle and he’s smiling at you like he would never hurt you again. You’ve been here before. “Can we not do this? — I know that last argument sucked, but come on, we’ve been through worse. We can just talk it out.”

You shake your head softly, brows scrunching. “No.”

Jett reaches for your face again and this time curls his fingers around the nape of your neck to stop you from pulling away. As he brings himself closer, the nausea consumes you. His smell, the look on his face, his fingers on your skin.

“Please let go.” You squeak out, voice strained as you will yourself not to cry in front of him. That has always made things worse. Jett’s brows scrunch together slightly. He doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t understand what it is that makes you pull away from his touch like this is.

He strokes his thumb along the nape of your neck and a sob catches in your throat. Closing your eyes, you swallow the sound and try to pull back.

“Please, tell me what I can do to fix this.”

“Nothing. It’s over, I left. So, let me go.”

“Yeah, you blocked my number,” Jett’s palm remains on the back of your neck, curling tighter around it, keeping you close to him. You stare right ahead of you, at the store, willing someone to just come out and see him, breathing through your nose. “You fucking embarassed me, everyone’s been asking me where you went!”

The sky is calm overhead and a tightness in your throat that only grows as the sole of his hightop inches closer to you across the asphalt. You swallow softly and square out your shoulders. The closer he is to you, the more that your heartbeat thuds in your ears.

“I’m done being your doormat.” Your voice is quieter than you intended, it undermines the message you’re trying to get through. Your gaze remains on his shoes as he takes another step forwards, primarily focusing on the spot of blood on the lace. You know that it’s yours.

“Oh yeah?” You can hear it in his voice that he’s got a grin on his face. Goosebumps erupt across your arms, chest tightening as he draws closer across the asphalt again. You can’t bring yourself to look at that smile on his face. “You’re tough now?”

You close your eyes all together, turning your face away. The smell of his cologne tells you that he’s getting closer. Your legs are frozen, staying exactly where they are. You couldn’t move them if you tried.

“Are you alright, miss?” The voice calls out from across the parking lot and Jett drops your wrist immediately. You barely give your eyes time to open before you turn on the heel of your shoe and sprint.

Running until your lungs feel like they’re going to give out and beyond that. Tears burn your cheeks as you race up the steps to the apartment, instinct forces the key into the lock on the first try and you slam it shut behind you, locking it again. You fall to the floor, back pressed to the door, sobs wracking your body.

You’re grateful for your new friends. You adore the ways that each of them care for you and let you care for them. Helping Mav with his phone. Letting Mickey ramble to you for hours about why the Star Wars sequels were done badly. Helping Natasha with her client schedule.

You adore each of them. But you should have listened to Rooster. You weren’t ready for this, you’ll probably never be good enough to do what they do and today provided with a reality check about all of that. You weren’t ready for this — all it took was a tiny knock from Jett and you crumpled like paper.

Laying on your floor until the tears stop soaking Tank’s fur, you lay there with him until you’re certain that you’re done. Then, you wash your face and change into your pyjamas, curling up on the couch with a blanket over your legs and Tank settled in against your side. He always seems to be extra snuggly when you’re sad.

An hour of peace passes, your tear-induced headache starts to fade and you find your eyelids growing heavier as the TV show that you’re watching nears the end of its first season. You think back to the text you had sent Jake in the middle of your hysterics, telling him that you’re sorry and that there’s no way you can fight tomorrow. You glance down at your dark phone screen, secure in your decision to have switched it off earlier.

Weight hits the outside of the door and keys fumble for the lock. You pinch the bridge of your nose and will yourself not to start crying out of frustration. You know exactly what’s coming next, and you aren’t in the mood for it. In fact, you’re just about in the mood to kill Bradley.

The lock clicks open in compliance and he comes stumbling through the front door. From his usual spot on the couch, you glare at him as he finds his balance by bracing himself against the door handle.

He’s soaked, white t-shirt clinging to his skin and see through, jeans dripping onto your floor, curls swept back messily off of his face. Rooster takes a second to look you over. Sitting cross-legged on the couch in your pyjamas, tear stained cheeks. He draws his own conclusion about what’s happening with the fight.

Swinging the door shut behind him, not noticing the way you flinch with its slam, he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and peels it up. “Hate to say I told you so, but—“

“Get out.”

His brows furrow as he holds his soaking wet t-shirt balled up in his hand. The droplets of rain slide along his soaked skin, dripping onto your floors as he smiles breathlessly, “Come on, I’m just messing with—“

“Get the fuck out of my apartment. Sleep downstairs, sleep in your car — I don’t fucking care, just get out!” Your fingers curl into the throw pillow at your side, plush under your fingertips. It’s soft, but your aim never falters. He just about catches it as it hits him in the chest.

Rooster raises his brows, holding the little pink throw pillow against his bare chest, having dropped his shirt to the floor now. He looks you over again. No bruises, no cuts. Nothing.

“What happened?” He takes a couple of steps forwards, features creasing into something that resembles concern but knowing him and his emotional capacity, probably isn’t. He approaches you cautiously, well aware of the several objects nearby that you could also turn into projectiles if you wanted to.

“Can you just leave, please? — You’re the last person I want to see right now.” You whimper, throwing yourself back against the couch cushions and pulling your knees up to your chest. Bradley still tries to lighten the mood.

“But you always let me sleep over.” He frowns.

“Exactly! — And you’re always still an asshole,” Your fingers curl into another throw pillow. Tank looks at Rooster, unfazed and his head still in your lap. Rooster drops the first pillow in preparation for the second. “So, what’s the point in being nice?”

The second throw pillow slips past his open hands, hitting him in the stomach and falling to the ground. Even more confused now, Rooster doesn’t slow his cautious steps towards you.

“I am so sick,” You rush out, voice raised, fists clenched, staring right at him. “Of asshole guys treating me however the fuck they want! So, get the fuck out!”

Finally, Bradley stops walking towards you. About four feet away, he raises his hands in defense and his face softens. Dropping his hands black down to his sides, he remains stationary in the middle of your apartment, just looking you over.

“So, you’re not doing the fight?” He asks calmly.

You turn and roll onto your stomach, pressing your face into a throw pillow. You refuse to let another man see you cry today. Your response comes muffled, barely audible on account of how hard you’ve squashed your face into the pillow. “Leave me alone.”

Bradley glances at Tank at your feet and takes a cautious step forwards. Having your back as always, Tank’s low growl is enough to warn Bradley not to come any closer.

“Bambi,” Rooster says softly. If he could get closer, he’d rub your back and tell you that it’s alright. “Come on. Whatever happened, y’know, whatever freaked you out — it’s natural. Everyone gets scared before their first fight.”

Your response comes out muffled again, even harder to understand this time because of the tremble to your voice.

“What?” Bradley frowns.

“I ran into Jett today.” You answer into the pillow. This time Rooster carries himself forwards and your dog doesn’t bother him. He smooths his hand gently along your back.

“What did he say? — You want me to do something?”

You turn your head to look at Bradley, then scrunch your brows softly. Tears trail along your already wet face as you study the sincerity on his features. You’ve never had someone offer to beat up an ex for you before. You shake your head softly.

Rooster reaches out and strokes his thumb gently along the back of your shoulder, onto the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry that happened. If you see him again, I want you to call me.” He lifts his hand slowly, to not startle you, wiping the salty tears from your cheeks.

“I don’t want to call you,” You mumble out, turning your face into the pillow again. Rooster’s brows furrow softly. “I want to not be scared of him anymore. I’m—“ You pause to swallow a sob as Rooster sits forwards and kisses your bicep softly. “It’s stupid. I thought that I was getting over it, and then I saw him, and all of it went out the window. I can’t fight someone when I couldn’t even tell him to get his hands off of me today.”

“He touched you?” Bradley’s features tighten. You simply groan into the pillow in response, then shake your head. “Bambi. I want answers here.”

“Can you and your saviour complex go somewhere else? — I’d like to be alone, please.” You hug the pillow closer and exhale heavily into its fluffy exterior. Bradley frowns, he sits back on his heels and just watches you for a few moments. Shooting a quick glance to the weather outside, and the way you’re so clearly going to spend an entire night crying if he leaves, he has already decided that he’s staying.

Bradley looks you over and smooths his hand over your shoulder blades. “Alright, get up.”

“Absolutely not.” You groan, hugging the pillow tighter and turning onto your side so that you are tucked in against the back of the couch, facing away from him.

“Up.” He grabs hold of your ankle and tugs.

The next fifteen minutes are back and forth, bickering between the two of you, him tugging at your limbs and you threatening to hit him with them. You scowl as you pad barefoot through the gym behind him, arms folded over your chest. It’s freezing down here at night time.

“What are we doing?” You complain as he flicks on half of the overhead lights and trips the overnight alarm so that no one will bother you whilst you’re down here. Bradley walks ahead of you wearing socks and his jeans, his soaked shirt and shoes still upstairs on your floor.

“You’re right. I’m not gonna be there all the time,” Bradley calls back to you. You stop walking and stare at the back of him, wondering if that’s really what he had taken away from your talk upstairs. “If you want to feel like you can handle yourself then you’ve got to stop training like such a little bitch.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re training with Jake, I’ve seen you — you barely hit each other.”

“So, you brought me downstairs to hit me?” You raise your eyebrows as he pulls himself up into the ring. He rolls his eyes and leans his forearms against the ropes.

“No, I brought you down here to let you hit me. Knowing that you can hit someone and hit them hard is like the first part of being confident in the ring.” He looks you over, standing by the weights in your pyjamas with your arms folded over your chest. You follow his gaze and realize that you definitely should have put on a bra. It hadn’t seemed like much of a priority when he was dragging you off of your sofa by your legs.

Bradley glances down at the wet denim clinging to his thighs and goes for the button on his jeans immediately.

“If you take your pants off, I’m leaving.” You warn him. Bradley’s lips quirk softly as he continues to tug his zipper down. He rolls his shoulders back, the muscles in his arms contracting as he stretches.

“Well, would you be a dear and grab me my spare shorts from Mav’s office?” He asks, bracing his hands on the ropes. He watches you roll your eyes and wander off to the office. The pyjama set that you chose were not supposed to be seen, let alone by him. You’ve had the shorts for years and they hug your ass a little snugly nowadays. He’s not complaining, a soft smirk on his lips as he watches you walk away.

He slips his phone from the pockets of his jeans, already connected to the speakers. He picks his personal workout playlist over the gym’s one. Something that you don’t already listen to every day. You wander back with his shorts balled up in your hand. He has his jeans hung over the ropes on the far side, standing in just his boxers and the gold cross necklace that he usually wears.

You throw him the shorts as you pull yourself up into the ring.

“I thought you’d be smiling,” Bradley comments as he steps into the shorts, setting them comfortably around his waist. “I’m literally giving you a free pass to punch me in the face.

You glare silently at him as he wraps your hands and secures Natasha’s gloves around your wrists. Music blaring over the speakers, he grabs your arms and puts them into position himself, then grabs your hips and knocks your feet into the spots he would like.

Manhandled into the correct stance, he stands before you to begin.

Bradley isn’t a nice teacher. He just has never understood why it doesn’t come as naturally to other people as it does to him. You can see it in his face that he’s biting his tongue every time you screw up. Whenever you drop your guard or fumble a punch. He just stares at you like he’s got a lot to say about it.

“I’m not gonna hold still for you, hit me like you mean it.” Bradley’s voice is stern and his eyes are so dark that it’s almost unnerving. He steps forward and his jab taps you in the stomach, just letting you know that if someone wanted to hurt you, they could. Your guard isn’t good enough.

You swallow, wondering if he can tell how much your hands are trembling with the gloves on. You glance down at the padded gloves, then at him.

“Hit me, Bambi — I can take it.” He promises you, nodding his head for you to go on. You curl your fists tight and then loosen them again, exhaling slowly. You step and jab, he side-steps you easily and taps his glove against your cheek. “Don’t wait to hit. Saw you coming from a mile away. Again.”

His guard focuses on his neck and jaw, elbows squared to protect his middle. But, after his side-step, his left side is just slightly exposed. You step and jab at the same time, catching him in the ribs. He nods at you.

Opening his mouth to praise you, he stops and taps his glove to the bottom of your chin. “That was good, but you just left your face completely open. C’mon, baby. Pay attention.”

It goes on like that. Dancing around the ring with him under the dim overhead light, thinking that you’ve got him good and then him tapping your face or your ribs or your stomach. The urge to quit comes and goes in a constant ebb. Hearing the nice things that he has to say almost makes hearing the bad things worth it.

“I’m tired.”

“So quit.” He tells you, face calm, eyes on yours, guard still up. “Drop your guard and take off your gloves.”

You stare at him.

“Would that make you feel better?” Rooster asks, the question appearing to be genuine. You know better than to assume that it is. You don’t bother answering him. “I bet it would make Jett feel better, watching you throw the towel—“

You step and jab at the same time, your glove catching the curve of his jaw and making his head turn. Your eyes widen and you step instinctively back. Rooster’s lips quirk. He looks you over and nods. “Perfect form. Atta girl, go again.”

“But I — “

“I told you to hit me,” Rooster nods calmly, “We’re training, baby. That was good. That was really good.”

“That’s it! Better,” He coaxes, stepping around the ring, glancing down at your footwork every now and again. “Guard.” He reminds you, tapping your cheek.

He grunts softly as you catch him in the ribs. Your breath catches as he looks up grinning. His brown eyes exceptionally dark, face only half illuminated from the lights. Your gaze trails. The sweat on his skin glistens and reflects in the light, making him all that much bigger. He nods, “Again.”

You stare at him. Watching you curiously and wondering what you could possibly be thinking now. He pauses for a moment to wonder if he has pushed you too far.

“C’mon, baby,” He nods for you to go ahead, exhaling slowly. “You almost had it.”

You glance down at the gold cross hanging between his collarbones, then back up at the sweat beading on his brow. His broad shoulders, thick arms — the fact that he came here tonight because he cares enough to check on you. His hands hang at his sides, your eyes linger on the swell of them for a moment.

“Ba—“

He’s cut off as you take three quick steps forwards, the fastest footwork that he has seen from you all night actually and throw an arm around his shoulders. You tug him down and press your mouth hungrily into his. Instinctively, his hands find your hips.

You throw yourself into him, knowing that he’ll catch you, and he does. Tucking his arms around your middle, he keeps you secure against him as you nip softly at his bottom lip. Pressed into his chest, you can feel the heat radiating off of him, enveloping you in it as your tongue strokes alongside his.

“Baby, what’s—“

“Please don’t call me that.” You breath out against him, pulling one arm back from around his shoulders. He watches, brows raising in faint surprise, half-amusement, as you bite the tab of the Velcro that secures the glove to your wrist and tear it off.

“I’ve got it.” He tells you, his voice calm and velvety as he catches hold of your arm and helps you out of the gloves. The second that he has the velcro off, you shake your hands out and send the leather flying back down to the canvas. Immediately, your hands are back on him again, snaking around his shoulders as you pull him into another kiss.

He presses the heel of his foot into your ankle, effectively tripping you, but it’s okay because his arms keep you from falling. You’re tucked safely against him as he presses you into the canvas. You lift your hips as much as you can with his weight bearing down on them, searching for some kind of reaction from him.

Rooster’s quick in knowing what you want. He slots a thick thigh against the apex of your thighs and grabs a tender fistful of your hair, tugging you back softly, just enough so that he can look at your face.

“What do you want?” He breathes out, pressing his chest into yours to keep you pinned into the canvas. His free hand skims along your thigh, squeezing into the flesh lustfully.

“I’ll give you three guesses.” You answer back, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. You lift your head, impatient, pressing your mouth to his throat. Bradley’s fingers curl tighter into your hair as you kiss along his neck, sucking gently at the taut skin.

“Not time to be catching an attitude, Bambi.” Rooster mumbles, letting his hands skin your sides, stopping to curl them around either side of your ribcage. He pulls back and pressed you down harder into the canvas, letting his brown eyes trail your body. His cock stirs in his shorts, fingers following his gaze. He reminds himself who he’s with.

Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, he grabs your hand and curls it around the growing bulge in his shorts. “You want it?”

He squeezes his palm softly over the top of yours, your lips parting at he hardens under your touch.

“Mm,” You nod hurriedly. Doubt crosses his face for a split-second, you catch his gaze linger on the delicate butterfly pyjamas that you’re wearing. “Remember when you said that I could hit you because you could take it?”

His brows scrunch, but he nods nonetheless.

“Yeah, me too.” You breathe out, catching the back of his neck and pulling him hard onto you. It takes him a second to figure out what you’re talking about. You can feel it when he realizes, his grip on your hips tightening as he grinds himself against your core.

The two thin pairs of shorts that you’re each wearing do nothing to separate you, you can feel exactly how worked up every inch of him is with every move that he makes. You gasp softly as his hands curl into the sides of your tank top, the sound of stitching splitting as he tugs you up and slips it over your head. His mouth is on you too quickly afterwards for you to care.

He groans softly, grabbing both of your arms by the biceps and pinning them at your sides, glancing quickly up at you before he starts off by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your sternum. He works his way up, feeling you squirming against his grip as he reaches your breasts. Rocking his hips forwards at the same time as his mouth reaches your nipple, you gasp out from the contact. He flicks his tongue over the bud, feeling it harden and pebble in his mouth.

His fingers curl tighter around your biceps as he pulls back and grazes his teeth over the peaked flesh. As much as you can move, you squirm, chasing his mouth as he pulls back and moves onto the other breast.

Sucking, biting, grinding his cock against your core through the thin confines of your clothes. Just like he’s naturally good at boxing, you can’t help but wonder if all of this comes naturally to him too. It feels like it does. Pulling back, you try to sit up with him, gasping as he pressed you back down hard by your arms.

His gaze trails your torso, admiring the faint marks he has left on your tits, the remnants of his saliva that glisten through the dimmed lighting. He rests his open palm against your chest, freeing one of your arms, trailing it slowly along your sternum and down your navel. Seemingly enthralled in what he sees before him.

His palm goes right back to your arm as you attempt to move, pressing you down and covering you with a fraction of his weight as his attention goes right to your throat. He sinks his teeth into the base of your neck, just enough to make your back arch and the rest of your throat available to him. You moan contentedly, the sound vibrating off of each wall under the cover of the music.

Rooster glances down between your bodies and watches himself as he rocks the bulge in his shorts onto your core again and again. You’re tugged out of your daze as his mouth deserts your neck.

“Fuck, Bambi.” He tugs at your hips, lifting them enough to grab hold of your shorts and pull them down over the curve of your ass. Rooster pushes your thighs back, your shorts caught around your knees and keeping your legs together. Perfectly on display from him from where he is.

Resting his palm on your pelvic bone, he swipes his thumb through your folds, gathering your excitement on the digit. Grabbing the centre of the shorts, he pushes on the fabric. They guide your legs with them, making you whimper softly. Settled on his knees, he leans over and presses his chest to the backs of your thighs, curling his hand around your jaw.

You take his thumb into your mouth without dispute, wrapping your lips around the soaked digit. Bradley exhales slowly, glancing back down as he rolls his hips against your soaked core. Your excitement coats the front of his shorts, pitching over the tent in the material. His lips quirk softly at the sight, cock twitching in anticipation.

You press your teeth lightly into his thumb to bring his attention back up to you. His amused smirk grows as he presses the digit further into your mouth and grazes your throat. Tears brim in your eyes as he pulls the digit back from your mouth and curls his hand around your jaw. You moan into his mouth as he ruts his hips into your exposed core.

A particularly sharp throb has him groaning against you. He shoves at the waistband of his shorts, pushing it down just enough to expose himself. You suck in a sharp breath as the tip of his cock slides along the apex of your thighs. It dips between your folds, stroking along your core.

“Shit, you’re so wet.” He pants out, gaze focused between your legs. You whine gently, trying to push against him for more friction. Bradley lifts his gaze from between your legs and watches your face. Lips parted, looking up at him with baited breath, waiting for what comes next.

His chain dangles against your chin as he licks into your mouth. A strangled whimper catches in your throat as he rocks the flushed head of his cock against your clit.

“Rooster,” You breathe out, lifting your head. He presses his chest to the backs of your thighs, his weight keeping you exactly where he wants you. “Please.”

“Not just yet, Bambi — hang on a little bit more for me,” He nods his head, nuzzling his face into the crook of your jaw. He wraps a hand around the base of his cock and drags in back down, thick and heavy against your sensitive skin. He watches you as he dips just the tip into you. You gasp out, chest tightening, legs pushing against him. His lips quirk amusedly as he pulls back out again, “Then you can have it.”

Sitting back on his knees, he tugs your shorts the rest of the way down your legs, thick hands grabbing at your hips and flipping you onto your front. You yelp softly as you land on your knees, barely catching yourself on your palms.

Bradley’s palm trails your spine swiftly and curls around the nape of your neck, guiding your head down until your cheek is pressed into the canvas. From there, you’re certain that you know what comes next. You wriggle your hips a little as you get comfy on your knees, spreading them apart in anticipation.

Watching with his bottom lip between his teeth, Bradley grins as he watches you. He taps his palm against your ass cheek, then settles it against the small of your back. He nudges you forwards, pressing your cheek into the canvas more firmly. You close your eyes and inhale slowly, waiting for the stretch to come. You jolt as his mouth meets your core, wet and warm.

“Oh— oh.” You choke out, hands scrambling for purchase against the barren plains of the canvas, the muscle of his tongue dips into you. He pressed his hand into the small of your back, free hand grabbing at your hip.

His fingers press tighter into your hip, keeping you still as he pulls back to lick a stripe from your hole to your clit, gathering your juices on his tongue. Already soaking, your excitement spills out onto his chin as he flicks his tongue along the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Rooster groans against your core, grazing his teeth over your clit as he pulls back. You jolt forwards, whimpering onto the canvas. He presses his index and middle fingers into you at once, biting down on his lip as you hug his digits.

“Fuck,” He hums softly, curling his fingers forwards, letting them knock into that spongy part of your walls that has you crying out. He mouths along the curve of your ass, peppering kisses over all of the skin he can reach. “God, Bambi, you’re killing me here.”

You whine in response, pushing back against him. Still no words. He presses a soft kiss to the small of your back as he slips out of his shorts. He knows you’ll get there.

Finally, the tip of his cock grazes through your folds again. Bradley exhales slowly, holding onto your hip as he presses into you. You gasp out immediately, the sound catching in your throat as you jerk away from him.

“It’s alright, kid,” Bradley promises, pressing his chest to your back. He mouths softly at your shoulder, along the curve of your neck. “I’ll go slow.”

“N-No!”

Bradley stops entirely. His brows furrow as he waits for you to explain what the fuck that outburst was. You swallow softly, feeling your skin flush in embarrassment.

“I mean — I — You don’t have to.” You breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut, furious with yourself. Bradley kisses your shoulder blade, feeling how tightly wound the muscles in your back are.

He rolls his hips forwards slowly until he’s buried into you completely. You exhale, feeling your jaw unclench as you realize that you haven’t killed the moment. Bradley groans softly against your back and shakes his head as your walls hug the length of his cock.

“You just let me know if I’m not living up to your standards, alright, Bambi?” He teases, breath tickling your neck and sending an electric shiver down your spine. Biting your lip, you give a meek nod of your head. Pulling back slowly, he lets his head fall back as the slick of your walls hugs his cock.

He rests his palm against the back of your neck and slopes your back, holding his breath as he presses into you again. It’s almost a moan, the baited little exhale that slips your lips. Bradley rocks his hips forwards again, gaging your reaction as his skin slaps into yours. You hum, pushing back eagerly against him.

Just like boxing, Bradley quickly learns where to be and how to move. Fucking into you with a hand pressed into the base of your skull to keep you down against the canvas, a soft smirk on his lips as your moans fill the gym. He hangs forwards, pressing his chest to your back and covering your body with his.

There is a thin line between grunting and outright growling, and Bradley teeters over the edge of it with each thrust. Slamming his hips forwards, rutting himself deeply into you. A strangled noise escapes your throat as your knees buckle under you, the only thing keeping you from hitting the canvas being his grip on your waist.

He’s relentless, dragging against your walls as he bottoms out again and again. Rooster grunts, leaning forward and pressing filthy, open-mouthed kisses along the length of your back. You push back against him desperately.

Your stomach tightens, legs trembling as you almost slip onto your stomach again. Bradley slips out of you and grabs your waist, flipping you onto your back. You land with a soft ‘oof’ and a longing whimper.

“I know, baby, I know.” He soothes, capturing the sounds you’re making with his mouth as he fills you once again, hiking your legs up around his waist. You grab his shoulders for leverage, arching away from the canvas and into his chest. He grunts out, breathing hard as he rests his forehead against your collarbones.

“Fuck,” He pants against your chest, curling his hands tighter around your hips, letting one of them slip between your legs. His index and middle fingers circle your clit together. “Shit, you feel so good.”

You open your mouth with every intention of answering him, the first syllable of your response catching in your throat, replaced with a desperate whimper. His mouth catches on to your throat, nipping feverishly along your soft skin as his fingers continue, relentless between your legs.

Often, there’s no way of telling for sure, but Rooster knows when he brings you to your orgasm. He practically feels you let go of that tightness in your stomach, legs squeezing around his hips as your muscles go tense. Your nails raking over his shoulders like it’s the only thing keeping you with him is also a good indicator.

Your walls squeeze around him, lips pressing lazily to his neck as your fingers tickle the hairs at the nape of his neck. His cock twitches as he pulls out abruptly, coating your pelvic bone and your navel in warm ropes of cum. He groans as he covers your body with his, resting his sweat-dampened forehead against yours. “Holy fuck.”

You hum tiredly, trailing your fingers along his muscled back.

He lifts his head finally and looks at your face, smoothing your messy hair back off of your face. Silence lingers between the two of you as Bradley cards his fingers over the top of your hair so that he can look closely at your face.

“I’ll train you.” Bradley decides, his voice soft as he presses his lips softly against yours. Your eyes widen briefly. You tilt your head at him, lips quirking. You lift your head and kiss his chin. “We’ll reschedule tomorrow.”

“Might have been kind of unprofessional to fuck your client in the ring, though.” You point out, lifting your hand and toying with the cross necklace as it dangles over your lips.

He shrugs his shoulders and squeezes his hands around your waist playfully, “Gotta warm up somehow.”

…

@khaylin27 @sharpsapphic666 @fudge13 @averyhotchner @hangmanscoming @bradshawseresinbabe @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @phoenix1388 @perpetuelledaydreaming @princess76179 @cherrycola27 @wkndwlff @xoxabs88xox @galaxy-moon

[majac08]

In Too Deep | Six | Jake Seresin x mom!reader

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Synopsis: Jake Seresin had sworn he was never going to be a father. He liked his life the way that it was, child-free, stress free and chaos free. Free being the key word. After falling for you, it becomes clear that Jake is in for an attitude adjustment, whether he likes it or not.

Warnings: no smut, maybe allusions to sex at various points, swearing, fluff and teeny bits of angst if you squint, Jake and Riley prepare to bond over their bad dad issues 🫶🏼

…

“Have a good day today!” Jake calls.

The car door swings shut behind the perpetually angry little girl and Jake sighs. He pulls the car away from the drop off zone and glances back to check that she got in okay. He hadn’t mentioned any of this when he called you last night. Only the good parts. Like Jax speaking more, playing at the park, finding the worm. Calling him dad for the first time.

He glances back at the little boy through the rear view mirror. He’s big enough now to not be rear facing, and grins at Jake as their eyes meet.

“Park?” He asks, tilting his head slightly like an excited puppy. Jake’s lips quirk softly, it’s hard not to smile when Jax gives him that huge smile.

“We’re gonna go see Uncle Rue first, but we can go to the park later.” He explains to him as the car pulls out onto the road. School drop off has always been a point of contention between you and Riley, so today is nothing different, your kid just isn’t a morning person.

But, she has barely said a word since her dad dropped her off yesterday and Jake’s not sure where he stands. The line between being negligent and nosy seems blurred when it’s a kid like Riley.

He can’t stop thinking about her attitude towards him. You’ll never agree to a future with him if it jeopardizes a relationship with one of your children, and he wouldn’t want you to. But god, he wants a future with you. More than anything, actually. Sleeping in your bed, spending time with your children — Jake feels closer to you as these past four weeks draw to a close than he ever has before.

He dreamt last night about what it would be like to marry you. Jax was a little older in the dream, and he was the ring bearer. He was beaming, and you were overjoyed at the sight of your little boy in a suit.

Riley, a foreboding and absent presence in his dream. Something missing from the perfect day that weighed in like a big grey cloud. He would want her there in real life, but he would want her to be happy to be there. Jake knows that if he proposed to you now, Riley’d be furious.

Plus, the two of you haven’t even been together a year yet, he’s not sure how you would take all of this future talk. If, a year ago, you had told him that he’d be driving your kid to school and thinking about marriage — he would’ve laughed in your face.

Jax balanced against his side and a backpack slung over his other shoulder, Jake’s juggling keys, a toddler and a water bottle in his hands as he lets the door swing shut behind him. Payback’s brows raise just slightly as he sets his coffee down on the coaster and leans back against the leather armchair that he’s situated in.

Rueben can’t pretend not to be taken aback at how quickly Jake seems to have mastered the daddy-daycare act. But then, given that this is the same man who taught himself piano in under a week just to spite Rooster, Rueben should’ve known better than to second guess Jake. He has always made everything look easy.

“Look at you,” Rueben teases, leaning forwards and smiling as Jake hands him the wriggling toddler. He sets JJ down on his knee and coos a hello towards him as Jake offloads everything that he’s holding and huffs out. “You’re a natural.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.” Jake mumbles tiredly as he sinks into the armchair opposite his friend. He smooths a hand over his forehead and tries to relax, stretching his legs out.

Rueben cocks an eyebrow at him and catches Jax’s hand seconds before it has time to dip into his still hot coffee. “Trouble in paradise, buddy?”

“Daddy.” Jax points at Jake and turns his head to look at Rueben. He points again to make his point clear. Jake stares across at the little boy and sighs softly.

“Well, that’s new.” Payback comments, brows raised. He glances between Jake and the toddler, then sets Jax on the ground so that he can stretch his legs.

“I don’t know what to do, I mean — they’ve already got a dad, and he’s gonna be pissed if he finds out that his kid is calling me daddy — but he’s never around!” Jake goes into defensive mode right away. Payback just sits there and watches, keeping one eye focused on the toddler as his friend rambles and rants in front of him.

With two daughters and a wife who is infinitely more intelligent than him, Payback has been a good listener for a long time. He just sits back and lets Jake go for as long as he needs, nodding his head as he tries to keep up with the pace of the panicked speech.

Jake finally stops with a slow inhale. He glances down towards Jax and takes note of the confusion on the toddler’s chubby features, then starts to wonder if he was even making any sense at all.

“Where’d Hangman go?” Payback taunts, giving a soft shake of his head. He looks Jake over like he’s really looking for the guy he used to know.

Unimpressed, Jake rubs tiredly at his temple. “Huh?”

“I mean Hangman’s worried about who he’s going home with tomorrow night and how much protein is in his lunch. I don’t know who this guy is, but Hangman would hate him.” Rueben’s just teasing, he’s smiling at Jake and it’s just a comment. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Jake glances down to the kid in front of him and then at the ground.

“Tell me about it.” Jake mumbles.

Payback scrunches his brows slightly, “Alright, man. What’s going on? — You’re weirding me out with all of this doom and gloom.”

Jake takes a quick look around him. It’s a Wednesday morning, right after the school run. There are plenty of toddlers in here, and adults having chats. It’s just that Jake and Payback are the only ones here that are men. Jake wouldn’t have been caught dead here when he was Hangman.

As much as the callsign was made to taunt him, Jake grew into it. He became Hangman. Confident, suave, independent. If he’s not that, he’s not too sure who he is.

“You’re right,” Jake’s shrug is cold and unattached. He won’t look at Jax as he speaks. Rueben stares right ahead at his friend. “This whole thing. You’re right, it’s just not me.”

There’s a long pause. As much as he wants to check on Payback’s reaction, Jake can’t bring himself to lift his gaze from the polished tile under his shoe for fear of meeting Jax’s gaze. There’s no way he can look into those big, round eyes and admit that he’s quite simply not enough.

The coffee shop chatter carries on around them. Jax carries on between them, toying around with the action figure that he has been clutching all morning. He crashes it into Payback’s knee and makes an explosion sound. Rueben smooths a hand tenderly over the little boy’s back.

“Jake.” His tone is dead serious now, and quiet. It’s his dad voice. Jake recognises it. He’s seen Payback gently scolding his kid enough times to know that that’s what is happening now. Rueben sits forward slightly and covers Jax’s ears with his hands. “You say that shit to me again and we’re going to have a problem.”

Jake looks up and frowns at him. “What?”

“You don’t get to quit because you’re freaked out. You do that to these kids and I swear to god, I’ll never talk to you again.” Payback swears, still covering the toddler’s ears. Jax doesn’t even seem to mind, playing calmly with his action figure and kicking his legs.

Jake adjusts the cap on his head and checks around him again. He’s fidgety and agitated, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “You don’t get it.”

“I don’t? — You think that I don’t get scared shitless like three times a week that I’m not good enough for my kids? — I’m terrified of screwing them up, but I’m here, and I’m doing what I can.”

“It’s complicated. They’re not,” Jake pauses to glance down as Jax wriggles around in Rueben’s lap, struggling to try to get down. “They aren’t mine.”

Knowing better than to fight against a toddler that has already made up their mind, Rueben moves to that Jax can get down. Right away, Jax brushes past him and heads for Jake. He stands between Jake’s legs and leans into his thigh, holding up his action figure for Jake to see.

“Daddy, look.”

Jake smiles softly and scrunches his nose just the slightest bit. Jax grins at the attention and presents the action figure closer to Jake, almost swinging it into his chin. The toddler seems to remind himself to be more gentle as he leans in against Jake’s chest. Jake squeezes at his sides, making the toddler squeal and squirm in front of him. He lifts him up and sets him down on his knee.

Rueben stares across at Jake.

“It’s complicated.” Jake insists as he smooths a hand over Jax’s wild hair to tame it. Jax taps Jake’s arm to make sure that he’s watching and flies his action figure around in front of them.

“Not to me,” His tone is gentler this time, he’s relaxed as he watches Jake and the kid together. They look so natural together. Payback motions and Jake covers Jax’s ears without question, gently kissing the curls on top of his head. “He doesn’t know who his dad is and who isn’t. He knows who’s there for him.”

“Yeah, well Riley knows and she hates me.” Jake answers back. JJ squints across at Payback, seemingly aware of the fact that they’re discussing something that they don’t want him to hear. He quickly goes back to playing with his toy.

“That’s what kids do — look, Jake, I can sit here and tell you about how much kids are going to break your heart, but,” He stops to sigh, smoothing a hand over his facial hair. He glances quickly between Jake and the oblivious kid sitting on his leg. “If you’re going to leave, man, just go ahead and do it.”

Jake’s brows scrunch together just slightly.

“But you don’t get to come back.” Payback explains calmly. He looks at Jake, deadly serious. “You leave those kids and you’re gone for good. Are you good with never seeing him again?”

Jake takes his hands away from Jax’s ears and squeezes his sides softly. The toddler turns and squeals excitedly, grinning up at Jake. It’s scary, sure. But it’s scarier to imagine not seeing this face every day, that cute little smile and hearing those excited giggles.

And god, he’s never loved anyone like he loves you. These past three weeks have been hell without you, he has been counting down the days until you’re back with him again. Never seeing you again isn’t even something that he had considered. His crisis of faith is cut short as his phone rings loud in his pocket.

He slips it from his jeans and takes the call, pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder as he keeps Jax steady in his lap. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Riley’s stepfather?”

Luckily, with the day off, Payback was more than happy to take Jax for a while. Jake quickly yanks his cap off of his head and tugs his fingers through his hair, swallowing the lump in his throat as he steps through the doors of the school. Riley’s sitting on a chair outside of the principal’s office, scowling at the floor with her arms across her chest.

The principal is crouched in front of her, trying to talk to her calmly. Riley’s silent, staring at a dirt smudge of the floor.

“Riley?”

The principal stands and turns, extending an open palm towards Jake swiftly. “Ah. Mr. Seresin. A quick word in my office, please?”

It’s clear immediately that Jake has never done this before. He doesn’t bother taking a seat, even when Mr. Anderson settles behind his desk and motions for Jake to do so. He swallows nervously and asks if Riley is okay.

The principal watches Jake’s reaction calmly as he explains what happened. Disbelief comes first, it crosses his face clearly but his Navy career has taught him better than to voice his disagreement out loud.

There just is no way that Riley would have cursed at a teacher. Jake is sure of it. He’s sure of it because he is pretty confident that if Riley knew any curse words, she would have already directed a few of them at him.

She has always been a delight in school — you were always bragging about how great she was doing in her classes.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose as the principal explains further. Great, so not only is he annoying Riley with his mere existence, but he’s screwing up her future now too.

“We aren’t going to suspend her.”

Jake sighs in relief and leans his head back.

“Y’know, this is the first time that it has happened and we’re confident that it won’t happen again. But, um, Mr. Seresin— I really hope that you don’t think I’m overstepping here, but,” He pushes his round glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stands. Jake gets the feeling that he won’t like what’s coming next. “I’m not sure that you’re really qualified to get Riley through this time in her life. Maybe you could talk to her mother and—“

All semblance of being calm and composed flies out the window as Jake cocks his head at the geeky looking brunette behind the desk. The principal swallows softly and stops talking.

“I’ve got it. Thanks.” Jake bites.

Long day after fucking long day. Only seven more of them until you’re home and he’s no longer outnumbered. He lets the door to the office slam behind him as he steps back out into the reception. “Put your coat on, let’s go.”

“Not cold.” Riley argues, slinging it over her arm and grabbing her backpack. She walks for the door before she even has it over her shoulder. Jake turns to follow her but stops as he catches sight of a familiar face. There’s a blonde walking along the hall with a lanyard around her neck saying substitute.

It takes him a couple of seconds, standing there and trying to place where he knows her from. Then it clicks. The smiling face leaning over Alex’s shoulder the other day. His lips part as he looks back towards Riley.

“Oh, shit, Riley.”

…

We

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@frenchtoastix

@wildxwidow

@vienna

@hopeless-romanticnamed-s

@indynerdgirl

@marantha

@jostyriggslover96

@percysaidnever

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@diamond-3

@galaxy-moon

[majac08]

I’m sorry but cardigan is totally @sunlightmurdock’s trouble in paradise

[majac08]

Can't Do This Again Part 2

Top Gun:Maverick x Grey's Anatomy Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x OC!Grey

Summary: Victoria Grey is Lexie Grey's younger sister, she is a naval aviator, who was part of the Dagger Team who took out the uranium plant. After the mission, they were ordered to stay in North Island to continue to train to be the best squadron the US Navy had. After hearing a conversation she wasn't supposed, Rhea begins to question her place in the team, and a tragedy in her personal life makes her question her place in not only the navy, but family too.

A/N: this is as if Grey's is set in San Diego and I don't follow the years that Grey's take place in. Also talks about major character deaths in Grey's. Spoilers for Top Gun Maverick and Grey's Anatomy.

FIND PART 1 BELOW

The kids were at the daycare while she just looked through the glass at Meredith, she was being prepped for initial surgery for damage control and Rhea was frozen into place. Eventually Richard came over and led her to the waiting room, staying with her the entire time. it had been hours and it was now 5 pm, Meredith was out of surgery but not out of the woods. She had also thrown a TV remote and Rhea's head when she came in, then pens at Alex, then a vase of flowers at them both. So defeated, Rhea took the kids home, to an empty house.

She'd finally got them all to sleep, when there was a knock on the door: Maverick. "I brought pizza, thought you could use some friends." She smiled at both him and Penny and welcomed them inside. She'd told them everything about Mer and the kids and even a little about Lexie. They stayed there for hours, listening to and comforting her, she knew that if it came down to it, they'd help her raise the kids, Penny had already offered to babysit whenever needed. When they finally left her, it was early in the morning and no long afterwards, Ellis woke up. Safe to say that Rhea didn't sleep for weeks while Meredith was recovering, between making sure Amelia was going to AA meetings after relapsing, trying to help Mer and take care of the kids work was the last thing on her mind, but Maverick and Penny made sure that she knew they were there, even if she didn't accept their help.

Nearly a month had passed since the attack, Maverick was sick and tired of the aviators being happy that Grey was seemingly gone, something had to change and he was changing it today. "We're going on a field-trip, get changed, you're civilians today meet me back here in 20 minutes." He walked out. He hated knowing what she'd been through and hearing what they said about her. 20 minutes later and they were all pilled into a minibus that he'd been loaned by Cyclone to encourage their, 'bonding experience'. "Hey Mav, where we headed?" Rooster asked "We are going to visit our friend and fellow pilot, to see what we can do to help her and her family out during this hard time." "You mean we're going to see Grey and her kids and husband?" Hangman snorted, "Just because she can't balance her work and home life doesn't mean we have to pick up the pieces for her, especially when she doesn't shut up, she's so god damn-" "That is enough, you are all going to learn something today and I swear to god if one of you says one thing that isn't helpful I will make your life living hell." He yelled back, now they were all definitely convinced Grey was sleeping with Mav, why else would he be so nice about someone so insufferable?

They arrived at the hospital and followed him to the main lobby when he ordered them to sit down. "Doesn't that girl on the wall look exactly like Grey?" Bob asked pointing towards the massive sign on the wall with Mark and Lexie's pictures. "That's her older sister, she was killed in 2012." A voice from behind them said, "Nice to see you Pete." Maverick smiled at the doctor, "Good to see you too Hunt, how's Meredith?" Everyone was still staring at the picture on the wall, they looked so similar to each other, "I'll take you all up, I mean I'm presuming you're here for Rhea." Maverick nodded, they were just confused. "Meredith threw another TV remote at her head, she took off to the chapel, she sits in there a lot actually, I'll let you go in and talk to her." He said, coming to a stop outside what was presumed to be the chapel. Maverick went in first, everyone else following behind, "Alex for the love of god I don't give one- oh, erm what are all of you doing here?" She asked, releasing who was there. Maverick raised his eyebrows at the team, waiting for them to answer her question. "We wanted to see if you needed anything." Rooster simply said, taking in how tired she actually was. "Well I don't need anything from any of you, I mean I wouldn't want you to be put out of your way to help someone so annoying and who doesn't care." She snapped back at them, just as Alex barged in, "SHE CAN HEAR US!" He yelled, without thinking she barged past her coworkers and the two of them ran to her room, "Meredith?" She asked cautiously, there was a look of desperation from the older woman and she lent down and hugged her. They cried holding each other. Until it was time for her to leave to collect the kids. Rhea promised she'd be back tomorrow.

When she got home, the lights were on. "Hey Maggie, Amelia, we're home!" She yelled through the house, "Hey Rhea, through here, you'll never guess who's here." Maggie responded, Zola and Bailey ran through the house, with Rhea walking behind them holding a sleeping Ellis, "Whatever you're cooking smells amazing, I-" She trailed off, seeing the squadron there, cooking and cleaning her house, talking to her sister, "It's really the least we could do." Phoenix said, smacking Hangman's hand away from whatever she was cooking. "I'll put the kids to bed," Maggie said, leaving them all behind in the kitchen to properly talk, for the first time since they'd all met.

[majac08]

Can't Do This Again Part 1

Top Gun:Maverick x Grey's Anatomy Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x OC!Grey

Summary: Victoria Grey is Lexie Grey's younger sister, she is a naval aviator, who was part of the Dagger Team who took out the uranium plant. After the mission, they were ordered to stay in North Island to continue to train to be the best squadron the US Navy had. After hearing a conversation she wasn't supposed, Rhea begins to question her place in the team, and a tragedy in her personal life makes her question her place in not only the navy, but family too.

A/N: this is as if Grey's is set in San Diego and I don't follow the years that Grey's take place in. Also talks about major character deaths in Grey's. Spoilers for Top Gun Maverick and Grey's Anatomy.

"God Hangman, I don't know how you put up with her on the carrier waiting for us to come back." Phoenix told him, "I mean she's so annoying." "It's not like she even really cares either," Coyote piped up, "You remember back at Top Gun how she just left for like a week, no explanation, and she's been completely distracted the past year, not to mention her disappearing for a few days 2 months ago. It's fucking weird." The group nodded in agreement, a series of yeahs being spoken. "I hope she doesn't turn up tonight, I just want to have a drink with people I actually like." Payback added. They were all unaware that outside of the locker room was the very person who they were talking about. Victoria Grey had never had a place that felt like home. It sounded stupid, considering as she'd been so warmly welcomed into her older sister Meredith's life alongside Lexie so many years before. Everyone at the hospital saw her as family, except she could never shake the feeling they only kept her around because of her sister. The resemblance between Lexie and Rhea was remarkable, so when she was brought back to Top Gun with the old class, she finally felt like maybe this was her home. But hearing them all talk about how annoying she was to them and the fact she didn't like them, that was like a dagger to the heart.

After that, Lieutenant Grey stopped talking to any of them, and for them it was blissful. No more of her jokes when up in the air, or her desperate attempts to try and make friends. and sure it was a bit out of the blue, but no one wanted to ruin it. Rhea became isolated, they'd all talk with each other, and she'd just stay quiet, only speaking over comms when absolutely necessary. She hated herself for the fact she didn't see it before, they always called her Vic if using her first name and maybe if she'd paid closer attention to their remarks about her she would have noticed that they weren't really joking.

Maverick was running through a training exercise, when she noticed them. Alex running behind a social worker who had Ellis in her arms, with Zola and Bailey beside her. "Fuck." Everyone's attention was now drawn to her, "Excuse me Lieutenant Grey?" Maverick questioned, then he looked at her line of sight, "You are dismissed." This caused the rest of the pilots to protest, as she ran out of the doors, taking Ellis into her arms, while crouching down to the kids level. "If you want to know why Grey gets to leave early look out the god damn door." He yelled at them, causing them to turn and see Alex with his arm around the shoulders, baby in arms, with two kids clinging onto her. "Didn't know Grey was married or had kids." Bob said, "When did she have a baby?" He wasn't the only one who was confused about this and Maverick simply couldn't stand their arrogance regarding Grey, so he continued the exercise. A drunken Lieutenant had confessed everything to him a few weeks ago, and he was horrified, she wasn't only a good pilot, but a good person also. He'd read her file and notice she turned down most offers from squadrons and it didn't take a genius to figure out why: family. He'd stop by the house tonight, certain that Penny wouldn't mind them skipping their date to make sure everything was alright.

"She was attacked in the hospital, patient with a brain injury, we... we don't know if she's gonna make it." Alex choked out. She looked down at the infant in her arms, and over at the kids with the social worker, they'd just lost their dad, now their mom. "I- I can't do this again Alex." She stammered out, he put his arm around her, "They need you at the hospital, let's get you there, the social worker can watch the kids." She stayed with her eyes on Zola, remembering the last time this happened. "I know what you're thinking, but it's not the same." He was right, it wasn't because Meredith wasn't dead and neither Maggie or Amelia were missing alongside her. But she couldn't be the person three small children were dependent on, not again.