midnightquips

[midnightquips]

Flight Risk

Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: For you, Bob Floyd is just the kind of guy you want. Smart. Sweet. Soft-spoken. The kind that won't break your heart. For Bob, you're the kind of woman that takes his breath away. Calm. Cool. Stunning. The kind you'd want to sweep off her feet. So this should be easy, right? Right?

Themes: Dagger Squad teasing, slow burn, jealousy, sexual tension, meddling

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, nsfw, praise kink, soft aftercare, oral sex, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: Wrapping this up guys!!!! But don't worry another BOB fic will come soon. Do let me know what you think of this final chapter still. ❤︎

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Chapter 4

The door clicks shut. The lock turns. And for a breathless moment, everything goes still.

You’re pressed to it before you can speak, your heart thudding against your ribs. Bob stares at you like he’s starving—eyes dark, jaw tight, every line of his body taut with tension. You barely manage to inhale before his mouth is on yours.

It’s not rushed. It’s deliberate. Anchored. Like he’s memorizing the taste of you. His lips move slowly over yours, deepening the kiss until your knees weaken.

One hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. The other slides down your side, skimming over the fabric of your tank top until it grips your hip like it belongs there.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice rough and close.

You shake your head. “Don’t you dare.”

He kisses you again, slower this time. More possessive. Like he wants to leave the shape of his mouth on yours.

His hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingers grazing the edge of your underwear. The fabric is already damp, and he groans, pressing a light kiss against your lips.

“All this for me?” He murmurs, voice thick with hunger. 

“Yes. Touch me,” you whisper. “Please.”

He keeps his chest pressed to yours, body hot and solid as his hand slides between your legs. There’s something dizzying about the intimacy of it. His eyes locked to yours, your breaths mingling, your mouths brushing but not kissing.

Your shorts and panties are tugged down just enough. Just far enough. His fingers are between your thighs in a heartbeat, sliding through your slick heat.

You gasp, forehead still resting against his. His other hand cups the back of your neck, holding you still, holding you open for him.

“So soft…” He whispers.

He doesn’t rush. He strokes you with maddening patience, his fingers gliding up to circle your clit, then dipping down again. Over and over, until you’re gasping into his mouth, hips rocking forward into his hand.

“Look at me,” he says, low and serious.

You do and the moment you meet his gaze, he slips two fingers inside you.

You gasp, back arching off the door, but his body keeps you caged. Close. His fingers thrust slowly, curling up as his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles that make your entire body light up.

“Fuck,” you breathe

He just watches you slack-jawed as if in awe.

Your hands grip his shoulders. Your lips are parted. You’re practically panting now, moaning softly into the space between you as his fingers work you open. He watches your face the entire time, like he wants to remember  every twitch, every stuttered breath.

 “I can’t wait to be inside you.” he groans.

You feel like you’re going to break. He doesn’t stop. He just keeps going. Slow, deep strokes that leave you trembling, his thumb keeping a steady rhythm on your clit. The pressure builds unbearably.

“Come for me please.” he breathes. 

“Bob—please—” you gasp. 

His mouth captures yours just as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out into the kiss, body tensing, shaking against him. He holds you upright with one strong arm as his fingers keep working you through it, coaxing every last shudder, every last wave.

You sag into him, breathless and shaking. He presses his lips to your temple.

“Bring me to your bed.”

Your whole body is still buzzing, but you nod. You’d bring him anywhere he asks.

In the bedroom, you sit on the edge of the mattress, breath hitching slightly as Bob kneels before you, his eyes never leaving yours. His hands are warm and steady as they slide up your bare thighs, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every inch.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, voice soft and trembling.

“I need to,” he murmurs, his gaze reverent. “Let me take care of you.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another just a little higher. You shiver under his mouth. He’s in no rush. His lips travel upward, brushing tenderly along your skin, each kiss a promise. When he reaches the edge of your shorts, he hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls them down, dragging your underwear with them. Every inch of newly exposed skin gets a kiss, a soft inhale of breath like he’s savoring the scent of you.

Then he parts your thighs gently, laying you back against the mattress. You gasp softly as his mouth descends on you—hot, gentle, and utterly unrelenting. His tongue starts slow, light flicks that tease and retreat, building your anticipation with every pass. He moves with care, with focus, as though this is the only thing in the world that matters. His fingers splay across your hips, holding you steady, but even his grip is worshipful.

"Been wanting to taste you," he breathes, the heat of his words making you clench.

He flattens his tongue and licks you from base to tip, then circles your clit, slow and rhythmic. It’s maddening. Perfect. You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. Your hips buck, and he groans into you, holding you tighter. The more you fall apart, the deeper he dives, alternating between gentle suckles and sharp flicks that have your thighs trembling.

Your hands are in his hair, anchoring yourself to the one thing that’s grounding you. You pant his name, breathless, overwhelmed.

When the orgasm hits, it’s like fire igniting in your spine. You cry out, your entire body tensing and then shattering under his mouth. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going. Continues with soft licks & gentle pressure, guiding you through the aftershocks until you’re gasping for air, your legs limp and boneless.

He kisses the inside of your thigh, then the swell of your hip. He trails his mouth up your body, slow and reverent. Over your stomach. Along your ribs. Then, his lips brush the underside of your breast.

You gasp again, and his hands cup you gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples before he leans in. He sucks one into his mouth, tongue circling the sensitive peak, then does the same to the other. It sends another jolt through you, and you arch into him, fingers gripping his arms.

“Bob,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He finally kisses you again. Deep, messy, and hungry. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it only makes you wetter. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt, tugging upward, needing more. He breaks the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

You let your hands trail over the ridges of his chest, exploring the warm, solid muscle beneath your palms. He watches you, breath uneven, before leaning back on his knees. With slow, deliberate movements, he undoes the button of his jeans, his eyes never leaving yours.

You sit up on your elbows, lips parting slightly as he stands to his feet beside the bed. He pushes his jeans down, boxers going with them, revealing himself to you fully. He’s already hard, thick and flushed, and the sight of him makes your breath catch.

Bob notices. His mouth curves into a shy smile, but there’s certainty in his eyes.

“Come here,” you whisper.

He climbs back onto the bed, and as he leans over you, you let your hand drift down. You palm him with slow, deliberate strokes. He groans, low and guttural, his hips twitching under your touch.

“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters, forehead pressed to yours.

You smile and kiss him again before sliding your hand further, wrapping your fingers around him, giving him a slow, teasing stroke. He’s hot and hard in your palm, and the way he gasps against your mouth makes your thighs press together.

You reach into the drawer beside your bed without looking, fingers finding the condom. You hand it to him, and he takes it gently, kissing you once more before rolling it on.

Then he lies back against the pillows, eyes full of fire.

You straddle him slowly, deliberately, your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his hips. His hands run along your thighs, then to your waist, grounding you as you line yourself up.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he says, voice wrecked. “You. Just like this.”

You guide him to your entrance, rubbing his head against your folds, slick and warm, teasing both of you. He curses under his breath.

“Then stop dreaming,” you whisper, and lower yourself onto him—inch by inch.

His breath shudders out of him in a long groan. “Jesus Christ...”

You both freeze for a moment, overwhelmed. He fills you completely, stretching you perfectly. You close your eyes, letting yourself adjust, the fullness sending little shocks through your body.

 “You feel like heaven.” he gasps.

You start to move, hips circling slowly. He grips your waist but doesn’t force you. He simply lets you take what you need, and set the rhythm. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the way his heart races under your palms.

His eyes never leave you.

“Talk to me,” you whisper.

His jaw flexes. “You’re everything I’ve wanted and more.” he says, voice rough. 

You grind down harder, lifting and sinking again, your pace steady and deep. He thrusts up into you suddenly, and you gasp, pleasure sparking bright.

“You feel so good. So fucking good.”

Your moans rise with every roll of your hips. Your body is building again, that ache coiling tight. You lean down and kiss him, tongues tangling, both of you gasping into each other’s mouths.

“So beautiful,” he says, voice wrecked. 

The words slam into you like lightning. You ride him harder, chasing that edge. His hands slide up your back, holding you closer as you break apart above him, your body clenching, unraveling. You cry out his name as you fall.

He follows, burying his face in your neck with a shattered groan, hips jerking up once, twice, before he stills beneath you, wrapped around you tight.

You stay there, tangled together, skin against skin, breaths mingling.

There’s no more hesitation.

No more holding back.

Just you. Him. And everything ahead of you.

You wake to sunlight streaming through the blinds, warm and golden across your skin. The bed is soft and familiar. And behind you, there’s a steady, slow breath warming the back of your neck. Bob’s arm is draped around your waist, heavy and grounding. His face is tucked into the pillow beside yours, hair rumpled, lips parted in sleep. You don’t move. Not yet. You just… breathe it in. Cherishing the comfort. The closeness. The reality.

You smile to yourself. Eventually, Bob shifts. He blinks awake and groans softly.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” you murmur.

His voice is gravelly. “Best one I’ve had in years.”

You roll toward him, and he pulls you in automatically, your foreheads almost touching.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

Bob nods. “More than okay.” He reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “You?”

You nod, your grin lazy. “Yeah.”

There’s a long, quiet kiss. Sleepy. Sweet. Like this is the nth kiss you’ve shared in countless mornings. His hand runs over your bare back, palm spreading between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to make sure you were not some dream he hadn’t woken up from yet.

You pull back just enough to murmur, “Didn’t realize you had such a dirty mouth, Lieutenant.”

Bob flushes immediately. “I—I didn’t either.”

You laugh softly and kiss his cheek. “It was hot.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was saying too much.”

“You weren’t. You should do it again.” You tease lightly

He blushes deeper but you only grin wider.

“I’m making you breakfast,” he says, clearly trying to regain some composure.

You’re startled by the declaration. “You cook?”

“I survive.” He grins, kisses you again, and climbs out of bed in just his boxers. 

You watch him stretch and walk barefoot into your kitchen like he’s been living there the last couple of months. You sit up a few minutes later, grabbing a loose shirt to quickly put on and padding out after him.

Bob’s already got a pan going. Eggs crack against the edge of the bowl. He hums under his breath while flipping slices of bread in the toaster.

You lean against the counter, admiring the way the morning light clings to his shoulders, the way his body moves with quiet focus.

“You look good like this,” you say.

He turns, eyebrow raised. “Like what?”

“Like mine.”

His face softens instantly. “I am.”

The certainty of your words hang between you. A warmth spreading between you.

Breakfast is simple. Eggs, toast, and fruit. You eat barefoot, sitting on the counter while he stands between your knees. You reach forward to wipe a crumb from the corner of his mouth. He catches your wrist, kisses your palm. But this time, it’s you who lean in.

The kiss starts soft. Just a brush. But then your mouth parts, and your hand slides up his chest, fingertips teasing lightly over his skin.

“You know,” you whisper against his lips, “I’ve been thinking about having you right here since I saw you in those boxers.”

Bob freezes. His cheeks flush. You think how you’ll never get tired of making him blush.

You grin. “That’s a yes face.”

“I—uh—”

You don’t let him finish. You slide off the counter, tug him by the waistband of his boxers until his back bumps against the fridge. His breath catches.

“You’re so easy to fluster,” you tease, kissing under his jaw.

He laughs, embarrassed and turned on all at once. “I’m trying to keep up.”

You brush your nose along his ear. “Don’t. Just let me have you.”

Your hand slips lower, fingers grazing him through the fabric. He gasps.

“There’s another condom in my drawer,” you murmur.

You watch him dash to the bedroom and return in a flash with the condom in hand. He doesn’t even pause before he’s already leaning in for another kiss, this one deeper, more desperate. Like he needs the taste of you to survive.

You stop him gently with a hand on his chest, dropping to your knees with deliberate slowness. His breath catches. You look up at him as you roll the condom on with practiced care, and the expression on his face. His eyes blown wide, jaw slack, hands clenched at his sides, looking at you with worship.

When you rise again, he grabs your hips with purpose, steady and hungry, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You turn slowly, deliberately, guiding his hands to your waist as you lean over the counter, the cool marble kissing your bare stomach. You arch your back just enough, give him the perfect view, and glance over your shoulder with a wicked little smile.

“You ready?” you ask, voice low and inviting.

He swallows hard. “God, yes.”

He lines himself up, his hands trembling slightly as he holds your hips. Then he pushes in slowly, carefully, every inch a stretch that makes your eyes flutter shut. You bite your lip, bracing your forearms on the counter, gasping as he sinks deeper.

The stretch burns, delicious and overwhelming, and he groans behind you, thick and hoarse.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You feel so deep.”

His grip tightens, knuckles whitening. “You’re so tight”

He stills when he’s fully inside, just for a moment, letting you both feel it. The pressure. The connection. The way your body pulses around him.

You rock your hips slightly. “Move, Bob.”

And he does.

His thrusts start slow, deliberate, each one pulling nearly all the way out before he slides back in with more force, more hunger. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the quiet, punctuated by both your ragged breaths.

His hands are everywhere. On your hips, your back, sliding up to cup your breasts as he leans forward, his chest brushing your spine. He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, then another to your neck, lips warm and reverent.

“You’re unreal,” he pants. “I can feel you squeezing me… every time I move.”

You reach between your legs, circling your clit as he thrusts deeper. Your knees tremble from the sensation, the rhythm, the heat building between you.

“Harder,” you whisper.

He groans like it’s tearing out of him. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I mean it.”

His hands grip your hips, anchoring you as he slams into you with deeper strokes now, harder and faster, making the counter creak beneath your hands. Your fingers stutter over your clit as the tension coils impossibly tight inside you.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Bob—yes—don’t stop—”

“God Y/N, you’re perfect,” he growls. 

Your legs nearly give out. He wraps one arm around your waist, holding you upright as his rhythm intensifies. The way he’s moving inside you, the wet sound of it, the desperate noises he’s making in your ear. It’s all too much.

Your orgasm slams into you hard, and you cry out, clenching around him, your body locking down as waves crash through your core.

He curses, voice raw. “Fuck—I’m right there—”

He thrusts deep one final time and goes still, buried inside you, groaning against your shoulder as he spills into the condom. 

You both stay like that, trembling, chests heaving. He doesn’t pull away. Just rests against your back, his hands sliding up to cradle your waist, your ribs, like he needs to feel your heartbeat.

Eventually, he presses a soft kiss to the curve of your spine, then another between your shoulder blades. You turn in his arms, and he lifts you onto the counter gently, kissing you slow and sweet.

“I’m really gonna get used to your dirty talking,” you tease, breathless.

He laughs, still dazed. “You’re the one who started it.”

“And you loved every second.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time. “Yeah. I really did.”

The drive to base is quiet in that soft, comfortable way. The windows are down, morning breeze tousling your hair, Bob’s hand resting palm-up between the seats until your fingers find his. He glances at you once, then again, like he’s still trying to figure out if last night really happened.

“You okay?” you ask, squeezing his hand.

He nods quickly. “Yeah. Just… wondering how obvious we’re about to be.”

You smirk. “Oh, sweetheart. Everyone’s already suspicious.”

He groans imagining at what awaits him when he gets to the base. You simply laugh at how adorable he is.

“You’re cute when you panic,” you add, leaning over to kiss his cheek at a stoplight.

Bob walks in first. He makes it to his locker before anyone says anything.

“Morning, Floyd,” Phoenix greets casually from across the hangar.

Hangman doesn’t even look up from his checklist. “Sleep in?”

“Sleep over, maybe,” Fanboy murmurs under his breath, earning a snort from Payback.

Bob flushes red. “I—I wasn’t—”

Then the hangar doors creak open. You stroll in. Calm. Composed. Hair up in a neat ponytail, lips slightly glossed, face annoyingly fresh. Like nothing ever happened. And you probably would get away with it, if only Bob’s stare didn’t say everything. Honestly, how did the man become a stealth pilot?

Rooster whistles. “Well, would you look at that.”

Fanboy claps once. “And the mystery is solved.”

Phoenix just holds out her hand toward Payback. “Pay up.”

“Wait—” Bob stammers. “You had a bet?”

“I said you’d fold by Friday,” she shrugs.

“And I said she’d be the one to make the move,” Rooster adds. “Clearly.”

Hangman spins a pen in his fingers. “Kinda surprised you made it past Tuesday, honestly.”

You hop onto a crate beside Bob and sip your coffee like none of this is new. A relaxed look on your face even as you watched his friends slap money on Phoenix’s hand.

“We weren’t exactly being subtle,” you say, smiling up at him.

Bob simply groans into his hands for the nth time that day.

Later that morning, you find yourself cornered in the locker room by two familiar voices. Kari and Iris stand near the benches, arms crossed, expressions far too smug.

“Well, well, well,” Kari drawls. “Look who finally stopped pining and started winning.”

Iris raises an eyebrow. “So. Does he blush when you talk dirty?”

You laugh, leaning against your locker. “Like a tomato. It’s honestly kind of adorable.”

Kari sits beside you and bumps your shoulder. “You look happy.”

You nod. “I am.”

“Not just the good sex glow,” Iris adds, “but, like… the peaceful kind.”

You smile down at your coffee cup. “Yeah. It feels… easy. Real.”

There’s a moment of silence where Kari and Iris share a look, then both squeeze your arms.

“We’re really happy for you,” Iris says.

“And also, we totally called it,” Kari adds. “So you owe us dinner.”

The afternoon winds down with the quiet buzz of paperwork, team drills, and quick debriefs. You’re halfway down the hallway when Bob’s voice stops you.

“Hey.”

You turn. He’s waiting by the lockers, looking steady, his smile small but sure.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I was just thinking…” He steps closer. “I don’t want to hide it. Us. I want people to know about us.”

Your smile softens. “Good. Because I’m not interested in pretending either.”

He leans in and kisses you. It’s slow and certain, a hand to your hip like he belongs there.

“You really mean that?” he asks, forehead resting against yours.

“Yeah.”

You kiss him again, pulling him closer.

“Guess we’re the hangar’s favorite gossip now,” you murmur.

He grins. “Worth it.”

And when you both walk back into the hangar side by side, the rest of the team doesn’t even try to hide their grins.

Later that night, you find yourself back at your apartment, curled on the couch with Bob’s hoodie around your shoulders and his head resting in your lap.

He’s half-asleep, fingers tracing gentle circles against your thigh.

“This feels nice,” he murmurs.

You hum in agreement. “Took us long enough.”

He looks up at you. “Would you do anything different?”

You shake your head. “No. I think we got here exactly how we were supposed to.”

His smile is sleepy, content. “Yeah. Me too.”

You lean down and kiss his temple. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

Together.

Taglist: @jesterghuleh @sorry75 @midnighttithe @sneak-fic @Arriii @thatonedogwithablog @dragoste-lunes @yellowjm @kniselle @werockyeah @tgmreader @cummun1sta @holymacaroni84 @mericas-ass @rainymitskicain @wowitsafemale @jonnybernthalslover @funkyfable @msbyjackal @yaaawswn @luminous-beings-are-we-not @rikr3d @roc-haze @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime @shadowolf993 @tonkb934 @keira-kaz2y5 @blvvdybvnnie @blankvz

[midnightquips]

That Old Feeling

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It's been years since you've seen Bucky Barnes. You didn't plan to see him, but he definitely didn't look surprised to see you. Something's different, though. The looks. The heat. Maybe it's always been there. Maybe... you've just been too blind to see it before.

Themes: AU Thunderbolts, teasing officemates, possessive Bucky, friend's ex, Thunderbolts chaos (a consistent theme), friends-to-lovers, college crush so pining

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

Author's Note: Because I have been so delayed with this. Here's an entire Chapter drop!!! Also things are progressing. I think I forgot to stress that since this is an AU, Bucky does not have a metal arm. He has a tattoo sleeve instead which kind of fits more here!

💫 That Old Feeling Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 3

Part I – This Isn’t a Date

“It’s not a date.”

You say it for the third time that day. Out loud. To your reflection. To your closet. To your traitorous heart that’s been fluttering since Bucky Barnes texted you I’ll pick you up at 7 unless you chicken out.

And of course as someone who maintains pride, or at least hopes to show a facade of it, you hadn’t answered yet. Your phone buzzes again on the bed behind you. You don’t check it. Not yet.

Instead, you stare down the pile of clothes you’ve dumped across the floor. Three dresses. Two pairs of jeans. One unreasonable jumpsuit you forgot you owned. Everything either screams too casual or trying too hard.

You mutter, “It’s just dinner. Just catching up. Just…” You trail off, picking up a black blouse and holding it against your chest. “God, I hate this.”

Across the room, Yelena’s head pops into frame on your phone. Still on FaceTime. Still watching.

“You’re spiraling,” she announces.

“I’m fine.” You insist

“You’ve tried on five outfits in the last twenty minutes and rejected all of them because, quote, ‘he already saw me make out with him in a wrap dress so now I need to be casual and sexy but also indifferent.’”

You scowl. “I said that in confidence.”

Why do you even bother telling her anything?

“You have no confidence. That’s why I’m here.”

You groan and flop down next to the phone. “Why am I nervous? It’s just Bucky.”

Yelena raises a brow. “You mean the man who’s been in love with you since junior year?”

“He wasn’t in love with me.”

“Oh my God,” she says, deadpan. “You’re delusional.”

“He was dating Claire.”

“Exactly. And still looked at you like you were the main event.”

You ignore her comment and throw a pillow at your phone screen. “I should cancel.”

“You’re not canceling. You’re going. You’re going to put on the soft green dress because it brings out your eyes, you’re going to wear perfume that makes men stupid, and you’re going to eat pasta with a man who wants to worship the ground you walk on.”

You pause. “That was… oddly supportive.”

“I’ve been working on my delivery.”

You laugh despite yourself.

“I don’t want to make it weird,” you murmur.

Yelena softens. “Then don’t. Just enjoy it. Let him be charming. Let yourself flirt. You can overthink tomorrow.”

You nod slowly.

And by 6:50, you’re standing at your front door wearing the short green dress and the perfume that does, in fact, make men stupid.

You’re ready.

Slash that. You are so not ready.

Bucky knocks at 7:02.

You open the door and your brain short-circuits. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and rolled sleeves. He has a clean shave, wearing soft cologne and on his face is a grin that’s way too smug for this hour.

You should be immune to it. Unfortunately, you’re not.

“Hey,” he says, eyes dragging over you slowly, appreciatively. “Damn.”

You blink. “What?”

“You look really…” He trails off. “Are you trying to kill me?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m suffering.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m barely holding it together.”

You snort, grabbing your purse and stepping outside before he starts waxing poetic about your jeans.

He walks you to the passenger door and opens it like a gentleman. You raise a brow.

“Trying to impress me?”

“No. Just trying to make sure you don’t run.”

You settle into the seat. “Still too early to say that won’t happen.”

He takes you to a restaurant tucked between a wine bar and a bookstore. It smells like garlic and truffle oil, has low lighting, real linen napkins, and a menu full of things you can’t pronounce but definitely want to eat.

“Fancy,” you say, sliding into your seat.

“You deserve fancy,” Bucky says, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

Your stomach flips. You try to play it off by ordering something you’ve never tried and calling him a show-off when he asks for a bottle of red like he knows what he’s doing.

The first half hour is actually… easy. You fall into banter like it’s muscle memory.

He teases you about the time you accidentally burned microwave popcorn in the dorm kitchen and blamed it on Claire. You remind him how he once spilled Gatorade in your laundry basket and acted like it was no big deal until your bras turned neon blue.

“You were such a menace,” you say, laughing.

“You loved it,” he fires back.

You sip your wine to hide your grin. “I tolerated it.”

He leans forward. “You flirted with me all the time.”

“I did not.”

“You called me ‘asswipe’ for an entire semester. That’s a pet name depending on how you view it”

You choke on your drink.

He grins. “I think you liked me more than you admit.”

You shake your head. “I think you’re rewriting history.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But if I’m right…”

You arch a brow. “You’re not.”

He leans back, sipping his wine, eyes twinkling. “Still not denying you flirted.”

You scowl. “It’s not flirting if I wanted to throw you out a window.”

He murmurs, “You sure you didn’t want to ride me out that window?”

You nearly spit your wine again.

He looks far too pleased with himself.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Behave.”

“Can’t. You’re too distracting.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. And somewhere between the bread basket and dessert, you forget why you ever wanted to keep this casual in the first place.

Part II –  You're Not Who I Remember

Bucky has no business being this nervous.

He’s gone on plenty of dates in the last few years. A few were good. Most were forgettable. None of them made his hands shake when he reached for the steering wheel. But tonight? Tonight is different.

You aren’t just some date. You’re you. The same girl who used to glare at him over a shared dorm kitchen table. The same one who always won your arguments because you were meaner and quicker and entirely too fun to lose to. The same girl he used to flirt with just to get a reaction—even when you pretended it didn’t land.

Back then, you never seemed to notice. And maybe that was safer.

But tonight, the way you look at him when you open the door. There’s a sharp once-over followed by a look you tried to hide and it makes his whole chest feel too tight.

He couldn’t even believe you said yes to this night in the first place.

The restaurant is a gamble. Intimate but not over-the-top. Warm lighting. Real candles. Good wine. It’s an ambiance that implies I’m serious but not I’m proposing.

When you slide into the seat across from him, he nearly forgets how to speak.

And then you smirk at the wine list and call him a show-off, and suddenly, it’s like being twenty again. Except this time, he isn’t letting you slip through his fingers.

You talk more than he expects. Not just the surface stuff. You tell him about your job, your ridiculous boss Alexei, how Yelena convinced you to go to therapy and then started showing up with emotional homework like it was a group project.

You laugh. You roll your eyes. You tell stories with your hands and sometimes reached for your wine glass so fast you nearly knock it over.

He wants to kiss you right there at the table.

Not because you look hot—which, fuck, you did—but because being around you was fun. Familiar. Real. Something he’s longed for a while.

You’re still you, but sharper now. Softer in ways he couldn’t have permission to see back then.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“You listening or fantasizing?”

He swallows at being caught, but remains honest. “Both?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers.

The food is incredible. He doesn’t remember half of what he ordered because you keep brushing your knee against his under the table. And to be honest, he initially didn’t think it was intentional. Not at first. But then you shift again, and it stays. It’s a light press. Not demanding but just enough to make him catch his breath. He risks a glance at you.

You don’t look at him. You just keep talking, cool as ever.

He swears under his breath and adjusts in his seat.

“Problem?” you ask, sipping from your glass.

“Nope,” he says, hoarse.

He sees a flicker of a smirk. Liar.

When the check comes, you reach for your purse, but he already has his card out.

“You paid for lunch when we got coffee last month,” he lies.

You raise an eyebrow. “That never happened.”

He shrugs. “Well, now it did.”

You stare at him for a long second, then lean back and say, “You’re trying to get laid.”

He smiles slowly. “Is it working?”

Your expression doesn’t change, but your legs cross under the table, brushing against his again.

He takes that as a maybe.

By the time you walk out together, the night air cools everything but the space between you.

You don’t take his arm. You don’t even touch him. But when he unlocks the car and opens the passenger side, you pause.

“This was fun,” you say.

His pulse skips. “Yeah?”

You look at him then, slower. More direct. “Yeah.”

And just like that, he couldn’t wait to get you home.

Not to get in your pants. Not yet. He just wants to walk you to the door again. Just be near you. Just see what you’d do this time.

And if you kiss him again… Well. He wouldn’t be pulling away first.

Part III – Do You Want to Come Up?

The ride home is mostly quiet. It’s not awkward though. More like the kind of quiet that stretches between two people who’ve said all the right things and are now trying not to think about what comes next.

Bucky drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. You can’t stop looking at it. The same hand that touched your waist last night. The same one that brushed your thigh under the table tonight.

You’re not thinking about his fingers. Really, you’re not.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, glancing over.

You nod, keeping your voice level. “Yeah. Surprisingly not terrible.”

He chuckles. “Wow. Be still my heart.”

“I mean, you didn’t spill anything or talk about your protein intake, so honestly, exceeded expectations.”

He hums. “You did try to look hot for me. That’s gotta mean something.”

You fight a smile. “You implying I don’t look hot everyday?”

“You could wear a sack and I’d still think you were hot.”

You roll your eyes, amused. “Shut up.”

He grins but doesn’t push it.

When he pulls up in front of your place, he puts the car in park and doesn’t move to open the door right away. You hesitate.

“I’ll walk you,” he says.

“Bucky—”

“It’s not a move. Just manners.”

You arch a brow.

“Okay,” he amends, “it’s like, 70% manners.”

You sigh in defeat and let him follow you to your door.

The elevator ride from your building lobby to your apartment floor is quiet. He stays a step away beside you but it’s close enough that you can feel the weight of his gaze on you.

When you stop at your door, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t leave.

You turn the key halfway before glancing at him. “You good?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

But he still doesn’t leave. You look at him again and he’s just watching you. And for a second, you don’t feel silly or nervous or over-caffeinated with anxiety. You just feel seen.

You clear your throat. “So… thanks for dinner.”

He steps closer. “Any time.”

You should say goodnight. But instead, you find yourself asking, “Do you wanna come up?”

It slips out before you can stop it. It’s soft, uncertain but dangerous.

He stills. “Are you sure?”

You’re not. But also you also are.

You nod. “Just for a little.”

He follows.

Inside, you drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes. The air is still, thick with everything left unsaid. Bucky hovers in the entryway for half a second, like he’s waiting for permission. Then he moves.

He closes the space between you in two long strides, his boots thudding softly against the hardwood. His hands grip your waist steadily. Before you can blink, you’re spun with startling ease until your back meets the door with a soft thud. Then his mouth crashes into yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s desperate.

He kisses you once, slow and plush. Then again, firmer. His hand rises, fingers threading through your hair, cradling the back of your neck as his thumb strokes your jaw. The move isn’t just possessive—it’s anchoring. He tilts your head just where he wants it, keeping you there, locked in place as his lips brush yours again and again.

You try to chase the kiss, but he pulls back just enough to smirk. His tattooed hand glides down the curve of your waist with maddening slowness, the intricate ink of his sleeve dark against your skin. He squeezes your hip before traveling higher, over the swell of your breast. He cups you through your dress, thumb brushing deliberately across your nipple. You gasp.

“Been dreaming of this for so long. Feeling you like this.” He whispers.

His mouth finds your neck, hot and open-mouthed, his teeth grazing your pulse as his fingers tease and knead your breast, coaxing it into a tight ache. Then his mouth trails lower. He nudges the neckline of your dress down with his nose, breath ghosting over newly exposed skin, lips trailing the upper curve before closing around your nipple through the fabric.

You moan, arching into him.

He groans in response, sucking lightly through the cloth, tongue circling, the heat of it radiating straight to your core. He switches sides, lavishing equal attention until you’re squirming in his hold.

His free hand finds your thigh, hiking your leg up to wrap around his waist. You feel the hard press of him, straining through his jeans, and your hips grind involuntarily. His teeth scrape again, this time at your collarbone, and you feel the way his breath hitches.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmurs, voice thick, lips brushing against the tender skin just above your breast.

You shake your head, breathless. "Don’t stop. Please."

A growl rumbles in his chest. His hand trails lower, fingers curling around the hem of your dress and pushing it up with purpose. He sinks to his knees, his eyes locked on yours as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear.

You gasp as he slowly drags them down your legs, knuckles brushing your thighs, gaze dark and reverent. He lets them fall to your ankles, and you step out, bare and trembling.

He rises again, mouth crashing into yours, hand gripping your thigh to hike it back up around his waist. He presses you tighter to the door, one hand keeping you open for him, the other sliding between your legs.

You gasp as his fingers find you slick and wanting.

He doesn’t hesitate. Two thick fingers plunge inside you, deep and precise. Your cry catches in his mouth as he captures your lips in another kiss. This one rougher, wetter, urgent.

He kisses you through it, mouth pressed firmly against yours, swallowing every moan and whimper. "That’s it, baby," he groans into your mouth, his breath ragged. "So tight around me. You feel so fucking good."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on as the rhythm of his hand builds. His thumb strokes your clit in tight, knowing circles, and your hips stutter forward against his palm.

"You gonna come for me like this?" he whispers against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth, dragging his tongue along the seam as you nod frantically. "Yeah? You gonna fall apart while I fuck you with my fingers, right here against the door?"

You cry out again, the tension winding tighter, the heat coiling deep in your belly. His tattooed arm braces you securely, muscles flexing under the ink as he thrusts harder.

“Bucky—”

He cuts you off with another kiss. “Give it to me, baby. Let me feel it. Let go."

Your orgasm slams into you, fast and ferocious. You moan into his mouth, hips jerking, your whole body trembling as he works you through it, praising you between kisses.

“Goddamn, look at you,” he growls against your lips. “So beautiful when you come.”

He kisses your cheek, then your temple, holding you like something precious.

When your legs finally stop shaking, he helps you steady yourself, thumb brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.

You laugh breathlessly, heart pounding. “Okay,” you murmur, “that was not just a little.”

He grins, his mouth swollen, eyes bright with pride. “Guess I need to work on my self-control.”

You pull him in for another kiss but this one slower, but no less intense. Lips glide, teeth scrape. Tongues tangle. It’s messy, greedy, and hungry.

He groans into your mouth, fingers flexing on your waist like he’s still holding back.

When he finally steps away, it’s like tearing something vital. But he cups your face, eyes soft, and presses a kiss to your cheek. It’s more gentle, reverent.

Then he leaves.

And you stand against the door, barefoot, still trembling.

You close it behind him.

And whisper, again:

“Fuck.”

Taglist: @enchantingwitchballoon @emilyswortwellen @tellybearryyyy @kiatjuddae @Luannastylinsonlupin @OtterlyCanadian @winchestert101 @bxtchboy69 @biggestfangirl @luannastylinsonlupin @Sebastians-love @fveapplestall @snhoe @ruexj283 @avengersfan25 @in-omn1a-paratus @avengemepercy @staley83 @starstruckfirecat @otterlycanadian @wickedfun9 @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime @keira-kaz2y5 @highhopes1008

[midnightquips]

Hi guys. I just wanted to share an image of Captain, the dog in my fic "Warmth". He was my dog but he suddenly passed when he was only 2, 7 years ago. It was a very sad time in my life and I miss him everyday. Even if I now have 3 dogs and 1 cat, he was most special because he was my me and husband's first dog.

Although I know "Warmth" is a reader fic and please feel free to change the dog description if you guys want, but I am just really happy to have had a chance to write Captain in a fic. So I hope you enjoy him frolicking around in the story. 🥹🥹🥹

[midnightquips]

Warmth

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time.

Themes: slow burn, sexual tension, mutual attraction, cute flirting, JAKE WITH A DOG (yes, that's a theme within itself)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: UGH this week has been super busy so here's an entire chapter drop!!! Also let me know if you prefer entire chapter drops or multiparts! ALSO I'VE UPDATED MY TAGLIST to include "All TGM/Same Characters/Etc" options so you'll only have to sign up once! Enjoy everyone and comments are welcome!!!! ❤︎❤︎❤︎

💫 Warmth Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 2

Part I – Captain’s Orders

No fucking way this was real. Did people actually do this? How much baby oil was sacrificed for this football game?

When Tin told you to head to the beach and bring your dog, Captain, you kind of expected Natasha to be around—but it seems like the whole lot was there. Not only there, but running around, skins glistening as they tackled one another to the ground.

Captain looks up at you as if asking why you were just standing there when he was clearly ready to run full-speed into the chaos.

You sigh at him, “I know buddy, just give me a moment.”

Not only were you unprepared for this entire scene, but you weren’t really prepared to see Jake again.

After the bar incident, you’d made the executive decision to ignore him completely and chat with Bob for the rest of the night. Bob—sweet, oblivious, cinnamon-roll Bob—was perfect distraction material. Jake, of course, had made it very clear he did not appreciate being ignored, sending sharp glances your way every time you so much as smiled.

You’d managed to sneak out later, claiming your dog had been alone too long. It wasn’t even a lie.

“Y/N! Captain!” Ches shrieks.

Captain immediately recognizes her voice and bolts ahead, tail wagging furiously. You roll your eyes, muttering “traitor” before jogging after him.

As you come up, Tin looks up from the beach chair she’s lounging in, raising her sunglasses and smiling. “Hi, angel face.”

You raise an eyebrow and gesture toward the gleaming human butterballs in the sand.

“They’re all so...” you start.

“Shiny,” Chesca supplies, eyes wide with fake reverence.

“SO shiny. Like lobsters dipped in butter.”

The older woman beside a giggling Tin bursts out laughing.

“Angel face, this is Penny. Penny, this is—”

“Y/N. I’ve heard about you,” Penny says with a wink.

You blink, thrown. “Uh—you have?”

“Yup.” She grins at Tin meaningfully.

You feel your face flush. Oh God. Please tell me Jake did not talk about that kiss.

No. Get a grip. This was probably just a typical Saturday night for him. Also Tin is probably the one who told her about you. At least that’s what you hope.

You sit beside Chesca, keeping your eyes on Captain as he gallops toward the shoreline, only pausing every few feet to glance back and make sure you were still in view. Your loyal, sweet, overprotective boy.

“I swear he’s half babysitter,” Chesca mutters, watching Captain scan the beach for threats like he was trained to.

You smile. “He just knows my taste in men is questionable.”

From the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Jake, walking off the sand, shirt slung over his shoulder, abs on full display, eyes trained directly on—Captain.

Jake had every intention of ignoring you. Really. He was going to let you come to him this time. But then the dog showed up and he was weak. Apparently everything connected to you has his defenses down. Captain is a tank with a lion’s mane and soft golden fur that begs to be pet. Jake didn’t stand a chance.

The second the dog barrels toward him, all floofy hair waving and tail swinging like a fan, Jake crouches instinctively. “Oh, look at this big guy,” he crooned, arms open.

Captain hit him like a furry missile and immediately pressed his full weight into Jake’s chest with a deep, satisfied huff. 

Jake grins, heart skipping. “You didn’t tell me you had the best dog on the damn planet.”

You blink at the familiarity your dog was showing. “Uh Captain, you’re twice the traitor today I see.”

Jake scratches behind your dog’s ears, completely smitten. “You named him Captain for the obvious reason?”

You shrug. “He’s the only man I trust to lead me.”

Jake throws his head back in a loud, unfiltered laugh. Fuck, she’s funny. He already somehow knew but he loves having it confirmed. You didn’t even say it to impress him, which made it worse.

Finally he looks up, eyes meeting yours. “Y/N.” Soft. Like your name held weight.

He doesn’t even know why he said your name like that. Like saying it too loudly might scare you off.

You give him a tight nod. “Jake.”

And that was it.

You don’t look at him long. You don’t smile. You don’t ask how he was. He has to work to keep his expression neutral as you turn your head away. Meanwhile, Captain huffs and rolls, exposing his belly like he’d known Jake for years. Jake is only too happy to oblige, rubbing him like it was his life’s purpose.

“He doesn’t just do that for anyone,” Chesca is the one to talk, watching the whole thing unfold, perplexed at your dog’s immediate submissiveness

Jake smirks. “Guess he knows good people.”

You snort. “He’s also been known to eat his own vomit, so maybe don’t read into it too much.”

That makes him laugh again, but quieter this time. He looks down at Captain and murmurs something low, forehead pressing against the thick fur behind the dog’s ear. Captain offers an obvious happy response, tongue lolling out. Jake rubs a hand along his side and felt something squeeze in his chest.

Great. Falling in love with the girl’s dog now. Real smooth, Hangman.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the Dagger Squad to swarm. Bradley jogs over first, grabbing a water bottle, but stops when he sees Captain sprawled beside Jake.

“Who’s the fluffy golden god?” he asks, eyes wide. “Y/N, if you ever need someone to dog-sit, I’m your guy. I have snacks. I have cable. I don’t have Jake’s clingy energy.”

Jake rolls his eyes but Captain immediately forgets Jake and licks Bradley’s hand.

Natasha chuckles. “I’m not sure he’s willing to be baby-sat by anyone so easily. He’s clearly smarter than most of you.”

Mickey, Reuben and Bob joins next, both dropping to their knees and giving Captain full body rubs like he was a celebrity.

“I’d die for this dog,” Bob whispers reverently.

“I’d commit arson,” Mickey adds.

Jake doesn’t move, but his arm slid possessively around Captain’s back. “Guys, he obviously likes me best.”

You sipped your iced tea. “Please. He loves everyone. He has no standards.”

Captain simply wags his tail from all the attention and nestles closer into Jake’s lap. And this makes Jake look smug. Like he’d just won.

You scowl. “Excuse me Captain?”

“Angel face, he’s gone deaf.” Tin adds teasingly

“Don’t take it personally,” Reuben says with a grin. “He’s just picking the person who looks most like a golden retriever.”

That got a round of laughter, and even you crack a reluctant smile. Still, you refuse to lose this game. You want to nip this in the bud. So you stand and whistle once, making Captain's ears perk.

“Captain. Here.”

Captain looks at you, then looks at Jake. As if that was even something to consider. To your shock, he stays right where he was. Then the traitorous bastard actually lays down and sighs contentedly, head resting on Jake’s thigh.

Jake looks like he’d just been gifted a medal. “Sorry, sweetheart. Looks like I’m his person now.”

You stare at the two of them incredulously. “I bottle-fed that dog when he was a puppy. I wiped his ass. I taught him not to chase cyclists.”

Jake just grins, brushing his fingers over Captain’s fur like he was petting royalty.

“You sure you didn’t train him to find the manliest guy on the beach and imprint?”

You grab your drink in a pretend frustration and flop back into your seat, muttering under your breath. “Captain, you better start learning to pick up your own poop because we’re done”

Jake hears it and his grin only grows wider.

And fuck, if this wasn’t the most painfully domestic thing he’s ever wanted to keep.

Part II – Wanting Without Asking

By the time the sun dips low enough to turn the ocean copper, Penny starts waving everyone toward the boardwalk.

“Come on, I’ve got ribs marinating behind the bar and beers with your names on ’em!” she calls out, voice echoing over the tide.

The squad cheers, sun-kissed and half-covered in sand, while your group starts gathering your things.

You’re already trying to slip away unnoticed, brushing the grit from your legs, but Tin spots you instantly. Sometimes it truly sucks to have someone know you as much as you know yourself.

“Don’t even think about it,” she calls. “You and Captain are coming too. Natasha already called dibs on holding him during dinner.”

Captain waves his tail like it could make him fly if he wasn’t 60lbs. This dog has truly become a stranger.

The walk back to The Hard Deck’s back patio is filled with sunset chatter. Bradley recounts the score, Bob explains how sunscreen works with scientific precision, while Mickey carries the Bluetooth speaker like a sacred relic.

You stay close to Chesca and Tin, grateful for the buffer. Captain pads alongside you, finally choosing his fear of losing you from his sight over being petted by Jake. His nose to the wind while his leash slack in your hand.

Jake walks behind, pretending to joke with Javy, but really just watching you. Every little move. Every flick of your hair, every laugh. It was killing him. God, he wants to know what you were thinking. Wants to say your name just to see how it feels when you turn.

Then Captain, reliable wingman that he was, seemingly remembers Jakes and tries to pull towards him..

You tug the leash, firmly commanding. “No, you’re staying with me.”

Jake’s grin is immediate. “He’s got good taste.”

“Yeah, probably thinks he can eat you being slathered in coconut oil.” You roll your eyes

Captain digs his feet in the sand, preventing you from pulling him.

You sigh in frustration and threaten. “I’m going to leave you.”

You then drop his leash and pretend to walk away. And usually, this works. Usually. But then, the little traitor decides to waddle to Jake’s side. And Jake looks all too pleased with being chosen.

Jake crouches, petting him with both hands. “You wanna walk with me, Cap?”

You stare. “He’s not walking with you. He doesn’t go with strangers.”

Captain only looks at Jake and you know your dog’s happy face when you see it.

Jake takes his leash in his hand and Captain simply walks side by side with him as if they’ve been doing it every day of his life. The look you gave Jake could’ve curdled paint. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. She’s so hot when she’s pissed.

“You’re only getting dry dog food from now on,” you mutter to Captain as they pass you by heading to the Hard Deck.

Jake hears it and only smiles.

It was a closed night for the Hard Deck. The patio behind the bar glows with warm string lights hanging along the weather-worn shed. The benches are covered in mismatched cloths and paper plates, while the scent of BBQ wafts like perfume through the air.

Captain has somehow settled on Jake’s feet, tail thumping against his thigh like a drum roll every time someone approaches.

“Come on, Captain,” Bradley groans, crouching beside them with a rib in hand. 

He’s been trying to convince your dog to sit with him in the last few minutes. “This is smoked. Hickory. Don’t make me beg.”

Captain sniffs it... then turns away, settles his head on Jake’s feet.

“Unbelievable,” Bradley mutters.

Jake smirks. “He’s a man of high standards.”

“More like a furry little con artist,” Natasha quips.

You watch the whole exchange from your seat across the patio, one knee drawn up to your chest, drink in hand. Your gaze, unreadable as it is, never quite left them.

Jake feels it. Like static in the air. You watching him. Judging him. Wanting to look away but not doing it.

Chesca places her plate on the table and takes the spot beside you.

“Don’t say it,” you warn her

She tilts her head. “Wasn’t gonna.”

“You were.”

She shrugs with a smirk, “You’re just mad your boyfriend stole your dog.”

You don’t even acknowledge her remark. Not even wanting to know where she would even get that comment. You’ve never even told anyone about the kiss. 

Jake’s ears burns at the word boyfriend. He doesn’t dare look your way. But he likes the sound of it way too much.

Penny is a one-woman army at the grill. Burgers sizzling, beer bottles cracking open with casual expertise. When finally Captain had decided he missed you enough and went to your feet to take a nap, Jake took his chance to hover near the cooler. He offers to grab buns, plates, and utensils. All an excuse to keep his hands busy. Anything to not march across the patio to hug your dog and kiss you in front of everyone.

Instead, he settles on watching you instead. The way your smile softens around Tin. How your hand brushes Captain’s fur when he curls up beside your bench. It wasn’t fair. No one should look that good laughing in sunset light.

Later, as the music fades into the softer crackle of firewood and someone broke out a half-soggy deck of cards, Tin joins you near the drinks table. You’ve finally been able to step away when your dog passed out from all the group excitement. The lights cast a golden halo on Tin’s curls, her sandals scraping against the gravel as she leans her hip beside you.

She hands you a new glass of iced tea. “Alright. Spill.”

You don’t look at her. “What?”

She raises a brow. “You’ve been cagey all night, specifically with Seresin. Which means something happened.”

You take a slow sip, eyes fixed on the fire pit. “I’m always cagey.”

She gives you that look—the Tin look—the one that could see straight through you and doesn’t need your permission to call bullshit.

You surrender, unwillingly and quietly. “Fine. We kissed.”

Tin’s brows shot up. “You and Seresin?”

You give her a warning. Then look around to make sure no one hears, before pulling her a bit further away from other ears, and nod once. 

Her mouth drops. “WHEN?”

You tilt your head. “That first night at the bar. When we went outside.”

“I knew it! You came back in like someone had drop-kicked your soul.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s... not far off.”

Tin lean closer, her voice softer now. “Okay. But why are you treating him like he burned your house down?”

You look down into your glass, condensation dripping onto your fingers.

“Because I’m not sure how to deal with it,” you say quietly. “And I think he likes me. At least he said so. And I think that’s a problem.”

Tin frown. “You lost me.”

You look up at her, sighing. “Because he’s Jake Seresin. I know his type. He flirts like it’s air. He knows exactly how to say something to make you feel like you matter. And then what? One day I don’t?”

She doesn’t answer.

You go on. “You know I’ve been with men like him. Ones who make you believe. Who treat you like you’re their whole world until one day you’re just... not. And it breaks something in you that doesn’t grow back right.”

Tin’s face softens. Her hand reached out, resting over yours.

“I don’t want to be a chapter in a story he tells later,” you shake your head. “I don’t want to be ‘this one girl who fell head over heels in with one kiss’”

There was a pause. A breath between truths.

“You’re not just some girl,” Tin said. “And I don’t think you’ve seen how he looks at you. But the rest of us are noticing. He already looks like he wants something he doesn’t know how to ask for.”

Your shrug, trying not to look affected by her words. You look out at the fire pit instead.

At some point in the conversation, your eyes wander on Captain, who must have woke up at some point and since he couldn’t find you, decided to curl up beside Jake’s feet again. You observe Jake’s hand move absentmindedly over his fur while the others play cards around them. But his eyes aren’t on the game.

They’re on you.

Part III – Hard to Ignore

You hadn’t meant to go inside. You just needed another drink. The air is thick outside, the smell of BBQ and the warmth of the firepit clinging to your skin. People were getting loud, tipsy and loose-limbed, sprawled across chairs or swaying to a playlist that has shifted into a full-blown nostalgic mixtape.

Inside, the Hard Deck is empty. Dim. A few string lights still cast a soft gold over the bar, and the hum of the drink fridge fills the silence. You pull open the cooler behind the counter, grabbing a sparkling water and pressing it to your cheek for a second before cracking it open.

You don’t even hear the door.

“You’re not planning to run off again, are you? I have your excuse held up.”

You turn slowly and find Jake standing in the doorway like he’d just stepped out of a heatwave, hand still on the wood, eyes fixed on you.

You don’t answer while he lets the door close behind him. He takes a step forward. Another.

“‘Cause last time you walked away, I couldn’t think straight for a week.”

You snort. “That’s generous. I would say it was a very forgettable night.”

Jake cocks his head. “Oh, sweetheart. If I could forget the way you sound when I kiss you, I’d be getting more sleep.”

Your fingers tighten around the bottle. You’re unprepared for his honesty. It throws your comebacks off and you just hate that he seems to know what he’s doing.

He moves closer but you find yourself rooted to your spot. Again. 

His voice drops. “The way you looked at me that night. Right before you let me touch you like that?”

He stops in front of you, hands slipping into the pockets of his shorts. “You can’t tell me that didn’t mean something.”

“Clearly means more to you than to me,” you reply, though your voice lacked conviction.

Jake leans in, breath warm against your ear. “Liar.”

You swallow. The voice in your head screaming Walk out. Get out. Repeatedly. But your body refuses to move and instead, anticipates his next move.

“I don’t do this,” you insist weakly. “I don’t fall into guys’ laps because of one kiss.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m definitely planning to give you more than one”

Your heart thuds. Loud. Heavy. Jake takes his chance to step closer. You back up, spine hitting the bar. How in God’s name do you end up in the same situation over and over again?

Jake smiles slowly, hands bracing on either side of you.

“I think about it,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Every damn night. The way you tasted. The way you whimpered when I touched your thighs.”

“Jake—”

His voice is now beside your ear, “The way your fingers pulled at my shirt like you needed me.”

Your eyes flutters shut.

His breath creeps down your neck, “And the way your lips felt against mine. Like silk.”

You gasp when he finally presses forward. His body lines up with yours, heat radiating through denim and cotton. His thigh slips between yours, slow and deliberate.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers. “And I will.”

And for the life of you, you will never understand why you don’t. Giving Jake all the opportunity to do with your silence what he would.

His lips crashes into yours, hot and desperate, mouths slanting together with a hunger that had been simmering for the last week. His hand cups the back of your head, tilting it just right as he devours your mouth. It’s slow at first, teasing your bottom lip with the scrape of his teeth before deepening the kiss into something messier, wetter, needier. No trace of hesitation in this kiss unlike the last. His tongue licks into your mouth, coaxing yours into a rhythm that makes your spine arch off the bar behind you.

The groan he lets out when you bite his lip is sharp and deliberate. And that shoots straight through you.

His hands roam your thighs, waist, back. His mouth is relentless, devouring you with slow, deep kisses that leave you gasping. One hand sneaks beneath your dress, trailing up your inner thigh. Something he’s been itching to do since the first time he’s touched you.

“Fuck, you’re soft,” he murmurs.

You bite your lip to stifle a sound when his fingers brush over your underwear. He grins against your neck.

“You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Jake,” you whisper, warning and plea all at once.

His thumb presses over the damp fabric, slow circles. His forehead is against yours, eyes dazed and obviously captivated, “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t. Reasoning ceasing to function in your brain as you pull him closer, your hips arching toward his touch.

And then—the door creaks open.

“Hey, did someone leave—OH.”

Natasha’s voice was like cold water being poured on you. 

You shove Jake back, heart hammering. Jake steps away immediately, hands in the air. His mouth opens like he’s about to explain.

Natasha blink, then grins. “Cool. I’ll grab that later.”

The door shuts again. And before he even turns back to you, you’re already off the bar, fixing your dress, avoiding Jake’s eyes.

“I need air,” you mutter.

You bolt out to the back door.

You don’t go home immediately.

After Natasha left the bar and you heard Jake’s footsteps leaving for the patio, you went in the bathroom for a while, splashing cold water on your face, staring at your reflection like it held some answers. It doesn’t. All it did was reflect the heat still burning in your cheeks and show the sting of your own frustration.

You rejoin the group like nothing had happened, seating yourself between Tin and Ches, laughing at jokes, pretending your lips weren’t still tingling, pretending you hadn’t let Jake Seresin put his hands under your dress. Again.

You hate how easy it was to fall into him. To let your body make decisions your brain had vetoed hours ago.

When things start to wrap up, you quietly begin packing up Captain’s things—his leash, his little collapsible water bowl, the spare tennis ball someone had gifted him mid-BBQ like a bribe.

Jake appears at your side like he had radar.

“You’re leaving?”

You nod, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Gonna walk to the lot, head home.”

He frown. “You’ve had a couple drinks.”

“I’ve also had three bottles of water.”

Jake steps in front of you, not blocking, just... there.

“Captain’s already in my truck.”

You blink and start looking around for your dog. “Excuse me?”

“He’s already more comfortable there.” He insists

You glance toward the lot. Sure enough, through the glow of the streetlamp, you could see the golden traitor sitting in the passenger seat like he’d just clocked in for a shift. When he even went there, you don’t know.

“I’ll drive,” Jake says. “You can pick up your car in the morning.”

You hesitate, biting your lip in uncertainty. 

Jake feels it and so he assures, despite your lip biting that beckons him, “I won’t talk about it. About anything.”

You still don’t move.

He steps closer, voice lower. “I know you’re trying to draw lines here, Y/N. I get it. But this—me driving you home—isn’t going to be negotiable.”

You exhale slowly. You want to argue. Insist on your independence. But the truth is, you were exhausted. Confused. A little buzzed. And the way he said your name… God.

“Fine,” you mutter.

Jake nods. No victory smirk. No smugness. Just a quiet, respectful relief.

He opens the passenger side door for you. You climb in, keeping your eyes on Captain, who immediately rests his head on your thigh like nothing in the world had happened.

Jake gets in the driver side, starts the engine, and doesn’t say a word.

And you sit there, fingers in Captain’s fur, wondering how the hell you always end up here—with Jake’s taste still on your lips and the rules you set for yourself unraveling at the seams.

Part IV  – Say You Don’t Want Me

The truck ride is quiet at first.

You’ve convinced Captain to go into the back seat so he can be more comfortable. He’s passed out flat on his stomach like he was his own fluffy pillow. The engine hums steady beneath your feet. The radio is off. You stare out the window, lights from passing storefronts flashing across your face.

Jake hasn’t said a word since pulling out of the lot so you finally break the silence.

“Why me?”

Jake’s grip tightens subtly on the steering wheel. “What?”

You don’t look at him. “You could have anyone. Any girl in that bar. One who’s up for a good time. No questions, no complications.”

He glances over, brows drawn. “You think this is about a ‘good time’?”

You shrug. “Isn’t it?”

Jake exhales slowly through his nose. “I don’t know what this is yet. I’m not pretending to. But I know I want you. And now I’m sure it’s not for a night, Y/N.”

You finally look at him. His jaw is tight, like the truth is hard to say.

“It’s true that it’s been a while since I’ve had to work this hard for a woman.” he admits. “But I’m not going to lie and say you don’t already have me walking a line every time you’re near. You've been in my head since the moment I saw you. You smile and all I want is for it to be at me every single time.”

You blink fast. “Jake…”

He pulls into your street and parks in front of your fence.

“All I’m asking for is a chance. You tell me what I have to do to earn your trust, and I’ll do it.” He says sincerely

You stare ahead. “Maybe we’re better off as friends.”

That hits him like a punch. 

Jake turns toward you, one arm braced over the wheel. “You want to be my friend?”

“I don’t know what I want yet. But I know I can’t do this if I don’t trust you.”

His nostrils flare. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“I think you could,” you say softly. “Without meaning to.”

Silence.

You both sit there, breaths shallow, emotions high.

Jake nods eventually. “Friends,” he says. “Sure.”

But his voice is strained. It comes out lower than intended, like he's trying to choke down a growl. He doesn’t look at you right away, because if he does, he knows he’ll crack. He’ll do something stupid. His fists curl against his thighs, trying to channel the heat building in his chest.

He looks over at you, eyes burning with a mix of frustration and need. God, this is driving him fucking insane. Sitting next to you pretending it doesn’t affect him. Dropping you off like some goddamn Uber driver when all he wants to do is kiss you stupid and push you up against your front door. Feel you melt against him. Remind you exactly what you do to him. His head filled with what he’d do to you if you let him.

You only stare back and the small trace of expectancy on your face dissolves his resolve.

He swallows hard. “I’ll be your friend.”

But in his head, thoughts are already swirling. I’m going to do everything I can to make her change her mind. I’ll wait. I’ll be patient. I’ll smile and pretend this doesn’t tear me apart, but I swear to God, I’ll make her want more. I’ll make her see what we could be. Because this—whatever this is between us—it’s not done. Not even close.

You don’t answer. Just open the door. Jake gets out too, walking you and Captain to your door without being asked. He keeps his hands in his pockets the whole time.

At the top of the stairs, you fumble with your keys. Captain trots in as soon as you get the door open.

Jake stays outside.

“Is there anything you even want at this moment?” he says quietly. “Aside from being friends.”

You meet his eyes.

“I want you to stop looking at me like I’m already yours.”

His voice is low. “Can’t help it if that’s what I want.”

The silence between you is thick. You step back, inside your front door. While you still can. While you’re still able to control the situation.

“Goodnight, Jake.” 

You close the door softly. Not a slam. Not a goodbye. Careful. Like every movement might undo you.

You lean your weight into the door, your breath catching before it even leaves your lungs. Your heart pounds too loud, too fast. Beating against your ribs like it’s trying to chase after him.

You drag yourself to the couch, slump then lean back. Your head faced up.

What am I doing? you wonder.

Because even after all the warnings you gave yourself, after the lines you drew and redrew in your mind, he still gets under your skin. You still ended up letting him in. And if you were finally being honest, you still want to.

And no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise… You’re not sure you want him to stop.

Taglist: @lunatygerqueen @read-just-cant-stop @itsdarchik @writergirl28 @malindacath @ghiodmbd @unsure-but-trying @Lynnevanss @khouse712 @midnighttithe @daggersquaddoll @primadonnasdream @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime @Tgmreader @wkhannahlovergirlJUJU @keira-kaz2y5 @squidward009 @thedonswife13 @elenavampire21 @blvvdybvnnie @burnerficreader @primadonnasdream @dizzybee03

[midnightquips]

I just wanted to say I read 'Chaos' for the second time today, and I still love it so much. It hurt so good and they hurt so good and I LOVE their pain lol

This is absolutely in no means (!!) a pressure message or anything, I'm merely just curious if you ever plan to post a pt2 for it, since you mentioned of the possibility of that. It's completely fine if not, I'm really just interested.

Love your works <3

@thenyoukeepliving

Awww thank you so much. I actually really do love this story too and I will say that have written other parts already for this story. ❤︎❤︎❤︎

But the whole story is unfinished because I find writing it quite emotionally taxing to be honest. I think the precedent I've set in this initial chapter heavily implies that the reader has been through some trauma.

Lastly, with everything said, I have been doubting myself with posting it since I am unsure how people will receive a trauma heavy story. Comments like yours push me to finish it though and perhaps when I have the first draft of the entire thing, I will finally publish a Chapter 2. :)

[midnightquips]

Thunderbolts* dir. Jake Schreier | 2025

[midnightquips]

Hello lovely strangers. I just want to say that I love reading the little messages you guys leave me in my Taglist requests. They are always my little pick me ups.

With that said, I notice a number of people request to be tagged in all Top Gun fics. Or all Jake Seresin fics. Etc. should I just assume that everyone who’s requested in the previous character fics would want to be tagged again in the next same character fic?

I would love to make it easier for all of us so you won’t have to keep requesting to be tagged again. Maybe instead I can just make an Untag Me List 😂

Thank you everyone who keeps on reading. It really motivates me to stick to this. ☺️

[midnightquips]

Warmth

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time.

Themes: slow burn, sexual tension, mutual attraction, cute flirting, JAKE WITH A DOG (yes, that's a theme within itself)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: Y'all know I'm not going to end this week without ending Chapter 1!!!! Thank you for all the love for this ❤︎❤��❤︎

💫 Warmth Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1

Part IV– Abort Mission

Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“So what’s Bob got?” Jake tried. He really did. 

He didn’t want to sound insecure—especially not about Bob of all people—but damn if his curiosity wasn’t burning a hole through his chest.

You’ve been avoiding him ever since the billiards game. And yet, each time Bob returned to the table, your smile reappeared like it had been waiting for him. It made Jake grind his teeth, drink faster, and try not to glare every time Bob opened his mouth near you.

So when you excused yourself to get some air, he waited exactly two minutes before following.

He found you leaning against the outer wall of the bar, taking slow breaths, your face tilted slightly toward the ocean breeze. You didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“So what’s Bob got?”

You blink, startled, turning toward him. “I’m sorry?”

Jake steps closer, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Hate to say this, darlin’, but when girls like you ignore me for Bob, can’t help but my ego gets a little bruised.”

You cock your head. “Girls like me?”

“Pretty girls.”

You raise a brow, stunned more by the casual way he said it than the compliment itself.

Jake leans one shoulder against the wall, taking the chance to look at you unabashedly. Your dress flutters slightly in the breeze, and you look like a sin he didn’t know how to repent for.

“What’s wrong with Bob?” you ask, lips twitching.

“Not a damn thing. But when I’ve been trying to catch your eye all night, I’d like to think I’d get a reaction of some sort.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “I wasn’t aware you were trying to.”

He stares at you, clearly taken aback. “Not every day I have to try, sweetheart.”

You study him, that unreadable smile still lingering. Girls probably melt under those pet names and that swagger. But you? You aren’t letting him win so easy.

Jake straightens up and steps closer, his voice dropping. “So I’m telling you now. I want your attention. What’s next?”

His own words feel too honest. Too real. Why the fuck did he sound nervous?

You take a slow breath, your tone steady. “I don’t bother with guys like you.”

“Darlin’, there are no guys like me.”

You break into a smile that hits him like a sucker punch. “There are always guys like you.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jake Seresin feels like the one getting played.

You lean back against the wall now, mirroring him, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his eyes. “Does my answer even matter?”

Jake’s voice was rougher now. “It always matters.”

Your lips part, then hesitate. You bite your bottom lip without realizing, until his eyes drop to the movement.

“You keep doing that with your lips, darlin’, and I won’t even bother asking questions anymore.”

“Huh?” you blink, only half-aware.

God, she has no idea what she’s doing to me. The thought slams into him, his restraint fraying.

He takes a step forward. His fingers grazes the hem of your dress, voice low, slow. “I really like this dress.”

You swallow. “I like it too.”

“Something we have in common.”

Trying to push back control, you hit back, “Probably one of the few.”

Jake grins, sharp and sure. “You gotta give me more credit than that.”

“So sure of yourself,” you murmur.

“I ain’t Top Gun for nothin’, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, then give in. “Honestly... I thought you were eyeing Chesca.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “She’s a pretty little thing. But…” He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Can I be honest with you?”

You barely nod. “Mhmm.”

“Since you walked in, all I’ve thought about is what you’d look like with this dress bunched around your waist, legs wrapped around me…”

You gasp, quietly. Your pulse skyrockets.

Jake’s smile darkens. “Now, that sound I really like.”

His fingers skims up your thighs. Slow. Possessive.

You find yourself rooted to where you’re standing. Every nerve burning. Your brain couldn’t catch up with your body.

His hand comes up, fingers curling around your jaw. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to him. “If you don’t want this,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips, “better say it now. Because I’m about to make it crystal clear I’m interested in you.”

You open your mouth to try and speak but conclude that Jake has indeed rendered you speechless.

He smirks one last time at your gaping mouth before bringing his lips to yours. Instead of a heated one, he kisses you gently, as if waiting for you to come to your senses that this was happening, the tip of his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, nibbling gently.

The softness surprises you, more so when you find yourself kissing him back. Your mouth moving against his on it’s own accord, while one of your arms automatically wraps around his neck.

What the fuck happened to abort? You gasp at the entire situation unfolding.

Jake takes the gasp as an opportunity to slide his tongue in your open mouth, drawing yours out. You taste like cinnamon from the Fireball you’ve been drinking all night and it’s so fucking delicious. He gently bites your lower lip, something he’s been imagining since he saw you, when he feels your grip on his uniform get tighter.

He gently pulls your head back by your hair to gain better access to your mouth and it makes you whimper softly. The sound going straight to his cock. If he wasn’t so aware that you’re both standing outside the Hard Deck, he would have wrapped your legs around his waist already and slid inside you.

Your head is spinning. Jesus Christ this man could kiss. You feel his lips pulling away from your mouth, allowing you to finally breathe but making you suck in again as he attaches his lips to your jaw.

You don’t know whether to cry or kiss him again.

“I—uh—thank you,” you whisper, dazed.

Jake let out a breathy chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. “God, you’re adorable.”

That’s when you feel it. That sudden sting in your chest.

His words are sweet. His touch is careful. His kiss had cracked something inside you wide open. And all you could think about is—

This is how it starts—he kisses you like that, and for a second you forget that this is what he does. That he's practiced. That he probably knows exactly what to say and how to touch to make someone feel like they matter. But you’re not interested in being someone’s high-score.

Jake’s thumb brushes your cheek, noticing the shift in your eyes. “Hey. You okay?”

That tiny question, spoken with so much softness, shatters you.

You step back slowly, easing out of his hold like it never happened. You give him a practiced smile. Closed-lipped. Smooth.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “That was... lovely.”

His brow furrows. “Lovely?”

He steps forward, but you retreat just enough to keep the line drawn.

Jake frowns. “Darlin’, I don’t know what just went through your head, but that kiss was anything but lovely.”

You shrug, unsure of what else to say, before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, voice light. “Goodnight, Jake.”

Then you turn around and walk back inside.

Jake stands there, mouth slightly open, like he was still waiting for the punchline.

Strike three.

Taglist: @lunatygerqueen @read-just-cant-stop @itsdarchik @writergirl28 @malindacath @ghiodmbd @unsure-but-trying @Lynnevanss @khouse712 @midnighttithe @daggersquaddoll @primadonnasdream @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime

[midnightquips]

Warmth

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time.

Themes: slow burn, sexual tension, mutual attraction, cute flirting, JAKE WITH A DOG (yes, that's a theme within itself)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: Y'all know I'm not going to end this week without ending Chapter 1!!!! Thank you for all the love for this

💫 Warmth Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1

Part III – Hustled

When you return with the beers, the table is buzzing with energy. It also seems that Bradley and Jake have suddenly decided to challenge each other to a round of billiards.

You slide the drinks onto the table, catching Chesca’s soft sigh. “Oh, I was hoping to play,” she murmurs, eyeing the pool table longingly. Bradley catches this.

“Of course, sweets. Why don’t we do match against pairs?” Bradley suggests with a grin, already setting up the triangle. Chesca lights up immediately, nodding with more enthusiasm than you’ve seen in weeks.

Natasha beams, all too pleased. “Great idea, Roo. Why don’t you and Chesca pair off and Y/N and Hangman play against you?”

You and Jake both shoot Natasha a look like she’s lost her damn mind, but it’s you who speaks up first.

“I don’t think—”

Your protest falls on deaf ears.

Natasha, ever the instigator, looks over at Tin with raised brows. “Don’t you think it’s a great idea, babe?”

Tin catches on in half a second and agrees just a little too fast. “Absolutely. Team bonding. I love it.”

Jake stays suspiciously quiet, watching the exchange with an unreadable look. Then he rises smoothly, offering his hand to help you off the chair. You stare at it for a beat, then sigh internally and take it.

“Thanks,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.

Jake smirks to himself. Still counts.

You pull your dress down as you hop off the tall seat, already regretting your fashion choices. You definitely didn’t plan on bending over a pool table in a room full of military men.

“You break, Ches,” you say, placing the cue ball into her hand.

She lines it up with practiced ease, shooting a flawless break that sends balls scattering across the table. Jake raises an eyebrow at Bradley, who whistles low under his breath.

Chesca leans forward, lines up a clear shot, and sinks a striped ball with a crisp thud. Then another. She nearly lands a third but it bounces off the corner.

She groans, bowing her head dramatically. “We’re doomed, Bradley.”

“We’ll be fine,” he assures, but his tone says otherwise.

Jake turns toward you, cue in hand. “Ladies first.”

You only nod in acknowledgement. No banter. No flirting. Just business.

You lean forward, body aligning automatically. Your cue cracks against the cue ball, and just like that—a solid ball glides into the side pocket.

Bradley opens his mouth. “Don’t worry—”

He doesn’t even finish the sentence. Your second shot clears. Then a third. The fourth you sink without hesitation, glancing briefly at your angles. You call your next pocket without looking at Jake.

The fifth ball drops.

Then the sixth.

The room gets quieter. The tension hums louder.

Your seventh shot kisses the edge but still drops in. And then you step back, calmly tapping your cue against the floor.

“Right corner,” you announce, signaling your next shot.

With one smooth motion, you send the black 8 ball spinning straight into the corner pocket.

Silence.

Then Tin claps her hands like a proud mother hen beside a baffled Natasha. “What the actual fuck.”

“Oh yeah,” Tin proudly says. “Y/N’s won billiard championships before in college.”

Bradley lets out a low laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender.

You place the cue gently back in the rack, brushing invisible lint off your dress.

But not before walking past Jake, who’s still standing there in open-mouthed disbelief, and tapping him lightly on the chest.

“Thanks for letting me go first,” you say sweetly.

Jake’s eyes follow you all the way back to the table.

Game’s over, he thinks.

Strike 2.

But as he steps up to the table, a slow smile pulls at his lips.

“You know,” he says loud enough for you to hear, lining up a casual shot, “you could’ve warned me before embarrassing me in front of my friends.”

You glance over your shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Jake makes the shot without even looking.

Then he sets his cue down and leans on it like it’s a mic stand. “So, do you hustle often or is that just for the unsuspecting Navy guys?”

You arch a brow. “Just the cocky ones.”

“Ouch.” He clutches his chest. “You wound me.”

“From what I hear, you’re used to girls going easy on you.”

Jake’s smirk deepens. “And here I was thinking you were just pretty.”

Your eyes meet his for half a second. There’s heat there. Frustration. A dare.

Then you turn away, laughing softly. “Happy to always peg you down a notch”

He grins. God, he’s never wanted strike three more.

Taglist: @lunatygerqueen @read-just-cant-stop @itsdarchik @writergirl28 @malindacath @ghiodmbd @unsure-but-trying @Lynnevanss @khouse712 @midnighttithe @daggersquaddoll @primadonnasdream @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime

[midnightquips]

Flight Risk

Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: For you, Bob Floyd is just the kind of guy you want. Smart. Sweet. Soft-spoken. The kind that won't break your heart. For Bob, you're the kind of woman that takes his breath away. Calm. Cool. Stunning. The kind you'd want to sweep off her feet. So this should be easy, right? Right?

Themes: Dagger Squad teasing, slow burn, jealousy, sexual tension, meddling

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, nsfw, praise kink, soft aftercare, oral sex, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: Sometimes I feel I get too caught up in the slow burn that I feel this pace is too fast. But come on, Bob deserves some love. Don't y'all agree? Would love to hear your thoughts. ❤︎

💫 Flight Risk Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 3: High Stakes

It starts with a look.

You walk into the hangar, fresh from a debrief, sipping coffee from your dented thermos when Bob glances up from across the room. His eyes catch yours like a magnet. It’s just a flick of connection but enough to spark something. You smile. So does he.

It should be nothing. But it feels like everything.

You're not touching. You're not even standing close. But your skin hums like he's brushing against you. You don’t miss the way Phoenix clocks it instantly.

“Y/N,” she drawls as you approach, “you’re practically sparkling.”

You roll your eyes, tucking your thermos under your arm. “Must be the jet fuel.”

She grins. “Uh huh.”

Everyone's already gathering for the morning briefing. Rooster is fiddling with his flight gloves. Hangman is pretending he’s not eavesdropping from behind a clipboard. Payback and Fanboy are mid-argument about who’s late more often.

Bob stands beside his locker, trying not to look obvious. But when you pass by, you brush your hand across his lower back like it’s second nature.

And maybe now, it kind of is.

The next few days are more of the same but louder, bolder.

You and Bob end up partnered for inspections, simulator drills, and gear checks. It should feel routine, but the air between you crackles. You're both good at pretending it's all professional, but the way he watches you when he thinks no one’s looking? It gives everything away.

“Hey Floyd,” Fanboy calls out on the second day, watching Bob fumble a wrench. “You always this chatty when checking fuses?”

Bob stiffens. You just smirk.

“I bring out the best in him,” you say without missing a beat.

Payback whistles. “More like the blushing.”

Phoenix, overhead, doesn’t even look up from her notes. “He’s been blushing for three weeks. You’re just late to the party.”

Hangman strolls by, flicking Bob’s shoulder. “Down bad, Lieutenant.”

Bob mutters something under his breath. You catch his eye, amused, and mouth: You okay?

He gives you a subtle nod and a faint smile. Worth it.

By day three, things escalate.

Bob joins you for lunch in the base cafeteria. You’re seated at a quiet corner table, picking through fries when he appears with a tray and a nervous smile.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks.

You gesture at the empty chair with a smile. “It is now.”

He sits, close enough that your knees bump under the table. 

He takes a sip of his drink and glances sideways at you. “You always sit alone like this?”

You pop a fry into your mouth. “Only when I’m hoping someone will come flirt with me.”

Bob’s smile curves, soft but full of meaning. “How’s that going so far?”

You glance at him over the rim of your drink. “Promising.”

He shifts closer, his thigh brushing yours under the table. The warmth makes you very aware of how small the table actually is. When he picks up one of your fries without asking, you raise an eyebrow.

“Bold move, Lieutenant.”

He shrugs, chewing. “You said I should be more confident.”

You lean in just slightly, enough to let your shoulder graze his. “Careful. I might start liking it.”

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth, then flick back up. “Noted.”

You laugh, a quiet, breathy sound. He watches you like he wants to bottle it.

You swear he’s about to reach for your hand at one point, but instead he lets his fingers hover close to yours on the table, pinkies nearly touching. It’s nothing, and somehow everything.

“You always this charming on base?” you ask.

Bob smiles shyly. “Only around you.”

You feel your stomach flutter and bite your lip to hide the smile spreading across your face.

That night, after drills, Kari and Iris don’t even ask. They just look at you across the locker room bench with smug, satisfied expressions.

“Well?” Kari says, arching an eyebrow.

“Well what?” you ask, toweling off.

Iris grins. “Is he a good kisser?”

You freeze mid-swipe, then glance around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping.

Kari hoots. “That’s a yes.”

You throw your towel at her. “You’re both terrible.”

“But we’re right,” Iris says.

You sigh, sitting down and pulling your hair into a bun.

“He seems to be more daring now. Touching your back and everything,” Kari adds.

“I saw it,” Iris nods. “Like, full hand. No hovering.”

You groan. “You guys are exhausting.”

“But also correct,” Iris grins.

You laugh, trying to play it off. But your stomach flips anyway.

Because they're right.

And whatever this is—you’re not hiding it as well as you thought.

Bob is late to the break room and immediately regrets it.

“Finally,” Payback says, tossing a stress ball from hand to hand. “Lieutenant Slow Burn has arrived.”

“Have you even bought her flowers?” Fanboy grins.

Bob walks straight to the coffee pot and tries to become invisible. He does take note of the flowers though.

“Seriously though,” Rooster pipes in, leaning back in his chair with a toothpick between his lips, “what’s your play here, man?”

Bob glances up. “What do you mean?”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “He means... what exactly are you doing with Y/N?”

Bob hesitates. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Slow?” Hangman echoes. “Buddy, tectonic plates move faster.”

Payback laughs. “She clearly likes you. You like her. So why do you keep acting like you’re waiting for a permission slip from Command?”

“I don’t want to rush her,” Bob says quietly.

Fanboy shrugs. “What makes you think you’re the one pushing the pace?”

That quiets the room. Bob glances around, suddenly unsure.

Phoenix softens. “Look, we know you’re careful. That’s why we trust you. But Y/N? She’s the kind who won’t wait around forever. And this is a Navy base. People notice her. Someone else might make a move.”

Bob stiffens slightly. Something flickers in his jaw.

Hangman smirks. “And she’s hot. Don’t fumble this.”

Rooster nods. “You like her? Show her.”

Bob sets down his coffee, determination renewed. “I will.”

He asks you out the next morning.

Not to dinner. Not to the Hard Deck. A picnic.

Just off base, in a quiet clearing tucked behind tall grass and weathered fencing. There’s a checkered blanket, sandwiches in brown paper, iced tea in mason jars. A small speaker playing soft oldies. It’s low-key, thoughtful. Perfect.

You wear a short sundress. It’s casual but cute. The breeze toys with the hem, brushing softly against your thighs as you settle on the blanket barefoot, the sun warming your skin. Bob notices immediately. His gaze lingers longer than usual.

He sets everything out beside you, his movements careful but relaxed.

“I didn’t know you had this in you,” you murmur, taking a sip of tea.

He sits cross-legged, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “I had help.”

You glance at him. “Phoenix?”

“And Fanboy. They’re... terrifyingly invested.”

You laugh. “Well, they did good.”

For a while, it’s quiet. You eat. Talk about anything but you two. He listens when you rant about a delayed supply drop. You listen when he describes a ridiculous new maintenance protocol.

Then he shifts.

“Can I tell you something?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Always.”

Bob leans forward just slightly, his fingers toying with the edge of the picnic blanket. “You looked really pretty this morning.”

You blink. “That so?”

He nods. “That bun you had? The lip balm?” He clears his throat. “Distracting.”

You smile. “You’re noticing things.”

He tilts his head. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” you say, suddenly softer. “You’re hard to read.”

He leans in a little more, his voice low. “I notice everything about you, Y/N.”

That makes your stomach flip.

Then he reaches out, fingertips grazing the hem of your sundress where it rests on your thigh. His touch is light, almost idle, but deliberate. He glances up at you as his fingers trail the edge.

“This dress…” he murmurs, “it’s really working for me.”

Your breath catches. The brush of his fingers alone makes heat rise to your cheeks.

He leans in, lips just beside your ear. “You look irresistible.”

You pull back slightly, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

He grins. “You heard me.”

“You’re getting bold.”

Bob shrugs, his eyes locked on yours. “You make it hard not to be.”

You’re still flushed when he leans back, sipping from his juice like he didn’t just make you forget how to breathe.

Later, he drives you home. The silence in the car is warm and charged. Your fingers graze his on the center console. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses back.

At your door, you pause. “Wanna come in?”

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The second the door closes, his mouth is on yours. You stumble back against the couch as he follows, hands on your hips, backing you into the cushions. You fall together, laughing softly between kisses.

His mouth finds your neck. You gasp.

“God,” you breathe, “you’re really going for it today.”

He pulls back just enough to say, “I’m done hesitating.”

You tug him in by the collar.

Your thighs spread to straddle him, knees bracketing his hips. The hem of your sundress rides higher as you settle into his lap. His hands slide up instinctively—starting at your knees, gliding over your bare thighs, slow and firm.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. Hotter. Mouth open, breath quick. His hands move up to your waist, then back down, then up again, greedy for contact.

You’re not sure where your hands end up—his shoulders, his neck, his chest—but you can’t stop touching him. Can’t stop wanting.

He pulls your dress higher, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His mouth is on your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.

You whimper when he bites gently at your neck.

“God,” he whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You shiver. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

You roll your hips again, and he groans, eyes squeezing shut. His hands clutch your thighs tighter. You reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. His hands suddenly hold yours, stilling it.

“I need to stop,” he says, barely above a whisper.

You nod, even though every nerve in your body protests. “Okay.”

You stay there, panting together, still tangled in each other. You understand, you really do. But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t leave you frustrated.

You untangle yourself off him, then rest your head on his shoulders. His fingers intertwined with yours. 

He gives you another soft kiss. “I’m gonna go or else I’m never going to leave.”

You smile softly. “Never wanted you anyway.”

He chuckles and nods in agreement. He gets up slowly and walks to the door. He looks at you one last time before you close the door behind him. You lean against it for a long moment.

Happy but also confused. Unsure whether maybe this is becoming one-sided.

Bob doesn’t sleep that night. He lies awake, berating himself. Why did he stop? Was it fear? Was it self-sabotage? Was he reading into things too much?

She’d wanted him. You’d pulled him in and kissed him like you meant it.

He groans into his pillow. He knows you deserved clarity. You deserved more. But why can’t he take that next step?

The next day, you find Kari and Iris already mid-conversation when you enter the locker room.

“Morning,” you mutter, grabbing your towel.

Iris narrows her eyes. “You’re quiet.”

“Everything okay?” Kari asks.

You pause, then sigh. “Yeah. I think so.”

Iris lifts a brow. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

You sit on the bench, pulling your hoodie tighter. “It’s just… maybe he’s not as into this as I thought.”

Kari blinks. “Wait, what? I would have thought you guys were already making out in every corner of the base.”

You groan. “Well… That’s the issue. We can’t seem to move past the making out.”

Iris leans forward. “Maybe because he actually respects you? And wants to do this right?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being easy but I just thought it would feel more clear to him by now.”

Kari exchanges a glance with Iris.

Later that afternoon, unknown to you, Iris and Kari find Phoenix and Rooster leaning by the lockers. They’ve decided that perhaps it’s about time for some meddling.

“You two want to help give Bob a little nudge?” Iris asks.

Rooster smirks. “Always.”

Phoenix crosses her arms. “What’s the plan?”

Kari grins. “Make him jealous. Just enough to wake him up.”

Phoenix laughs. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

It starts with whispered coordination.

Iris corners Kari by the locker room sinks. “It’s time.”

Kari doesn’t even hesitate. “Rooster?”

“Already on board.”

Phoenix joins a moment later, arms crossed and smirking. “You sure this’ll work?”

Kari grins. “Nothing lights a fire like a little competition.”

The Hard Deck is busy but not packed, music humming low and lights warm as always.

You sit at the bar with Phoenix and Iris, sipping a beer and laughing, unaware of the machinations swirling around you. You’re wearing a soft blouse tucked into fitted shorts that show off you legs. It’s casual, comfortable, and gorgeous without trying. You’re relaxed, even glowing, the kind of smile that makes people turn their heads.

Rooster waves someone over. “Y/N, this is Mason. He’s new to the team.”

Mason is good-looking in the clean-cut way. Confident but not cocky. He shakes your hand and falls into conversation easily. 

You think he’s charming. He doesn’t have the appeal that Bob has on you but he leans in just enough when you talk that it’s not hard to get into the conversation. He says something genuinely funny that makes you laugh, makes you forget a bit that there’s an aviator who’s still confused about you. Perhaps a little distraction won’t hurt, right?

Bob walks in ten minutes later, shrugging off his jacket as he scans the room. He finds laughing. Lit up with someone who isn’t him. His chest tightens.

He heads toward the pool table, trying to play it cool, but Phoenix sees him immediately. Her eyes follow his line of sight, and her lips curve like she’s been expecting this.

Hangman nudges Bob’s elbow with his drink. “That guy’s been at it for a good fifteen minutes. Pretty sure he’s making progress.”

Bob’s jaw works silently as he watches.

Mason leans closer, murmuring something in your ear. You laugh again, nudging his shoulder. When he touches your elbow in return, Bob’s hand curls into a fist around his glass.

He watches for another moment. He sees how easy you are with him, how comfortable. It gnaws at him. That should’ve been him sitting there, making you laugh like that. He knows you guys are not exclusive but why does it make his chest tighten thinking about the possibility that someone else might call you his? Maybe he can only blame his self doubt for this.

He knows it’s ridiculous and he’s never been possessive. But when finally, you rest your chin on your hand and smile at Mason like you’re genuinely enjoying yourself, Bob moves.

He walks over, casual but purposeful, and stops behind her barstool.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

You turn, startled at first. Then your expression shifts. “Bob—hey.”

Mason senses the shift instantly. He stands, offers a friendly nod and backs up slowly. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

You smile at him to wave him off.

You turn to Bob with a flicker of surprise. “You okay?”

He leans a forearm on the bar beside you, gaze steady. “Didn’t expect to see you with someone new.”

Your brow lifts slightly. “Mason? He’s Rooster’s friend. He just got transferred here.”

Bob nods slowly, but doesn’t move away. “He’s... charming.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “He is.”

There’s a beat.

Bob’s eyes flick to your lips. “I didn’t realize you were looking.”

The irritation rises within you, hot and fast.

You straighten your back. “I’m not looking.”

Bob’s gaze returns to your eyes, questioning but quiet.

“You think I’m out here trying to find someone else?” you ask, voice low but sharp. “After everything?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He knows you're right.

“I’ve made it pretty damn clear who I want,” you add, standing up. “You’re the one who keeps acting like you’re not sure.”

You grab your bag, brushing past him.

“Y/N—”

“Good night, Bob.”

You don’t respond to his texts.

You kick off your boots when you get home, toss your bag onto the change and change into a soft take and cotton shorts. Your hair out of its clip, cascading over your shoulder while you brush it. You’re simmering with irritation. Where does he even get the audacity to question you like that?

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, frustration painted across your face. What more could you do? You believe you’ve shown enough interest in him. 

Then… A knock. It’s sharp. Urgent.

You walk out of your room and look at the door. You hesitate while walking to the door. Opening it slightly, you find Bob standing there. Surprise overtakes you and you slowly open it until your fully standing in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice soft but stern. Arms crossed in front of your chest.

 Bob doesn’t say anything. He only steps forward, cups your face, and kisses you.

There’s nothing soft or hesitant about it this time. And it’s devastating.

His mouth crashes into yours with weeks of restraint burning away. One hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip as you stumble back into the apartment, gasping against his lips.

He kicks the door shut behind him. Your back hits the wall, and he pins you there with his body, pressing every line of himself against you.

Your hands tangle in his shirt, dragging it up, and his groan vibrates between you. His fingers dig into you thighs, then sweep up to your waist, bunching the hem of your tank as he kisses you deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.

“You were right,” he pants against your lips. “I’ve been holding back. But I’m not anymore.”

You don’t answer with words. Just pull him down again, your kiss fiercer now, fingers trailing along his belt. You exhale softly when he sucks gently at you neck.

When you finally break for air, he leans his forehead to your, chest heaving.

“I’m sure now,” he whispers.

You stare up at him, dazed and pink-lipped.

“You better be.”

Another pause. You hand finds his. And this time, you lead him inside.

Taglist: @jesterghuleh @sorry75 @midnighttithe @sneak-fic @Arriii @thatonedogwithablog @dragoste-lunes @yellowjm @kniselle @werockyeah @tgmreader @cummun1sta @holymacaroni84 @mericas-ass @rainymitskicain @wowitsafemale @jonnybernthalslover @funkyfable @msbyjackal @yaaawswn @luminous-beings-are-we-not @rikr3d@roc-haze

[midnightquips]

Something Like Salvation

Owen Taylor x Reader

Summary: You visit home reluctantly, only to find Owen Taylor has returned. But some things are different now. No longer are you the obedient girl nor is Owen Taylor the pious golden boy. In quiet corners and long drives, you chase something warm and reckless. It may not be redemption... but for Owen, you felt something like salvation.

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, religious guilt & themes, explicit sexual content, nsfw, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, semi-public sex, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT. Please note that this is set in a universe the Jem Starling DOES NOT exist. Owen is also NOT married here. Although I set this to be in a 2nd Person POV, my entire intention is to establish that Y/N is a full-grown adult.

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Epilogue

A year later.

The morning light in your shared apartment was familiar now. It poured through the windows in soft waves, slipping over the hardwood floors, warming the edges of the books piled by the couch, the half-drunk cups of tea left from the night before, and curling into the open pages of Owen’s notebook left on the kitchen table.

You were still in bed, stretched across a tangle of sheets, the scent of coffee just beginning to drift from the kitchen. The place didn’t feel like a temporary stop anymore. It felt lived in. Rooted. There were photos on the fridge, grocery lists scrawled in both your handwriting, an old sweatshirt of his tossed over your desk chair. A life being made — imperfect, intimate, yours.

But it hadn’t always been easy.

The first few months were full of adjustment. You learned that Owen left the cabinet doors open and always forgot to plug in his phone. He learned you got quiet when you were overwhelmed and sometimes needed space before you could talk.

There were fights. About the little things. About the big ones too. Like his restlessness, your fear of depending too much, the constant tug-of-war between needing freedom and needing each other. But each time, you came back to the center. You came back to the choice you made that morning in the kitchen: to stay, to grow, to keep choosing.

Owen came back from the corner café like he always did. A ritual he’s developed. He liked the walk, the stillness, the slow beginning. He walked in now with a paper bag, two drinks, and that familiar crooked smile that always made your chest pull tight.

“You up?” he called softly.

You padded out barefoot, hair messy, one sleeve of his sweatshirt falling off your shoulder.

“Barely,” you said, reaching for the drink. “But I’m here.”

He kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips, then handed you the bag.

“Almond croissant,” he said proudly.

You grinned. “You do listen.”

You both settled at the kitchen table, your legs draped over his lap, the mugs steaming between you.

“You writing today?” he asked.

You nodded. “You?”

He hesitated. “I think I might finally submit something this week.”

You looked up. “Yeah?”

He smiled. “It’s time.”

Owen stared down at the pages of his notebook, half-distracted by the sound of your pen moving across the table. You looked beautiful like this — head bent, focused, steady. He never stopped marveling at the fact that he got to see you like this every day.

He never thought this would be his life. A year ago, he’d walked away from everything he knew. He’d had no job, no clear direction, just a suitcase and your name burning like a promise in his chest.

The first few months felt like trying to learn a new language. Everything was unfamiliar. He’d taken part-time work at a community center, helping organize youth programs. Now he was working with an outreach organization that partnered with churches and nonprofits, helping young people transition out of restrictive environments. It felt right. It felt like healing.

And he wrote. Quietly, privately at first. Then with a little more courage. A few essays. A reflection piece. Even a short story about a boy who mistook silence for faith and found his way out through a girl who taught him how to speak again. He still didn’t know exactly what the future looked like. But for the first time, he wasn’t afraid to look for it.

He looked up and found you watching him.

You reached for his hand across the table.

“What do you see yourself doing?” you asked gently. “Not just now. Maybe later. When you’re ready.”

He swallowed.

“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “But I know I want to help. I want to give people what you gave me. A way out, and a reason to believe they’re allowed to want more.”

You nodded, squeezing his fingers. “Then we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you build it.”

He focused his eyes on you and felt the same rush he’d felt the day he found you again. Grateful. Unworthy. Overwhelmed.

And lucky.

“I hope I can give you back even a fraction of what you’ve given me,” he whispered.

“You already have,” you said.

You both smiled. Soft. Certain.

And then you wrote. Together.

Because it wasn’t just a story anymore.

It was a life.

Yours.

Taglist: @shantellorraine @slvt4her @anxious-alto @irlbaristaoc @dontpulloutman @re-permadrivercurse @lostwhitebunny @loonysbarn @msbyjackal @lewispullsman @wildflowernightmere @ae-aeitch @midnighttithe @sarapixieelliott08 @cloudyzip @yoong1stangerine @crashingout2point0 @alltimelowsuckedmydick @kez-bez @a1exisdelreys1eepy-bear @louloulemons-posts @dazed-and-confused101 @wowitsafemale @theoraekenslover @messinaprettydress @ihartcrunchygrapes

[midnightquips]

That Old Feeling

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It's been years since you've seen Bucky Barnes. You didn't plan to see him, but he definitely didn't look surprised to see you. Something's different, though. The looks. The heat. Maybe it's always been there. Maybe... you've just been too blind to see it before.

Themes: AU Thunderbolts, teasing officemates, possessive Bucky, friend's ex, Thunderbolts chaos (a consistent theme), friends-to-lovers, college crush so pining

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

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Chapter 2

Part III – What Are We Doing? 

You’re relieved that you managed to avoid Bucky for most of the day. You were almost successful. Until now.

You’re walking across the nearly empty parking lot, tote bag slung over one shoulder, head full of numbers from a late client call, when you spot him. Leaning against your car. Because of course he is.

“Seriously?” you mutter under your breath.

He hears you, then straightens up like he’s been waiting. Which, judging by the look on his face, he absolutely has.

“You stalking me now?” you call as you approach.

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Saw you forgot your charger at your desk. Figured I’d bring it out. Do the chivalrous thing.”

You had been looking for your charger before you left and wondered where it was. How suspicious it was with him. You had a feeling he did this on purpose. But what bothered you more was how it actually didn’t bother you. 

You reach for it, but he doesn’t hand it over. He simply holds it up between two fingers like bait.

You narrow your eyes. “What do you want, Barnes?”

He pauses. Then: “Dinner.”

Your brain stutters. “What?”

He softens, the smile less cocky now. “Dinner. As in, let me take you to one.”

You blink. “Like… a date?”

“I mean, you kissed me like you might want to sit across from me for an hour and eat pasta.”

“That was…” You trail off, then try again. “That was just—”

“Tequila and nostalgia?”

You frown.

He grins. “I know what you’re gonna say. I just figured I’d ask politely instead of begging on my knees.”

You sigh and cross your arms. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” he says simply. “Because I think we missed something back then. And I’d like to see if we can get it right now.”

It’s annoyingly sincere. You hate how your stomach flips. “I don’t date coworkers.”

“You don’t date ex-roommates’ exes either,” he points out. “And yet...”

You scowl. “You’re really not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Not when I finally have a shot.”

The silence stretches. You shift your weight, glance at your car and finally back at him.

“Fine,” you say eventually. “Dinner. As colleagues. Reconnecting.”

His eyes sparkle. “Sure. Totally professional.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”

He smirks. “No promises.”

He hands you the charger and walks you to the driver’s side, like he’s worried the car might disappear if he looks away. You pause before unlocking it.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not really.” He shrugs smugly

You shake your head, not able to keep the small smile from appearing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

You stare at him. His words catching you off-guard. 

His expression shifts and slows. “Can I say that?”

You swallow. “You just did.”

Suddenly, he steps in closer. It was just a few inches but you can feel the heat between you, the memory of his hands on your skin already creeping up your spine.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about last night,” he says, voice low. “The way you tasted. The way you moved.”

Your breath catches. “Bucky…”

“I know,” he says, raising his hands. “Not the time. Not the place. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I want more of it.”

You try to keep your voice steady. “We said it was just a moment.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I want another one.”

You’re quiet. Too quiet. Because your brain is busy screaming danger and your body is saying please.

And then, before you can change your mind, before you can throw logic back in his face, he leans in. You think he’s going to kiss your cheek again. Polite. Safe. But his mouth lands right beside yours again. Like it did yesterday but this time on purpose. 

The kiss is on the edge of your lips. You shift just slightly. Just enough that suddenly it’s a kiss again.

This one’s different this time. Not frenzied. Not wild. Just slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that builds heat in your chest and travels down your spine like a fuse. 

He groans into it, low and quiet, like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment. You part your lips, let him in, just once. He brings his hand to hold your face, sliding his tongue into your mouth. 

It makes your gasp. Then, you step back. Because if you don’t, you’re going to let him fuck you in the backseat of your car.

He’s breathing harder than before. Eyes hooded.

You lick your lips, but regret it instantly.

“Text me,” you say, unlocking the door. “If you still want to have dinner when your brain’s back online.”

He opens your door for you, still dazed. “I already do.”

You slide in. “Try not to camp out by my bumper tomorrow.”

“No promises.” 

You close the door before you can smile too much. But you see it in the mirror as you drive off. Bucky is standing there, watching you go, looking like he’s already planning what to wear.

Taglist: @enchantingwitchballoon @emilyswortwellen @tellybearryyyy @kiatjuddae @Luannastylinsonlupin @OtterlyCanadian @winchestert101 @bxtchboy69 @biggestfangirl @luannastylinsonlupin @Sebastians-love @fveapplestall @snhoe @ruexj283 @avengersfan25 @in-omn1a-paratus @avengemepercy

[midnightquips]

That Old Feeling

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It's been years since you've seen Bucky Barnes. You didn't plan to see him, but he definitely didn't look surprised to see you. Something's different, though. The looks. The heat. Maybe it's always been there. Maybe... you've just been too blind to see it before.

Themes: AU Thunderbolts, teasing officemates, possessive Bucky, friend's ex, Thunderbolts chaos (a consistent theme), friends-to-lovers, college crush so pining

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

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Chapter 2

Part II – She’s Killing Me

Bucky hadn’t stopped thinking about your mouth since he kissed you. It was harder to forget that you actually kissed him back.

It may have been him who initiated but it felt mutual. Messy. Desperate. Perfect. And all he wanted was more.

But now, eighteen hours later, you’re acting like it never happened. Not even replying to his text even when he knows you’ve seen it.

You didn’t even say hi when he saw you in the kitchen. Barely looked at him when you walked by his desk. And when he bumped into you in the hallway again (maybe purposely) and offered a smile that felt like a peace treaty, you just said, “You good?” like he was some intern with too many printouts.

And now? Now Bucky’s spiraling. He’s standing in the breakroom staring blankly at the vending machine, wondering if peanut M&Ms are enough to numb the ache in his chest.

Spoiler: they are not.

A voice cuts in behind him. “You look like a man who got recently blindsided with abandonment.”

Bucky turns to find Ava standing behind him with two protein bars and a raised brow.

He makes a face. “What?”

“You’ve got moppy hair and wounded puppy eyes,” she adds, tossing him a bar. “Also looks like post-makeout blues.”

He catches it reflexively. “I’m fine.”

“You’re wearing black-on-black, Bucky. That’s emotional.”

He groans. “Jesus. Did Yelena tell everyone?”

“She didn’t have to. You’re as subtle as a billboard.”

Bucky refuses to acknowledge that. He likes to think he’s the opposite and it irritates him more that apparently not. He opens a protein bar, takes a bite, and chews like he wants it to solve something. It doesn’t.

“She kissed me back,” he says finally.

Ava hums. “And now she’s ghosting you?”

“Pretty much.”

“She’s too hot to be left unsupervised. Maybe you should’ve followed up with a calendar invite labeled ‘makeout round two.’”

“I texted her.”

“And?”

“She left me on read.”

Ava winces. “Damn. Cold.”

“Yeah.”

They stand in silence for a beat.

Then she pats his shoulder. “You’re kind of fucked.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Later, during a brief IT meeting, John leans over and says, “So… you tapped that?”

Bucky nearly knocks over his coffee.

“No.”

John shrugs. “Looked like you were gonna. Heard the door was involved.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

“Stop talking.”

John grins. “She’s hot, man. Smart, mean, sharp-tongued. You’re doomed.”

Bucky glares. “Super helpful, thanks.”

By 4:15, Bucky’s given up on productivity. He’s just watching the door now. He’s been hoping since lunch that you’d come by. But he thinks maybe you’re hiding. Maybe you’re avoiding him. Maybe you regret everything.

Shit.

Memories from college start flashing—those nights he lingered in the dorm just a few minutes longer, hoping you’d come in and toss a snide comment over your shoulder. The way your voice sounded when you called him dramatic. The time you fell asleep on the couch and he covered you with a blanket like it didn’t mean anything. But that’s you never know, it always meant something to him. 

He just didn’t think there’d be a time where you’d ever let him touch you like that. Not for real.

And now you had once, he’s not sure he can let it go again.

Yelena finds him at the vending machine again near your department.

“Seriously?” she asks.

“I need sugar.” Bucky excuses weakly

She crosses her arms. “You’re pathetic.”

“I know.”

“She’s not ignoring you because she didn’t like it.”

That peaks hope in him. He glances at her. “No?”

Yelena rolls her eyes, “She’s ignoring you because she did.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense.”

“Welcome to women.”

He groans. “What do I do?”

“You wait.”

Bucky groans in frustration. “I hate that.”

“Yeah. But if you push too hard, she’ll bolt.”

He leans his head against the wall. “I’m so screwed.”

Yelena nods solemnly. “Deeply.”

When Bucky walks by your desk one last time before clocking out, you’re not there but your jacket and coffee cup are. Your half-scrawled notes with your favorite pen litter your desk. He remembers how you chew on your pen end when you’re annoyed. 

He stares at the desk then sighs, mutters under his breath. “Get it together, man.”

He sees your charger at the top right corner of your desk. A thought crosses his mind. He grabs it before he changes his mind. Then he walks away before he blurts something stupid in case you appear again.

Something like I miss you. Or I want you. Or Please kiss me again before I lose my damn mind.

Taglist: @enchantingwitchballoon @emilyswortwellen @tellybearryyyy @kiatjuddae @Luannastylinsonlupin @OtterlyCanadian @winchestert101 @bxtchboy69 @biggestfangirl @luannastylinsonlupin @Sebastians-love @fveapplestall @snhoe @ruexj283 @avengersfan25 @in-omn1a-paratus @avengemepercy

[midnightquips]

That Old Feeling

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: It's been years since you've seen Bucky Barnes. You didn't plan to see him, but he definitely didn't look surprised to see you. Something's different, though. The looks. The heat. Maybe it's always been there. Maybe... you've just been too blind to see it before.

Themes: AU Thunderbolts, teasing officemates, possessive Bucky, friend's ex, Thunderbolts chaos (a consistent theme), friends-to-lovers, college crush so pining

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

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Chapter 2

Part I – Not Like That

You wake up with your legs tangled in sheets and your brain foggy with heat. For a split second, you can’t remember why your thighs ache, why your lips feel swollen, or why your chest is tight like someone’s still pressing you to a door.

And then you remember — Bucky.

His mouth. His hands. The whispers, “You feel so good,” right before he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of your dress.

You sit up with a strangled noise, cheeks on fire.

“Fuck.”

You bury your face in your hands, groaning into your palms like it might smother the memory. But it doesn’t. It plays on loop. The breathy moans you swore weren’t yours, the quiet grunt in his throat when his hand slid up your thigh, the way he looked at you like you were some kind of answer to a question he’d asked a long time ago.

What the hell were you doing?

You hadn’t even liked him in college. He was Claire’s annoying fling, boyfriend, whatever. The one who left beard trimmings in the sink and hogged the shower after gym days. You bickered constantly. It was practically your love language. And now you’re… what? Soft for him? Flustered?

No. You need a reset. Coffee. Distance.

You grab your phone. A single message waits for you.

Bucky Barnes: Had fun last night. Hope I didn’t cross a line.

You stare at the screen, then start typing.

You: It was fine. Just tequila and nostalgia. Let’s not make it weird.

You delete it. You try again:

We were just caught in a moment. We’re good.

Delete. You groan in frustration. 

Eventually, you just leave it on read and toss your phone to the other side of the bed like it burned you. Coward.

Yelena calls before your first cup of coffee is even ready. You stare at the screen and consider ignoring it. She FaceTimes anyway because you know she knows you can’t be ignoring her like that. You only answer because you don’t want her showing up at your apartment.

Her face appears immediately, smug and glowing. “So…?”

“So what?” One of your eyebrows raised

She cocks her head. “Don’t play coy. Did you or did you not make out with the man that’s been eye-fucking you the whole night?”

You scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bitch.”

You sip your coffee nonchalantly. “Nothing happened.”

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Your eye twitches. “You’re insane.”

She shrugs. “You’re glowing. Your tits are smug.”

“They can’t be smug.”

“They can, and they are.”

You sigh in surrender. “It was just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?”

“Yelena—” You regret too late.

“Oh my God, was he good?”

“Goodbye.” You hang up before she starts demanding positions and detailed analysis.

You ride to work with Bob that morning because your car is blocked in again and your downstairs neighbor hates you. Bob doesn’t ask questions at first. He hums along to an old Avril Lavigne song and chews gum like it owes him money.

But as soon as he parks outside the office, he turns off the ignition and goes, “So. Did Bucky pin you against the door last night or what?”

You make a choking sound so loud he slaps your back like you’re dying.

“BOB. What the hell—”

“Yelena told me to ask.” He shrugs as if it’s enough of an explanation.

You are all under this woman’s control apparently.

“I’m going to kill her.” You muttered.

“She says you made out. Like, aggressively.”

You bury your face in your hands again. “I don’t know where she got those adjectives. I told her it was just a kiss.”

“Okay, but like, regular kiss or ‘should I have worn better underwear’ kiss?”

You shake your head and throw the car door open.

“Not answering that.”

“You’re blushing! Oh my God, he did—”

You slam the door shut before he finishes the sentence.

You make it exactly thirty-five steps into the office kitchen before you crash into Bucky. Literally. You round the corner, balancing your travel mug and a banana, and collide with a broad, too-warm chest that smells like cedarwood and sin. Your banana falls to the floor in slow motion.

“Oh,” he says, blinking down at you. “Hey.”

You try to breathe like a normal person but seemingly fail.

“Hi,” you say. Your voice cracks. You clear your throat. “Morning.”

He looks unsure for a moment then smiles, softly. “Didn’t think I’d see you this early.”

“I work here.”

He chuckles. “Right.”

You bend down to grab the banana and will your face not to combust. When you rise, he’s still watching you like you’re the best part of his day. It almost infuriates you. Almost.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter.

“Like what?” He smiles confidently

“Like you’re remembering what my moan sounds like.”

He coughs. Loudly. His neck turns red.

“Can’t help it,” he says under his breath. “It’s a really good sound.”

You blink and stare at him. Your stomach clenches. You push past him, straight into the hallway.

You spend the next four hours deep in spreadsheets and pretending that Bucky Barnes doesn’t exist.

It almost works. Until Yelena IMs you at 2:34 p.m.

Yelena: sooooooo Yelena: u turn on? Yelena: u mad? Yelena: u in love?

You roll your eyes and block her for now. But you’re starting to consider you might need a new job. Or a new country. 

Or maybe what you really need is just another kiss, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. You shake your head to get rid of the idea because it’s exactly why you can’t let yourself have it.

Taglist: @enchantingwitchballoon @emilyswortwellen @tellybearryyyy @kiatjuddae @Luannastylinsonlupin @OtterlyCanadian @winchestert101 @bxtchboy69 @biggestfangirl @luannastylinsonlupin @Sebastians-love @fveapplestall @snhoe @ruexj283 @avengersfan25 @in-omn1a-paratus @avengemepercy

[midnightquips]

Warmth

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time.

Themes: slow burn, sexual tension, mutual attraction, cute flirting, JAKE WITH A DOG (yes, that's a theme within itself)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

💫 Warmth Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1

Part II – Just Jake

Jake has been watching you since the moment you walked into the bar.

The bottle of beer had stalled at his lips, eyes immediately locking on the girl in the short blue sundress. Something about it made him think of an Italian summer. The soft sway of the fabric against your thighs, the way you hesitated by the door, scanning the crowd—it hit something in his chest he wasn’t expecting.

You looked unsure, a little uncomfortable. And if he was a betting man, which he was, he figured you were headed toward some guy. His brain had already started mapping out ways to neutralize the poor bastard. He relaxed only slightly when you wrapped your arms around two women instead, your face lighting up with a smile that stopped him cold.

That smile. Now that he really likes.

Since then, he keeps sneaking glances every chance he gets, under the guise of taking a break between shots. You’re good viewing material, he’d give himself that. And he isn’t exactly discreet about it, either. He isn’t trying to be. Why hide the fact when he wants to stare?

When your gaze finally catches his, and in return, he smirks. Gives you the signature Seresin nod. The one that usually gets him something.

But you? You look away. Unbothered. Like he doesn’t exist.

Jake chuckles under his breath. Has this gotten so easy I’m actually shocked she didn’t take the bait?

“That Natasha’s new girl?” he hears Javy ask Mickey nearby.

“Seems like it,” Mickey replies.

Jake shifts his eyes a bit, finally registering Natasha flirting with one of the women at your table.

He clicks his tongue. Lucky day, he thinks. Until he sees Bradley and Bob already sauntering over to you.

You’re laughing at something Bob said. And then you smiled at him.

Of all fucking people.

His feet move before he makes a conscious decision. Javy and Mickey trail after him, but Jake has tunnel vision. That smile? That attention? He wants it redirected.

He clears his throat as he approaches, loud enough to announce his arrival. “Natasha.”

But his eyes are already on you. Not even pretending otherwise.

“Hangman.” Her tone is dry, like she wasn’t even surprised.

Jake smiles wide. “I think you’ve missed the pleasure of introducing us to your guests.”

“I’m lost on when that has ever been pleasurable,” Natasha mutters, rolling her eyes.

Still, she relents and makes an introduction. Tin. Chesca. You.

You offer him a soft smile. Nothing flirty, but kind. Genuine. Warm. And he was not expecting that.

Wouldn’t mind coming home to that, he thinks instinctively. Whoa. Pump the brakes.

The warmth doesn’t last. You immediately turn your attention back to Bob, and Jake grits his teeth when he notices how easily the guy makes you laugh.

Chesca, to Bradley’s visible disappointment, is the one who asks, “Why Hangman?”

Jake leans in with a wink. “Well, sweetheart, it’s ‘cause the girls keep hangin’ around me.”

Chesca blinks innocently and turns to Bradley. “Really?”

Bradley lets out a mock scoff and shakes his head. “No, not really.”

Jake catches the way your eyebrows lifted slightly, head tilting, a little look of judgment tossed his way. A reaction. Finally. A sign you aren’t totally ignoring him. He’d take it.

Spotting the empty seat beside you, he drags a stool over under the guise of having easier access to the pool table where Fanboy and Javy start a new game. But he angles the chair perfectly to catch bits of your conversation with Bob.

He isn’t worried. Bob isn’t going to make a move and Jake is ready to bide his time.

As expected, Bob is easy to talk to. Sweet, even. He asks thoughtful questions, listens intently, and when you compliment his hands innocently and teasingly he blushes so hard it makes you grin.

How cute, you think. The kind of man you could talk to for hours without ever feeling pressure. Just easy, unbothered company.

Eventually, Bob excuses himself to take a shot at the billiards game. You watch him go with a soft smile before glancing down at your empty bottle. Time for a refill. 

You stand, asking Tin and Chesca if they wanted anything. What you don’t expect is Jake standing up at the exact same time. You bump into him, the contact throwing you off balance. His arm wraps around your waist instantly while your hand lands on his chest.

Suddenly, you find yourself close to him. Very close.

“Uhm… thanks, Hang—”

“Jake,” he corrects, eyes locking on yours. “And you’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flick to his left pec, where J. Seresin is stitched in a neat thread, before looking back up.

“Jake Seresin,” you murmur.

He gives you a smug smile. “So you’ve heard of me.”

You raise a brow and say nothing. You only reach up to lightly tap the stitched name with a finger.

Jake’s pride should’ve taken a hit. But it doesn’t. The little thrill of knowing you notice him at all already cancels out any embarrassment.

He grins boyishly this time.

Cute, you suddenly think, but immediately curse yourself for it.

You realize, the proximity was too much. His hands are still on your waist. Your palm is still on his chest.

You expect him to feel hard and rigid, instead, he was warm. Solid, yes, but not tense. There’s something disarmingly comforting about it.

A strange image of cuddling with him during a thunderstorm flashes through your brain. Jesus. Get it together.

Your smile tightens before you say. “You can let go now.”

Jake hesitates for a second longer than necessary. God, she’s soft.

He has to mentally restrain himself from doing something stupid. Like throwing you over his shoulder and walking out of there.

He releases you reluctantly. “Need a hand with the beers, sweetheart?”

You blink, caught off guard by the offer. “Uhm… no thanks. I’m good.”

And just like that, you slip around him.

Jake turns slowly, watching you weave through the crowd toward the bar. His brow furrows, mouth parting in confusion. What the hell just happened?

He glances over and catches Natasha smirking from across the table, popping an almond into her mouth like she’d been watching a comedy show.

Strike one for Jake Seresin.

Taglist: @Lynnevanss @khouse712

[midnightquips]

Warmth

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time.

Themes: slow burn, sexual tension, mutual attraction, cute flirting, JAKE WITH A DOG (yes, that's a theme within itself)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: I'm back with another Jake fic!!! I'm so unhappy with the summary and I might change it later. TBH I didn't even notice I named my two fics starting with a W & that they have the same number of chapters. I'm also thinking I have a obsession with starting Top Gun fics in the Hard Deck.

💫 Warmth Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1

Part I – The Setup

The Hard Deck is one of those places you always see but never really bother to check out. It’s usually buzzing especially on weekend nights, when you pass by on your occasional evening walks along the beach. Did it ever make you curious? Sure. But remembering how crowded bars had once been your scene in another life, that fleeting interest always faded fast. Now, the thought of being packed shoulder-to-shoulder in a humid shack with sweat-slicked strangers brings out the low-key claustrophobe in you. It makes you a little nervous, if you're being honest.

So why are you here again?

Oh yeah. Tin’s new beau—Natasha.

They’d been seeing each other for a few weeks now. And to say Tin was happy would be an understatement. She practically glowed. After the soul-sucking mess of her last relationship, seeing her smile like that again made it impossible to say no when she asked you and Chesca to come out tonight. Especially Ches, who was freshly single and ready to unleash that chaotic flirty energy onto the world again.

You arrive early enough to avoid the full-blown crush of bodies, but the night is young and people are already pouring in. Scanning the place, you spot your two friends through the sea of khaki and navy uniforms. Their table—surprise, surprise—is positioned near the billiards table where a game is already underway, aviators laughing and shouting over the click of balls.

You navigate your way through the crowd, trying not to visibly grimace when you catch sight of a woman in uniform whispering something low into Tin’s ear. That’s when you remember—Natasha is military. Right. You don’t mean to judge, but you’ve been around this kind of crowd before. Loud, cocky, always a little too comfortable in their own skin. The kind of energy that doesn’t mix well with yours.

Gonna need that drink, you think, already feeling the humidity cling to your skin, nerves buzzing just beneath the surface.

“Oh my god, how have we never been here before? Look at all these hot people,” Chesca giggles excitedly the moment you slide into the seat beside her.

You can’t help but laugh at her giddiness, giving her a wink. “Hello to you too. Looks like tonight’s gonna suit your agenda just fine.”

Before she can answer, Tin wraps her arms around you from the other side, nearly vibrating with excitement. “ANGEL FACE! Nat’s just taking a shot. I’ll introduce you in a sec.”

She gestures toward the table. The same woman, Natasha, is now chalking her cue with practiced ease, a smirk playing at her lips as she exchanges looks with a mustached guy across from her.

You wave off Tin’s enthusiasm with a small nod, slipping more comfortably into your seat beside Ches.

Your eyes drift to the game. Natasha sinks the next two balls with laser precision. You have to give it to her—she’s good. Controlled, confident. The kind of woman who walks into a room and owns it.

As she lines up her fourth shot, your attention is pulled elsewhere. To the man at the far end of the table.

Blonde hair. Chiseled jaw. Uniform clinging just right. The kind of guy who’d be front and center in a Navy recruitment ad. He’s not your type. You know that instantly. There’s a smugness that clings to him like cologne, that I-can-have-whoever-I-want air you’ve never found attractive.

Still, he’s staring. At you.

Toothpick between his lips, he grins slowly, confident, then tips his chin in your direction.

You blink. Look away. Barely react. 

Probably eyeing Ches. You brush it off as nothing, and turn your attention back to Nat.

A moment later, Natasha heads over to the table, dropping a quick kiss on Tin’s cheek. Tin lights up like a sunbeam.

“Babe, these are my best friends—Y/N and Chesca,” she says with a proud grin. “Girls, this is Natasha.”

Natasha flashes a smile. “Babe, it’s cute how you still use my name. I got a rep to maintain.”

Then, turning to you and Chesca, she adds, “Call me Phoenix.”

Your brows knit together. “Phoenix?”

“Is that like… your middle name?” Chesca asks, tilting her head.

To be fair, Tin once dated a girl named Tiger, so it wasn’t a ridiculous question.

Natasha laughs. “Your friends are as cute as you, babe.”

Tin just smirks, clearly pleased. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“It’s my call sign,” Natasha explains casually.

Two very civilian pairs of eyes continue to stare at her blankly.

She exhales with a smile. “It’s a name you get when you become a pilot. Usually something that suits your... essence.”

As if summoned, the mustached guy from earlier wanders over with another man wearing glasses.

“This here is Rooster,” Natasha says, gesturing to him.

“Why Rooster?” Chesca immediately asks.

Bradley pops a peanut into his mouth with a wink. “Can’t just give that away. Gotta stick around and earn it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “He’s been milking that line for five years.”

She turns to the man beside him. “And this is Bob.”

You blink. “Just Bob?”

“Just Bob,” he replies with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

Adorable. Not in a jump-his-bones way. More like a golden retriever you want to wrap in bubble wrap.

You pat the seat beside you and grin. “Alright then, Bob.”

Taglist: @Lynnevanss @khouse712

[midnightquips]

Warmth Masterlist

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time.

Themes: slow burn, sexual tension, mutual attraction, cute flirting, JAKE WITH A DOG (yes, that's a theme within itself)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: I'm back with another Jake fic!!! I'm so unhappy with the summary and I might change it later. TBH I didn't even notice I named my two fics starting with a W & that they have the same number of chapters. I'm also thinking I have a obsession with starting Top Gun fics in the Hard Deck.

📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 2 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV (One post)

Chapter 3 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 4 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 5 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chapter 6 - Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Epilogue

Note: Links in RED are SMUT (or at least half of it)