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musicforastylesrestaurant · 22 days

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Sky High.

(pilot!harry x airhostess!yn)

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here x

in which, your an airhostess for british airways, and harry’s been a pilot for british airways for the last four years, and your both working on the same a380 to the big apple.

word count - 2.8k

"So, which lucky city are you off to today?"

Cabin crew had always been a passion of yours since you were a child.

When you were young, you used to adore gazing at the impeccably dressed flight attendants as they moved gracefully through the aisles of the plane. That longing to be among them, to embody the essence of professionalism and hospitality, never wavered, even as you grew older.

So when you turned eighteen, and were fresh out of college, you signed up for flight attendant school and not once have you looked back.

The course took ten weeks and they were the best of your life, because at the end of it, you gained your wings and was ready to fly.

That was when you met Samia, your bestest friend, the two of you were in the same cabin crew training classes and had practically been inseparable ever since, it was a friendship that was made to last.

You and Samia make your way through the bustling terminal of Manchester Airport, where families were executed to finally have a nice holiday that they had waited all year for and people who were solo-travellers ready to embark on a boring old work trip.

With a grin, you respond, "New York, simply feels like forever since I’ve been there.”

Samia feigns a dramatic sigh, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ugh, why do you get all the fun flights? I'm just headed to Dublin."

You chuckle at her mock disappointment. "Hey, Dublin's pretty great too!”

She rolls her eyes playfully. "I guess you're right. But next time, I'm definitely snagging that New York flight!"

You nudge her teasingly. "Deal!

As you and Samia continue your leisurely stroll through the bustling terminal of Manchester Airport, she suddenly stops in her tracks, a perplexed expression crossing her face.

"Wait, did you say you're heading to New York?" she asks, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

You nod in confirmation, a smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, I've got a three-day layover there before heading back. Why? What's up?"

Samia's eyes light up mischievously as she leans in closer. "You know who the pilot is, right?"

You shake your head, curious about her sudden intrigue. "No, who is it?"

With a smug look on her face, Samia leans back, relishing the moment before dropping the bombshell.

"Captain Styles," she says, her voice laced with amusement.

Just like that, your eyes widen.

The dim lights of the party cast a warm glow over the room as chatter and laughter filled the air. You stood at the bar, holding an almost empty drink, observing the festivities around you. It was a celebration for the graduating pilots and cabin crew, and the excitement was palpable.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the noise, and you turned to see a handsome young man approaching you. His brunette hair had a slight curl to it, and he wore an open t-shirt with only the bottom buttons done up, showcasing his tattoos along his chest and right arm. He flashed you a charming smile that set your heart racing.

"Hey," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "M’Harry. Can I get you another drink?"

His flirty demeanor caught you off guard, but you couldn't help but be intrigued by his confidence and his striking appearance.

With a smile, you accepted his offer. "Sure, that would be great. Thanks."

As he ordered the drinks, Harry leaned in closer, his playful banter making your heart flutter. "So, what brings you to this party? Celebrating y’graduation as well?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement at his attention. "Yeah, I just finished my cabin crew training. It's been quite the journey."

Harry nodded, his gaze lingering on you. "Well, congratulations. Y’must be excited to start flying high."

You chuckled at his pun, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his flirtatious remarks. "Thanks. And what about you? Are you one of the graduating pilots?"

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Guilty as charged. But tonight, M’more interested in getting to know you."

As the night wore on, the energy of the party only seemed to intensify, fueled by the pulsating rhythm of the music and the electric chemistry between you and Harry.

With each exchange, the attraction between you grew stronger, igniting a fiery passion that neither of you could ignore.

Before you knew it, the party had come to an end, and Harry suggested continuing the festivities at his place. Eager for more time together, you eagerly agreed, your heart racing with anticipation as you made your way to his doorstep.

As Harry fumbled with his keys, his lips found yours in a heated kiss, igniting a firestorm of desire that burned hotter with each passing second. The world around you faded away as you lost yourself in the intoxicating embrace, the hunger for each other driving you forward.

Finally, the door swung open, and Harry pulled you inside, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch. With a sense of urgency, you stumbled into his apartment, the desire to be close to him consuming every fiber of your being.

And as the door closed behind you, the outside world ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you entwined in a passionate embrace, lost in a whirlwind of desire and longing.

As you approach your gate, you come to a halt, a wave of anticipation washing over you. Turning to Samia, you give her a final hug, the warmth of her embrace a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

"I'll see you soon," you say, your voice tinged with both longing and determination.

Samia returns the hug with equal fervor, her support unwavering.

"Text me when you land, just so i know that you got there safely." she tells you you, her words a comforting reminder of your shared journey and the strength you draw from each other.

"Take care up there, and don't forget to enjoy New York," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of excitement. “You deserve it.”

During the embrace, your gaze drifts past Samia, and that's when you spot him. Captain Styles, striding confidently towards the gate, his navy blue pilot uniform impeccable, a pair of sunglasses shielding his eyes from the fluorescent airport lights.

The women around him stare in awe, admiration evident in their eyes as they admire his striking looks and commanding presence.

As Captain Styles catches your eye amidst the throng of admirers, a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallow harshly, feeling a sudden rush of nerves at his knowing gaze, his presence commanding attention even in the midst of the bustling airport terminal.

As you bid farewell to Samia and take a step towards the bridge leading to the plane, your heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.

Captain Styles stands nearby, engrossed in conversation with the gate control personnel, his commanding presence unmistakable even from a distance.

As you approach the bridge, you catch Captain Styles' eye, and he immediately breaks off his conversation, his gaze fixed on you as he strides towards you with purpose.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't m’favorite cabin crew member," he says with a playful grin, his tone laced with flirtation.

You can't help but return his smile, the familiar spark between you reigniting with each step closer.

Ever since that night you spent together four years ago, the two of you have sort of started an arrangement, when one of you needs the other your there and vice versa.

But your feelings grew above just meaningless hookups.

His as far as you were concerned didn’t.

"Captain Styles, always a pleasure," you reply, your voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

He falls into step beside you, his presence magnetic as he matches your stride.

"So, headed to the Big Apple, are we?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You nod, a surge of excitement coursing through you at the prospect of flying to New York with Captain Styles as your pilot.

"Yep, three days of layover in the city that never sleeps," you say, unable to contain your enthusiasm.

Captain Styles chuckles, his charm on full display as he leans in closer, his voice low and intimate.

"Well, if you need a tour guide while you're there, y’know where t’find me," he says with a wink, his flirtatious demeanor sending a thrill down your spine.

You play along, matching his flirtatious energy with a playful smirk of your own.

"I might just take you up on that offer," you tease, the familiarity between you sparking with every word exchanged.

As you reach the entrance to the bridge, Captain Styles stops, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of intensity and longing.

"Until we meet again, m’cloud member," he says, his voice husky with promise.

You meet his gaze, the unspoken understanding between you hanging heavy in the air.

"Until next time," you reply, your heart racing with anticipation as you step onto the bridge and make your way towards the plane.

Standing at the entrance of the plane, you greet passengers with a warm smile as they board, checking their tickets with practiced efficiency.

Beside you stands Suzie, a petite blonde cabin crew member from France, her cheerful demeanor adding to the welcoming atmosphere of the aircraft.

"Bonjour! Welcome aboard," Suzie chirps in her melodious French accent, her eyes sparkling with genuine hospitality as she assists passengers with their carry-on luggage.

You nod in agreement, echoing her sentiments with a friendly greeting of your own.

"Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. If you could please have your tickets ready, we'll get you settled in no time," you say, your voice projecting confidence and professionalism.

As passengers file past, you and Suzie work in tandem, ensuring a smooth and efficient boarding process. You exchange glances and quick smiles as you assist travelers with finding their seats and stowing their belongings in the overhead compartments.

"Next please," you say, gesturing for the next passenger to approach, your attention fully focused on providing top-notch service to everyone boarding the aircraft.

Suzie chimes in, her cheerful demeanor infectious as she assists an elderly couple with finding their seats.

"Right this way, monsieur et madame. Allow me to help you with your bags," she says, her gentle touch earning her grateful smiles from the passengers.

As the last few passengers board the plane, you and Suzie share a brief moment of camaraderie, a silent acknowledgment of a job well done.

As the final passengers settle into their seats and fasten their seatbelts, you and the rest of the cabin crew begin to make your way down the aisle, ensuring that everyone is safely secured for takeoff. With practiced ease, you exchange reassuring smiles and nods with passengers as you pass, checking seatbelts and offering assistance where needed.

Once you confirm that all passengers are securely strapped in, you make your way to the front of the cabin, ready to perform the mandatory safety demonstration. Standing in the aisle, you and the other cabin crew members demonstrate the proper use of seatbelts, oxygen masks, and life vests, your movements fluid and precise as you emphasize the importance of safety during the flight.

As the plane taxis towards the runway, you continue the safety demonstration, pointing out the locations of emergency exits and demonstrating the brace position in case of an emergency landing. Your voice is calm and reassuring, your demeanor projecting confidence and competence to the passengers seated before you.

Three hours into the flight, you find yourself in the crew mess area, diligently preparing warm nuts for the passengers as part of the in-flight service. The gentle hum of the aircraft fills the air, a comforting backdrop to the routine tasks at hand.

Suddenly, the sound of the call button interrupts the steady rhythm, prompting you to glance up from your task.

With a quick exchange of glances with your fellow cabin crew members, you make your way towards the source of the signal, ready to assist the passenger in need.

Approaching the row where the call button was activated, you find a mother and her little girl, the child looking pale and visibly uncomfortable.

Concern washes over you as you inquire, "Is everything okay? How can I assist you?"

The mother looks relieved at your arrival, her voice tinged with urgency. "My daughter isn't feeling well. Do you have a sick bag?"

You nod empathetically, understanding the urgency of the situation.

"Of course, let me grab one for you right away," you assure her, before swiftly making your way back to the crew mess to retrieve a sick bag.

Returning to the passenger's row with the sick bag in hand, you offer it to the mother with a sympathetic smile.

"Here you go. I hope this helps. Is there anything else I can do to assist you and your daughter?"

The mother gratefully accepts the sick bag, her expression conveying a mix of relief and gratitude.

"Thank you so much. This should do the trick. We'll let you know if we need anything else," she says, her voice soft with appreciation.

You nod, reassuring her that you're available should they require any further assistance.

Just under four hours into the flight, you find yourself tasked with delivering the pre-ordered meals to the cockpit crew. Carrying a tray with their dinner selections, you make your way to the front of the aircraft, where the cockpit door awaits.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you knock lightly on the door before pushing it open, revealing the familiar sight of Captain Harry and First Officer Max at the controls.

"Dinner delivery," you announce with a smile, stepping into the cockpit.

Harry looks up from the control panel, his eyes lighting up as he sees you. "Ah, if it isn’t the queen of the clouds herself," he says, his tone playful yet subtly flirtatious.

Suppressing a smile, you approach him with the tray, presenting him with his sushi and a glass of apple juice.

"Here you go, Captain Styles. Enjoy your meal," you say, your voice steady despite the flutter of excitement in your chest.

You bend down in front of the captain, knowing that it will simply drive him crazy, and because we’ll….your a little tease, your skirt isn’t that short, because it’s not aloud to be but it certainly does the trick, because you softly hear him take a small intake of breath which has you trying to surpress your smile.

You then stand back to a normal height and give the first officer his choice of food for the night.

Max looks up from his own console, offering you a polite nod of acknowledgment.

"Thank you," he says, his tone professional as he accepts his lasagna and a glass of milk.

You return his nod with a polite smile, acknowledging his presence before turning your attention back to Harry.

"Is there anything else I can assist you with, Captain?" you inquire, trying to keep the conversation light and professional despite the underlying tension between you.

Harry's gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I don’t think there is no." he replies, his tone teasing yet filled with underlying sincerity.

As you turn to leave the cockpit, you catch Harry's gaze and offer a sheepish smile.

"I should probably go wash my hands," you say, feeling a sudden need to break the tension in the air.

Harry chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Of course, can't have our cabin crew getting their hands dirty," he teases, his tone light yet tinged with a hint of flirtation.

You laugh along with him, grateful for the playful banter that eases the atmosphere.

"Exactly," you reply, eager to retreat from the intimate confines of the cockpit before things become too heated.

You make your way towards the bathroom as you had initially intended. Pushing open the door, you step inside, grateful for the momentary solitude the confined space offers.

Turning on the tap, you let the water flow over your hands, the cool sensation refreshing as you lather them with soap. With practiced efficiency, you scrub your hands clean, ensuring every trace of dirt and germs is washed away.

Once satisfied with the cleanliness of your hands, you rinse off the soap and reach for a paper towel to dry them.

As you pat your hands dry, you take a moment to glance at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your uniform and smoothing down any stray hairs that may have escaped your notice.

As you are preparing to leave the bathroom, the sound of the door opening behind you catches your attention, causing a slight flutter of nerves to rise in your stomach.

Without turning around, you sense someone entering the small space, their presence filling the air with an unspoken tension.

Gulping nervously, you finally muster the courage to turn and make eye contact with the newcomer.

The sight of the familiar uniform and the commanding aura that surrounds them leaves you momentarily speechless, your heart pounding in your chest.

You swallow heavily.

“Hello, Captain.”

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bloodbuzz-ohio · 7 months

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The O.C. (2003-2007) 1x01 The Premiere

#theocedit #tvedit #televisiongifs #00sedit #teendramaedit #romancegifs #cinematv #the oc #marissa cooper #ryan atwood #ryan x marissa #usercallie #tusermanon #safflowerseason #shoutout oc pilot lovers u r so real #my lil homing pigeons finding each other again and again #tv: the oc #mine: oc #**

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yakkuo13 · 2 months

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Little Ray with dad.

#art #sketch #fankid #murder drones #murder drones oc #murder drones nuzi #n x uzi #serial designation n #murder drones ray #she's a little pilot here #looks like mom and acts like dad #As a child Ray was as cheerful as N

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lienohr · 2 months

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Avoiding the Radio Demon... [ALASTOR X ERIDAE {Original Character} | RADIOCOLOUR]

Took me a while to finish lol next time I'll avoid coloring like the plague

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starbittzzy · 9 months

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Heres some Rebecca doodles as idk how to draw rn

+RickaWright doodle I rlly like omg bars

Heres even more little doodles because omg I cant finish anything rn lol I keep jumping from project to project

Too many ideas in my little brain lmao

I swear ill post actual art as soon as I got it lol

For now enjoy these little boodle noodles

Idk what a consistent artstyle is

#DOODLES AHHHH #I love mini becca in the corner shes so cute #lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisycats #lackadaisy oc #rebecca wright #rocky rickaby #oc #art #digital art #doodle #lackadaisy pilot #oc x canon #rocky x oc #rickawright

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latibvles · 3 months

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“a real tough cookie with the whiskey breath.”

oh blind dates oc fest my beloved how i missed you. to the surprise of no one, because i cannot be quiet about anything ever : a MOTA OC this time around. i'm sure this bar probably has a name to be found somewhere on the internet, but until I come across it [ big cartoony shrug ]. anyways, here's Genevieve Laurent, or Gen, if you're friendly. @blind-dates-fest ♡

Tom’s is only a fifteen minute bike ride away. The pay is good, she gets to keep all her tips, and her boss, for lack of a better term — downright adores her.

That’s never been the reason why she’s stuck with it all this time, though. There were better paying jobs in equal distance, and if she really, really wanted to, she thinks she’d do a pretty okay job packing parachutes or something of a similar vein. Respectable work, her mother would call it, which was secret code for: work that will keep you out of trouble, and possibly off the street before midnight. But that was really what it came down to: whether Genevieve wanted to do it. And for all the respect she had for those women, she knew that wasn’t the thing that called to her — not like it did to Claire, who was now off in London with the best and brightest, working in the Foreign Office.

Whatever that meant.

Much more glamorous than Genevieve’s own station, and she’s fairly certain none of their mother’s letters are imploring Claire to quit anytime soon. She was almost apologetic, in a way, that she couldn’t entice her family with letters filled with omissions, with work so secret she could hardly speak of it — but the beer wouldn’t pour itself and somebody had to do it after all those hours in flight.

“Thought you were leaving me out to dry tonight, sweetheart,” There’s a solid hand gripping her shoulder and squeezing, and Tom gives her a smile that’s all crows feet and genuine appreciation. Of course, the place wasn’t actually called Tom’s — but the sign was so faded that she and the other girls just tended to refer to it by the name of their esteemed publican. Genevieve returns the smile.

“And miss out on all this? Wouldn’t dream of it.” As if to accent her point, there’s a wave of hoots and hollering from the floor beyond the bar — no doubt from a bet won or a game of darts coming to its speedy conclusion. The song of the end of the work day. He gives her shoulder a shake, then lets go.

“Do me a favor and take those whiskeys to the table in the back? I think Elsie’s got caught up out there,” she follows his gaze to one of the other girls on shift —Elsie’s smile is easy and the tray on the table is empty, but she’s chatting up a storm at a table of men in brown uniforms. And Genevieve can’t exactly blame her, because while they knew practically every member of the RAF who came in and out on their days off, Americans were a sight to behold. Which is probably why Tom is sending her to the table in the back, with the hopes that she’ll be speedy.

“Yessir,” Genevieve hums, taking the tray of glasses with little fuss, making her way across the bustling floor with practiced hustle.

It’s not the pay that keeps her here, or the warmth of her boss. Not even the fact that she could do every job in this place, if she had to.

Genevieve had a penchant for poking her nose into places for the thrill of it — and there really was no thrill quite like conversation with people who had time to kill and liquor in their systems.

She recognizes the RAF officer at the table: David Griffiths, who Claire knew better than Genevieve did. She’d laughed when Claire told her he joined the RAF, and as an officer, no less. He’d been meek before the war, to put it lightly — maybe that slate-colored uniform and dark blue tie gave him the confidence he once lacked, she didn’t know. And then a couple regulars from around town. So the one in a brown uniform as opposed to their English blue sticks out like a sore thumb, and her curiosity is piqued in spite of David’s attempt to draw her attention with his smile alone.

“Thought old Tom was keeping you in the back tonight.”

“You know, it’s much easier to simply say you missed me, Griffiths,” she hums, leaning over to set down the tray. “Whiskeys for the table, yeah?” David clears his throat and makes a show of adjusting his cuffs, flaunting the new insignia adorning his sleeve as he had for every promotion prior. Genevieve straightens out, wraps her arm around his shoulder to pick off a stray thread.

“Captain Griffiths, congratulations,” Genevieve acknowledges just for the sake of him, then diverts her attention to look over the table, eyes settling on the new face staring right back at her. His dark hair curls over his forehead, with a straight nose and a pretty pair of lips — the wings on his jacket are catching lamplight. The smile on his face is what’s got her the most curious. “And who’ve you brought to cause trouble in Tom’s respectable place of business?”

The smile grows, the stranger leans back in his seat.

“No trouble over here ma’am, not unless you hate singin’.” His voice is deep and gravelly and, well, very American. His tone goes up at the end of the sentence, like it’s a question she’s meant to answer, and Genevieve wonders if it still counts as a bait when she can recognize it for what it is. She raises her brows, David’s hand curls around her wrist loosely as if to remind her that he’s there.

“Only if it’s bad.”

“Best keep your mouth shut then, Major, wouldn’t want to cause a scene,” around them, the other men chuckle at David’s quip — Genevieve pulls her wrist from his barely-there grasp as the Major raises his glass to his lips, before waving a hand dismissively on the swallow.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m like a canary over here.” He draws out each syllable, his smile only growing. She doesn’t believe him for a second.

“Well, Major, make sure not to shatter any glasses with your tunes and you’ll have soothed all my worries,” He chuckles at that, sitting back in the chair and Genevieve looks him up and down rather shamelessly before patting Griffiths’ shoulder. “Enjoy your evening, boys.”

Genevieve knows the feeling well — that sensation of eyes tracking her every movement as she walks away. She’d call it a sixth sense, the way she can make the distinction between the slighted nature of Griffiths’ staring as opposed to the more welcome lingering look of the Major, who’s name she’d surely get by the end of the night. If Claire were here, she’d probably laugh, then apologize to Griffiths for her little sister’s fleeting attention span, accompanied with some remark about how Genevieve had a penchant for things shiny and new. Genevieve would beg to differ and say it was more like she had a penchant for the things she didn’t understand.

And so what if she liked the staring, and leaving the air more charged than she’d found it?

Regardless of the interaction, the night wears on, and so long as the taps are flowing Genevieve is busy enough to keep from staring at the back table for too long. At some point, they stand up and make their way toward the dartboard (and Elsie with them, who shoots her a wink from across the room that has her laughing and Tom groaning from their spots behind the bar). Luckily, she’s only gone for maybe fifteen minutes — and she comes back with orders for Tom, before scurrying over and leaning forward on the bar.

“Better straighten up over there, Genny,” Elsie leans forward further to tuck one of Genevieve’s stray hairs behind her ear.

“Back from your mission so soon?”

“Well I had to make sure the prize was in place.” Genevieve raises an inquisitive brow.

“And that means..?”

“It means—” Elsie is effectively cut off by another round of hollering, and Genevieve knows the grin on the other girl’s face all too well. Elsie turns around and she follows the girl’s eyes to several things. One, Griffiths walking out of the pub, two, Major Canary laughing as he makes his way over and three, a conglomerate of Irishmen clapping his shoulders and shaking them in congratulations. “Well now we know who the winner is. Good luck!”

Before Genevieve can get a word in, Elsie’s scurrying back over to Tom on the other end of the bar to grab the drinks he’s lined up. She turns her back to the floor, but still hears a heavy exhale as someone takes a seat behind her. Then she tilts her head to look, and makes little attempt to withhold her smile as the dots connect fairly quickly in her head.

“Major Canary,” Genevieve hums in greeting. “Am I getting you anything?”

“Whiskey’s fine,” He looks around, like he’s taking a survey of the room, then turns to rest both elbows on the polished wood as she grabs one of the glasses that’s already dried. “Think you got me in trouble with your boyfriend back there,” he laments with a grin, running his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Who, me?” Genevieve slides the glass along the countertop. “You might have the wrong girl, sir.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” He takes that tone again — so clearly baiting her and Genevieve is, admittedly, a little too eager to take what he’s giving this time.

“Well for one, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she hums, holding up the pointer finger, and then her middle one, “And two, I’m willing to wager it was the dart game that got you in trouble, Major.” She slides the glass over the countertop, and he takes it. He’s closer now than he was at the table — she can finally make out that his eyes are blue, like the RAF uniforms.

“Yeah? How much are you willing to bet?”

“Well, how much did you earn in your game? Must’ve been a hefty sum for the Captain to walk out like that.” Genevieve leans forward on the bar now, tilting her head as she looks at him, already knowing the answer. His eyes flit over her face and down the length of her neck, following the curve of her shape before the bar cuts off his vantage point, then he goes back to returning her stare. He brings the glass to his lips, then licks off the excess before he opens his mouth again.

“A shot with the pretty girl serving drinks tonight? Pretty priceless if you ask me.”

“Well that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” Genevieve remarks with an airy laugh.

“But it made you laugh. Must be doing something right.” He counters, and she laughs again with a roll of her eyes. “See? Just did it again.” Genevieve shakes her head slightly.

“Well if my company’s so priceless why haven’t you asked my name yet? Bragging rights and all that.” It’s hardly the bait of their earlier conversation — but it’s something, and she wonders if he recognizes it for what it is, like she had at the table. He finishes off the glass, pushing it back to her with his fingertips and holding her gaze all-the-while.

“Well my bragging was gonna be making you laugh ‘till your boss throws me out, but I should probably get the name so I know who to ask for next time, right?” She takes his glass, and moves to fill it again — feeling both like the belle of a ball and like one of those wood logs in a fireplace crumbling into charcoals, giving off sparks. Somewhere in the back of her head, Claire is screaming at her to stop dancing so close to cliffsides before she takes a tumble she’ll regret, but right now she doesn’t feel any ground giving way beneath her feet.

“Genevieve. Gen, if you’re friendly.” She hums out, taking her time on his refill with the express purpose of keeping him there a little longer. The laugh he lets out is breathy, almost disbelieving, and she looks back up at him through her lashes. “Your turn, or should I just keep calling you Major Canary?”

“My turn, she says,” he mutters, probably more to himself than her even if she can hear it. She passes the glass back over. “Well if we’re being friendly it’s Bucky. Egan.” He exaggerates it — the word friendly, but Genevieve’s really hanging on the ‘if’. She feels almost like a kid picking apart words to prove her point. She should’ve been a lawyer. ‘If’ meant she had options, and maybe she feels a little prideful; to know she has control of where this thing goes. It’s a rush. The kind she wouldn’t get packing parachutes or up in an office. The kind only another person could give her.

The ground gives a little beneath her feet, but Genevieve is undeterred.

“But I take it you’re aiming for a little more than that, is that right, Bucky?”

The smug grin on his face is as much of an answer as any.

And it excites her down to her bones.

#masters of the air #john egan x ofc #masters of the air oc #mota fic #mota fanfic #mota fanfiction #blind dates oc fest 2024 #. genevieve laurent #...yes there's France lore #I’ve got lady pilots existing in my docs Now but By God Tom’s Girls stole my keys. I just think they’re neat #took a little inspo from a historical fiction book I read for Claire admittedly #shoutout bletchley park codebreakers #this one for all my little sisters with academically gifted big sisters [ raises hand ]

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instructionsnotincluded · 2 months

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True North - John "Bucky" Egan x Original Female Character

Summary: Struggling to defy expectations during the height of WWII, Captain Stella Frank is determined to prove her worth as an Air Transport Auxiliary Pilot in the male-dominated world of aviation. As she navigates the skies with skill and determination, she encounters a diverse array of characters, each with their own struggles and triumphs. Among them is John "Bucky" Egan, whose charm, bravery, and dedication to his fellow pilots catch Frank's attention amidst the chaos of war. Can they navigate not only the treacherous skies but also the complexities of love and loyalty in a time of uncertainty and sacrifice? Or are they doomed to go down in flames like the world around them?

Chapter I

Excerpt:

Planes dotted the landscape, the tower looming in the background. Most of the planes would find homes on other bases or airfields, another tool for the boys to use in their battles. For a while it felt like production was stalling, they had so few to ferry around, but it seemed in the last year or so it had definitely picked up, so many different classes of aircraft ready to be delivered to the Allies. Frank hadn’t yet flown into Thorpe Abbotts, the Royal Air Force station just a handful of miles to the east of Diss, Norfolk. It was fairly new, having been built the previous year, but once the United States Army Air Forces took possession of the airfield, it seemed like activity was picking up.

The boys at Thorpe Abbotts seemed to be going through planes like candy, and Frank was pretty sure this was their fifth ferry to the airfield in less than two weeks. Typically they flew to the smaller satellite bases once a month, maybe twice if there were mechanical issues, but five timesin two weeks? Something was definitely going on in East Anglia. She’d heard low rumblings of the amount of planes that went down during their missions from the British pilots—the men criticizing the Americans for bombing during the day rather than waiting until evening. One conversation she overheard at dinner a few weeks ago seemed to be about the recently arrived 100th Bombardment Group and how they kept losing men to dumb tactical decisions. “It’s war,” one of the heavier accented men had said, slumped backwards in his chair as he rested a beer on the table, “you do what you need to survive.”

“...are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

Frank’s eyes snapped back to those of Commander Dorothy Skylar’s, the three gold stripes she wore on the shoulder strap of her jacket seeming to catch in what little sunlight they had today, making Frank’s two stripes seem even less important than they already felt. “Yes, sorry,” Frank shook her head and the memories away, forcing herself back into the present, “I was just thinking about Thorpe Abbotts and some of the conversations that I’ve heard in passing about it.”

“They’re losing men and planes at a rapid rate of speed,” Dorothy nodded, glancing down at the folder of papers Frank just realized the woman was carrying, “I don’t think this will be your last ferry there.”

“No,” Frank turned her head as she watched the massive Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress come into view, eyes slowly taking in the matte green of the plane, white lettering and stars decorating the wings and body, “no, I don’t think it will be either.”

#masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #john bucky egan fanfiction #john bucky egan x oc #John Bucky Egan Fluff #John Bucky Egan Smut #bucky egan smut #Bucky Egan Fanfiction #mota fanfic #John Bucky Egan x reader #John Egan x ATA!Pilot

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raccoonfallsharder · 5 months

Text

fanfiction masterlist

currently under construction!

about me | what you'll find here (spoiler: it's rocket raccoon all the time) fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

recently updated

✩࿐࿔ take what you need. brush your frickin' teeth. for nonnie [3/25] ✮

⋆˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall. Part Two. Crystallized Ginger. [3/27] ❤

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter five. o'erpine. ✩ [4/2]

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter six. lockheartedness. ✩ [4/11]

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷.⁺⋆˚₊ [4/17] ✮✩

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter seven. starlorn. [4/22] ✩

florescence❀ Year Three: Flowering [4/27] ✮✩

what’s the forecast for this month? longterm future projects

masterlists

sfw masterlist | nsfw masterlist | headcanons & imagines art [rocket & your OCs] | writing thoughts & "advice" recommended works (writers, artists, etc)

full masterlist below the cut. banners & dividers are by @saradika-graphics and @v6que ♡ thanks to them!

everything is in alphabetical order with pending works at the end, but if you can think of a better way to organize, feel free to hit me up ♡ what to expect from my fanfiction

Domestic Scenes in Space Travel ✩°｡ ⋆ [UNDER CONSTRUCTION] The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | word count: varies. reader x rocket domestic fluff & smut with feelings. comics-based but you don't need any comics background knowledge to ride this ride. collects Installments 1-5 and an Interlude. The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl | Outer Space Safety & Spaceship Maintenance Training | Reconnaissance for Beginners: An Instruction Manual | Critical Interview Questions for Potential Room & Crewmates [explicit & smut-free versions] | Proof: A Moment in Space | Untitled Installment 6

florescence❀ ˖⁺‧₊˚ (a meetgroot) 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 3/6 years | wip | word count: pending. Rocket & Groot leave their friends behind on Knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the Shi’ar Galaxy. It was the flowers that drew you in. mcu-based, slight au, medium-burn, eventual smut circa Year Four. tentative allies to friends to lovers. the middle is angsty but there are only happy endings here. Year Zero: Seed | Year One: Sprout | Year Two: Growth | Year Three: Flowering | Year Four: Formation | Year Five: Dispersal

˚₊‧✶ headcanons & imagines ✶‧₊˚ smut-free | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshots & drabbles various guardians of the galaxy headcanons, minifics, and more.

°˖✧˚♡ kinktober 2023 ♡˚✧˖° 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | oneshots | word count: varies. based on @flightlessangelwings Kinktober 2023 prompt list. please read all warnings.

✩࿐࿔ take what you need smut-free | gn reader | no use of y/n | 11 complete reminders | word count: varies. the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself. rocket bullies you for your own good. non-smutty. reader is gender-neutral. accepting requests via reblogs, asks, and tumblr & ao3 comments. collects various Reminders (ongoing) ࿔ eat somethin ࿔ go to frickin bed ࿔ get outta bed & get your shit done ࿔ take a damn bath ࿔ leave your frickin skin alone ࿔ take a fuckin study break ࿔ drink some goddamn water ࿔ stop destroying your fricking clothes ࿔ just buy the damn thing already ࿔ it's frickin laundry day ࿔ get some goddamn sunshine ࿔ have you taken your meds today? ࿔ schedule your fuckin appointments ࿔ do the goddamn dishes ࿔ brush your frickin teeth ࿔

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ (a meetgroot) 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 2/3 parts | wip | word count: pending. wind·fall /ˈwin(d)ˌfôl/ noun. an apple or other fruit blown down from a tree or bush by the wind; an unexpected piece of good fortune. semi-shy ultrafeminine touch-deprived reader tries to avoid meeting knowhere’s intimidating captain. is profoundly unsuccessful. Sugared Violets. | Crystallized Ginger. | Candied Apples.

Window Across the Galaxy *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 18+ only MDNI | rocket x f!oc | 27/27 chapters | complete | word count: 235,940. girl falls first; raccoon falls harder. Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops. slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies). collects Chapters I-XXVII. *:･ﾟ✧

what's on the horizon? future projects

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jazaesis · 3 months

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Concepts for my neon punk speedracer gal, Lu-Dal Kore

#Lu-Dal Kore #star wars oc #zabrak #x wing pilot #podrace #from street racer to flying x wings for the rebellion #yes she is very gay

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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years

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Living Up To The Legacy ✈️ | Top Gun: Maverick P.1

Contains spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick

Series Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: LT. Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Lt. Barbara ‘Legacy’ Mitchell (past romance/eventual romance), Cpt. Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell (platonic), Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin (platonic), Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace (platonic), pretty much every other character is a platonic pairing

Content Warnings: light angst, profanity, slight age-gap (Rooster was born in 1984, Barbara in 1989), mentions of death, spoilers for TGM | Female OC (she/her) | Wc: 10k

Premise: Nearly grounded once and for all after disobeying orders, Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell is sent to North Island, California on a new assignment. The goal: teach a group of TOPGUN graduates how to work as a team and successfully destroy a uranium plant before it is fully operation. The problem, two of the candidates have a personal connection to Maverick and each other, but all are estranged. Maverick comes face to face with a new mission on his plate, one that looks nearly impossible compared to the difficult task he is to perform.

Note: So for this story, I looked it up and it says on the wiki that Rooster was born in 1984 and for this I’m making Barbara born in 1989 so they have roughly a five-ish year age-gap between them. Also considering this movie was supposed to be released in 2020, the plot I think take place in 2019 so that’s gonna be the year it is set in. Hope that makes sense and sorry for any confusion. If I made any inconsistencies, I’ll go back and fix them later on.

—————————————————————

“Maverick. Thirty plus years of service. Combat medals. Citations. Only man to shoot down three enemy plans in the last forty years. Distinguished. Distinguished. Distinguished,” Admiral Cain’s low voice reads off the paper. In front of him, Maverick stares ahead at attention. Once again the infamous naval pilot is faced with the consequences of his actions. This time it was going against orders to go through with testing the “Darkstar” scramjet at Mach 10.

An action which led to him pushing it, in Maverick fashion, and ultimately destroying it.

“Yet you can’t get a promotion. You won’t retire. And despite your best efforts you refuse to die. You should at least be a two star Admiral by now, if not a senator,” Cain points out. “Yet here you are. Captain. Why is that?”

There was no time to joke around, but Mav couldn’t help it. “It’s one of life’s mysteries, sir.”

“This isn’t a joke. I asked you a question,” Cain snaps with no humor in his tone.

“I’m where I belong, sir.”

“Well, the navy doesn’t see it that way,” Cain shakes his head. “Not anymore.” The sound of a jet passes by as Cain leans back in his chair. “These planes you’ve been testing, Captain, one day, sooner or later, they won’t need pilots at all. Pilots that need to sleep, eat, take a piss.” He looks back to Maverick, a slight glare in his expression. “Pilots that disobey orders. Which I hear has become a habit of yet another pilot who has taken it upon herself to live up to the Mitchell name.”

A silence passes as Maverick takes in his words. He doesn’t want to react at the mention of his daughter. The one he hadn’t seen in years. Part of him feels a sense of pride. That she is as rebellious as he was in his youth, pissing off superiors left and right. But on another note it worries him. The last thing he’d want for her is to lose her career over mistakes and disobeying.

Cain then points out the obvious, “All you did was buy some time for those men out there. The future is coming, and you’re not in it.” This has Mav looking away, not wanting to accept what the Admiral was telling him.

“Escort this man off the base,” Cain leans forward. “Take him to his quarters. Wait with him while he packs his gear. I want him on the road to North Island within the hour.”

“North Island, sir?” Mav asks with confusion. Of course he knew what lay in North Island. So why the hell was he going there?

“Call came in with impeccable timing—right as I was driving here to ground your ass once and for all,” the tone in Cain’s voice read that he was not at all happy to deliver the news—if it was up to him, Maverick would be out of the Navy for good. “It galls me to say it, but….for reasons known only to the Almighty and your guardian angel, you’ve been called back to TOPGUN.”

The look on Mavericks face was only that of shock—and probably fear. Back to Top Gun?? After thirty years?? It couldn’t be real. “Sir?”

Cain cuts him off, “You are dismissed, Captain.”

Picking his head up, blinking rapidly as he did, Maverick slowly turns on his heel. As he heads out, Cain calls to him one last time. “The end is inevitable, Maverick. Your kind is headed for extinction.”

Stopping shortly in front of the door, Mav glances to the floor before facing his now former superior. In his gaze is determination, as though it would not be the last Cain saw of him. “Maybe so sir. But not today.”

The ride to North Island was quick. Mostly because Mav was speeding if he was being honest. There was nothing like the sight of an F-18 taxiing down the runway before taking off into the horizon. It brought a smile to the pilots face, cruising down the road next to the airstrip and pumping the gas to try and beat the jet before it went airborne.

When he arrived at Fightertown located in San Diego, the first thing Maverick did was head to the building where he was to meet with his new superiors. Walking in, Mav’s eyes caught sight of a familiar picture hanging on the wall to his left. It was a black and white photograph of a young Maverick shaking hands with a man he once rivaled, after successfully shooting down enemy planes.

Where a forever friendship was formed. Where Maverick found his wingman.

Behind him, was another photo. This one showed the same man Maverick was shaking hands with, but much older with an array of ribbons signifying his accomplishments. Admiral Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, Commander of the U.S Pacific Fleet, Mav’s wingman and literal guardian angel for when he fucks up.

Smiling at the photo, Mav continues down the hallway to the meeting room he’s expected at.

“Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. Your reputation precedes you,” were the words he was greeted with from the three-star admiral seated at the head of the table. Beside him was a two-star admiral.

“Thank you, sir.”

The admiral tilts his head, almost humored. “Wasn’t a compliment. I’m Admiral Beau Simpson. I’m the air boss. I believe you know Admiral Bates.”

Mav nods to the man in greeting, “Warlock, sir. Must admit, I wasn’t expecting an invitation back.”

“They’re called orders, Maverick,” Warlock corrects, albeit a small smirk on his lips. Mav sheepishly smiles, glancing to the ground. “You two have something in common,” Warlock gestures to the man beside him, “Cyclone here was first in his class back in ‘88.”

“Actually, sir, I finished second,” Mav points out. “Just want to manage expectations.” He ends with a full grin, as if he found the jab at himself funny.

Cyclone didn’t look impressed.

“The target….” Warlock leans in to redirect the subject before pressing something on the device in front of him. The screen behind Mav depicts blueprints, the Captain turning to see. “—is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty. The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The Pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it becomes fully operational.”

The screen switches to a geographic model showcasing a mountain. “The plant sits in an underground bunker at the end of this valley. Said valley is GPS jammed and defended by an extensive surface-to-air missile array,” red dots light up around the mountain. They symbolize missiles protecting the bunker. “—serving a limited number of fifth generation fighters, which in turn are backed up by a plentiful reserve of surplus aircraft. Even a few old F-14s.”

“Seems like we’re not the only ones holding on to old relics,” Cyclone comments, noticing the look on Mav’s face at the sight of the old jets they used to fly back in the day.

“What’s your read, Captain?” Warlock asks, causing Mav to look intensely at the screen.

What he saw was something almost impossible. Looking at it from any angle indicated this to the esteemed pilot. It made Mav fear for the others who would be involved.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, sir, normally this would be a cakewalk for the F-35’s stealth, but the GPS-jamming negates that. And a surface-to-air threat necessitates a low-level laser-guided strike tailor made for the F-18. I figure,” he pauses to think. “Two precision bombs, minimum. Makes it four aircraft flying in pairs.” Cyclone and Warlock share a look, while Mav points a finger at the mountain. “That is one hell of a steep climb out of there, exposing you to all the surface-to-air missiles. You survive that, it’s a dogfight all the way home.”

“All requirements for which you have real-world experience,” Warlock says, causing Mav to glance at him.

“Not the same mission, sir.” He turns back to the screen, deep in thought. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the odds were not in their favor for this type of mission. “No, someone’s not coming back from this.”

“Can it be done or not?” Cyclone questions, wanting to hurry up and finish the meeting. Time was at the essence and they needed to get started.

“How soon before the plant becomes operational?”

“Three weeks,” Warlock answers. “Maybe less.”

Bidding one last look to the screen, Maverick turns to face the Admirals. Oblivious to what they really wanted him there for. In his mind, he was the man tasked with leading the mission. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve flown an F-18, and…I’m not sure who I’d trust to fly the other three.” He continues talking, not noticing the look Cyclone gives Warlock which has the latter interrupting him. “But I'll find a way to make it work—.”

“I think you misunderstand, Captain.”

This has Mav confused, “Sir?”

“We don’t want you to fly it,” Cyclone tells him. “We want you to teach it.”

Now that was the last thing the man expected. “Teach, sir?” Teaching and Maverick were not something to be used in the same sentence. He learned that quickly in his two months as instructor….thirty years prior.

His superiors both give a sigh, before Cyclone switches the screen on the projector. “We’ve recalled twelve Top Gun graduates from their squadrons.” Two rows of photos appeared showing the selected graduates in their flight jumpsuits. Each had their name along with their call sign located at the bottom. “We want you to narrow that pool down to six.”

Maverick let his eyes scan the photos, reading over the names after getting a look at each face they belonged to. BOB, OMAHA, HALO, YALE, HARVARD, FANBOY, PAYBACK, COYOTE, HANGMAN, PHOENIX. And then his attention was brought to the last two on the far right, making his heart sink as he read ROOSTER and LEGACY.

It was like the universe was out to get him. Digging up bones that could never be buried no matter how much he tried to fix the past. The boy with the golden hair and mustache, making him look like a carbon copy of his dad, Goose. Mavericks lost wingman who he still blames himself for his death. And the girl he failed as a father, a spitting image of his own self with matching blue-green eyes and black hair.

He hadn’t seen either in years. And if what Ice told him was true about what happened to their relationship, then Mav was at a loss to even attempt to approach the subject with his daughter. She never called. Never sent a text. Or even an email. But Maverick couldn’t blame her.

“They’ll fly the mission.” Cyclone’s voice brought him out of his inner battle with his thoughts. The admiral notices the clench of his jaw, and distant look in his eye as he turns away from the screen. “Is there a problem, Captain?”

The condescending tone nearly had Maverick walking out of the room. “You know there is, sir.”

“Yeah,” he replies nonchalantly, tapping the tablet with his finger. The screen pulls up the image of Rooster and all his information. “Bradley Bradshaw, aka ‘Rooster.’ I understand you used to fly with his old man. What was his call sign?” Of course the admiral knew, but he wanted Maverick to tell him anyway.

The pain in the Captain's heart was clear as he said aloud, “‘Goose’, sir.”

“Tragic what happened.”

“Captain Mitchell was cleared of any wrongdoing,” Warlock interjects, feeling sympathy for the pilot. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose one’s wingman. “Goose’s death was an accident.”

“Is that how you see it, Captain,” Cyclone asks before gesturing to the screen. It was clear he was getting under Mavericks skin. And it was working. “Is that how Goose’s son sees it?” Before the pilot could answer, Cyclone changed the screen to the next image.

The woman staring back at them had dark black hair cut in a sleek bob that fell just above her chin. She had strong cheekbones and jawline, dark brows framing what Maverick knew were bright blue-green eyes—which were grey in contrast to the colorless photo—and plump lips like her mother. She wasn’t smiling in her photo. When thinking about it, Mav couldn’t remember the last time he saw his daughter smile.

Once again Cyclone’s voice caught his attention. “Lieutenant Barbara Mitchell. Better known as ‘Legacy,’ which is something she certainly lives up to. Your daughter's reputation nearly rivals that of your own, Captain.”

Mavericks lips curl up, “so I’ve heard.”

Cyclone grimaces while Warlock smirks. It was already a handful having one Mitchell at Top Gun. Add a second and there surely would be chaos of some sort. But, they were the best of the best. Literally. Barbara Mitchell lived up to the legacy of her family in every aspect there was.

There was also another subject to note in regards to the three—Maverick, Rooster, and Legacy—being called back to Top Gun. “It’s my understanding Rooster and Legacy are—I’m sorry, were spouses. Or has the divorce not been finalized?”

Maverick grimaced, glancing away with his jaw clenched. So what Ice told him was true. It pained the aviator to know the two didn’t last. It was never easy being a couple where both were in the military, let alone fighter pilots and on top of that Maverick felt an underlying reason for their relationship ended was in regards to him.

It had been nearly two years since Ice told him Barb had filed for separation. Knowing his daughter, Mav knew she’d want to cut the ribbon loose instead of drawing it out and going to court so he expected the divorce was quick. Cyclone was just trying to piss him off. Mav wouldn’t put it past him to know they were in fact divorced.

Instead of answering the Admiral, he changed the topic to a more important matter. “With all due respect, sir, I’m not a teacher.” It didn’t work the last time, he doubted it would again.

“You were a Top Gun instructor before.”

“That was almost thirty years ago. I lasted two months,” He replied, trying to show it was a bad idea to give him the job. “It’s not where I belong.”

“Then let me be perfectly blunt,” Cyclone started, not showing really any sympathy. “You were not my first choice. In fact, you weren’t even on the list. You are here at the request of Admiral Kazansky.” Ah, Ice saves the day once again. “Now, Iceman happens to be a man I deeply admire, and he seems to think that you have something left to offer the Navy,” he pauses to shake his head.

“What that is, I can’t imagine. You don’t have to take this job. But let me be clear: this will be your last post, Captain. You fly for Top Gun, or you don’t fly for the Navy ever again.”

And just like that, Maverick was back at Top Gun. Whether he liked it or not.

Later that night Maverick ended up sitting at the bar at the local tavern ‘The Hard Deck.’ Two Lieutenants he recognized as the recruits Hangman and Coyote were tossing darts. Mav watched them for a while until he passed a few texts between him and Ice. Then to his surprise, the lady behind the bar was none other than his former flame, Penny.

He thought the conversation was going well….until she rang the bell. “Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cell phone on my bar,” Mav recited as he lifted his phone off the bar.

“And you buy a round,” Penny finished for him, a mischievous smile coating her lips.

With a hesitant look, Mav glanced around, “For everyone?” He questioned.

“I’m afraid rules are rules. You’re lucky it’s early.” Mav watched her walk away, smiling with a light blush to his cheeks. Every time he saw Penny, something in him stirred like he was a giddy teenager again.

“What do we have here?” The sound of Hangman’s voice called his attention. He followed the blonde’s gaze to a trio of officers entering the bar. A female lieutenant walked ahead of the two guys behind her. Mav recognized them as Phoenix, Fanboy, and Payback.

“If it ain’t Phoenix!” Hangman lifted the cue up and walked beside the table to greet them. “And here I thought we were special, Coyote. Turns out the invite went to anyone.”

Lt. Trace, aka Phoenix just smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fellas, this here’s Bagman.”

“Hangman,” he corrected.

“Whatever,” her tone indicated she didn’t care. “You’re looking at the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill.”

Hangman smiled, obviously feeling the inflation to his ego. “Stop.” He really didn’t want her to.

The tables then turned. “Mind you, the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War,” Phoenix points out, playing down on his accomplishment.

“Cold War,” Coyote jumps in.

“Different wars, same century,” Lt. Fitch counters.

“Not this one,” says Lt. Garcia.

Coyote gestures to the two with a pool cue in his hand. “Who are your friends?”

“Payback,” Fitch tells him and Garcia follows with, “Fanboy.”

“Hey, Coyote,” Phoenix greets.

“Hey,” he replies with a smirk. The woman nudges her head to the right, “who’s he?”

“Who’s who?” All eyes draw to the Lieutenant brushing something off some peanut shells off his uniform seated by the pool table. When he notices them looking at him he freezes. Coyote is the first to speak, “When did you get in?”

The blonde man with glasses smiles sheepishly, “Oh, I've been here the whole time.” At no point did the group notice the man, who was munching on some peanuts and watching the interaction play out.

“The man’s a stealth pilot,” Hangman comments and Coyote agrees, “Literally.”

“Weapons systems officer, actually,” he politely corrects. It causes Hangman to nod his head, “With no sense of humor,” and hand off the pool cue to Phoenix.

“What do they call you,” She asks. There’s an immediate blush to his cheeks when he answers, “Bob.”

“No, your call sign,” Payback rephrases. Again, the blonde man appears embarrassed, “Uhh….Bob.”

The name rings a bell for the female aviator, “Bob Floyd. You’re my new backseater? From Lemoore.” Beside her, Fanboy was lightly laughing.

Bob smiles at her, “Looks like it. Yeah.” She looks him over, as if to read him and gives a nod before handing him the cue, “nine-ball, Bob. Rack ‘em.” He stared at the cue, not really expecting to be included in the game. “Okay,” he eventually says while getting up from the chair.

Over at the bar, Hangman goes to cash in on the round bought by Maverick. “Penny, my dear.”

“Yeah,” she says, going up to him.

“I’ll have four more on the old-timer,” his eyes meet Maverick as he orders. The older man shakes his head when Penny gives him a look while going to grab the beers. A few moments later his attention is again drawn to the entrance of the bar when Phoenix loudly calls out to a patron.

A patron Maverick had yet to reunite with.

“Bradshaw!” She yells, capturing the young Lieutenant’s eyes. “Is that you?” At the bar, Maverick turns his back away, preventing Rooster from seeing him when he walks to the group. The woman gives an offended look when he approaches, “This is how I find out you’re stateside?”

The aviator sunglasses are removed and tucked into his shirt. “Yeah, I just thought I’d surprise you.” He comes up behind Phoenix as she lines up the shot.

“Hmm.” Bending down, Phoenix draws the cue back and makes direct contact with Rooster’s gut. He grunts, the woman pushing the cue forward to hit the ball and letting it shoot across the table. Rooster bends, clutching his stomach with a pained expression. “I guess I surprised you back.”

Squinting, Rooster lifts his gaze to her and smiles as best as he can, “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too,” she replies, her smile then falling. “Do you know if—.” The shake of his head cuts Phoenix off from finishing the sentence.

“We’ll find out sooner or later,” he stands straight, glancing at the other pilots around them. “I wouldn’t be surprised with this many of us called back, she would be too.”

Back at the bar, Penny handed Hangman four beers, courtesy of Mav’s round. “Here you go,” she says as he takes the bottles. The Lieutenant thanks her before turning to Mav to say, “Much appreciated, Pops.” He ends with a wink and turns back to return to the group.

Mav nods briefly, letting his gaze go past the blonde to focus on the man in the Hawaiian shirt behind him. Rooster’s back was to him, and wanting to get out of there before the young man noticed, Mav pulled out his card for Penny. “How about ringing me up before the evening rush?”

With a smirk, Penny goes to the register, leaving the pilot to himself once again. A few times he checks the entrance to see if Barbara had arrived. So far half of the recruits had shown up, Mav was prepared to get a glimpse of his daughter before heading out.

Changing the song on the jukebox and handing the beers over to Coyote, Hangman lands his sight on Rooster. “Bradshaw,” he draws out, snatching the cue from Bob before the Lieutenant could take the shot. “As I live and breathe.”

“Hangman,” Rooster returns, looking him over. “You look…good.” Nudging Bob aside, Hangman lines up his cue with the ball, “Well, I am good, Rooster.” The two connect eyes just as he draws the cue back and hits the ball, “I’m very good. In fact, I am too good to be true.”

The arrogance from the man has Phoenix and Payback shaking their heads, both turning to Rooster. “So,” Payback starts to say, “Anybody know what this special detachment is all about?”

“No, mission’s a mission,” Hangman replies, not taking his gaze off the pool table. “They don’t confront me. What I want to know: who’s gonna be team leader?” The balls clatter when he takes another shot after successfully pocketing the last ball. “And which one of y’all has what it takes to follow me?”

The look Rooster gives is one that reads, ‘you can’t be serious right now.’ “Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.” Though the music is playing it feels like one could hear a pin drop.

“Whoo!” Fanboy whistles, not even trying to hide the giggles falling from his lips. Phoenix was clutching the pool cue, staring at Rooster as if she could not believe he really said that. If Hangman was bothered, the man was doing a good job of not showing it. He simply grinned, walking up to Rooster and stopping so close they were practically toe to toe with one another.

“Well, anyone who follows you is just gonna run out of fuel. But that’s just you, ain’t it, Rooster? You’re snug on that perch, waiting for just the right moment…” Hangman steps closer, putting the cue in between them before finishing, “That never comes.” The next words to come from his mouth were cold and calculated, but what was that to stop him. Jake looks down to see Rooster’s left hand, where it was now vacant of a gold ring. “It’s a shame about you and the Missus—or should I say, former missus.”

That same hand then clutched into a fist, but that’s all it did. Behind Jake, Phoenix was glaring daggers into his back, checking on Rooster for his reaction while the others looked confused. It took a moment to realize what the blonde was implying. Hangman ramped up the tension when he added, “Say, you know I always wondered why her call sign was ‘Legacy.’ Interesting name. She wouldn’t tell me but said it had to do with her maiden name,” Hangman bites his lip while grinning, “Now that she’s not lady Bradshaw anymore, I’m looking forward to finding out the reason.”

“Watch it, Seresin,” Phoenix warned, but he ignored her. Rooster was her friend, and so was Barbara despite knowing Rooster longer. She didn’t appreciate the man making snide comments about their failed relationship.

When it appeared Rooster was not going to say anything back, Hangman smirked in a slight victory. “I love this song.” ‘Slow ride. Take it easy.’ As he walked away, Phoenix approached Rooster, both of them watching him as he went.

“Well, he hasn’t changed,” she says with no surprise.

“Nope,” he agrees, jaw still clenched from the last jab Hangman threw at him. “Sure hasn’t.” Getting an idea, Rooster walks away, leaving Phoenix by the table. She wanted to ask if he was alright, but decided against it.

Fanboy comes up to her, confusion coating his expression. “What the hell was that all about?” He gestures to Rooster and Hangman. Fanboy didn’t know either of them, but his curiosity peaked at the mention of someone called ‘Legacy’. “Who’s Legacy?”

Phoenix let out a sigh, setting the pool cue aside. “Rooster’s ex-wife, Barbara. She’s a naval pilot too—graduated from Top Gun three years ago right after their divorce.” Fanboy whistled lowly, not expecting that information.

“Damn. How long were they together?”

“Over seven years—married for five. They tied the knot after her commission, Rooster was already done with flight school by then. I think they dated for about two years before he proposed. Not really sure on the exact dates.”

Fanboy frowns, “What happened?” Phoenix glances over to Rooster who was walking in the direction of the jukebox. She gives a shrug and says, “He won’t say. Doesn’t really like to talk about it.” Fanboy nods, feeling sympathy for his fellow aviator.

“Why ‘Legacy’? That’s an usual call sign.” When he thought of the word, what came to mind was sorority girls or frat brothers who had parents in Greek life.

“Something about her family,” Phoenix answers. So he was right, it did have to deal with a parent. “She never talked much about her parents, but she told me once her mother was a civilian contractor for Top Gun and her dad was a pilot. Also her grandpa served, as did her Godfather. I guess in flight school that information spread, someone called her legacy and it stuck.”

Fanboy took in the information. He could understand how something like that would bestow that kind of call sign. It honestly intrigued him. Before he could ask another question, something else caught his eye. Gesturing to the entrance he said, “Check it out. More patches.”

Payback stands from the chair, coming up behind the two to see some fellow aviators, “That’s Harvard, Yale, Omaha.”

“What the hell kind of mission is this?” Fanboy questions, curious to know what he got himself into when he agreed to come back to North Island. Never had there been so many Top Gun graduates called back. The mission had to be a serious one.

“That’s not the question we should be asking,” Phoenix says to her fellow pilot. “Everyone here is the best there is. Who the hell are they gonna get to teach us?”

The card slaps down in front of Maverick, “It’s been declined,” Penny tells him. He gives a look of bewilderment, “You’re kidding.” There was no way it was empty. Had he not transferred over funds? Or did his last paycheck not go through?

Groans sounded around when the music was abruptly cut off. The culprit, none other than Rooster himself. Sunglasses on, despite being indoors, the aviator takes a seat in front of the piano, fingers go over the keys to play a light jazz. Phoenix hears the tone, smiling lightly as she calls out, “hey, guys. Come on.” Together they join Rooster, tossing the cue onto the table causing Hangman to throw his hands out as if to say, ‘Really?’

Meanwhile at the bar, Maverick is in a pickle. Not only was his card declined, but he was short on cash. Fishing out some 1s, and 5s, Penny just shakes her head at him, handing over the bill, “That won’t cover it.”

Taking the bill, his eyes go wide at the number listed at the bottom. Even before the evening rush there was a good amount of people in attendance. All who ordered a round on his tab. Trying to coax his way to a deal, Mav gives Penny a puppy-like look, “Uh, I’ll come by tomorrow and bring you the cash.”

A finger lifts to him, the woman moving over to the bell, “I’m afraid rules are rules, Pete.” Before he can plead with her, Penny swings the rope and lets the bell ring, resulting in the entire bar erupting in cheers. They begin to chant ‘overboard’ as Maverick lets his head drop in defeat, although he’s smiling throughout the entire exchange. “Really?”

Hangman, Payback, and Coyote pull up behind him, all three waiting for Penny’s signal. With a simple nod to the entrance, Maverick is hauled up with Payback and Hangman on each arm while Coyote takes his legs. All around are cheers and claps, “Overboard! Overboard!”

“Great to see you, Pete!” Penny shouts, grinning from ear to ear as he disappears from her sights. His back meets the harsh sand, a grunt escaping him while everyone cheers. Hangman salutes him, unaware that in less than 24 hours the man he just threw out would be his superior. “Thanks for the beers! Come back anytime!” The door shuts behind them, muffling the cheers as they continue in the now crowded tavern. All Mav could do was chuckle, brushing the sand off him when he rises from the ground.

He starts walking in the direction of his bike, but comes to a sudden halt when a familiar song reaches his ears.

“You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain.

Too much love. Drives a man insane.

You Broke my will. But what a thrill.

Goodness gracious! Great balls of fire!”

Mav walks up to the window, peeking in to find Rooster seated at the piano while his fellow recruits dance and belt along the lyrics beside him. Goose’s favorite song. The one they sang together at the bar the time Carole and Bradley visited during their programme.

“I laughed at love. ‘Cause I thought it was funny.

But you came along. And you moved me, honey.

I changed my mind. This love is fine.

Goodness gracious! Great balls of fire!”

For a moment, it was no longer 2019. It was 1986 and a two year old Bradley Bradshaw was seated on top of the piano with a cowboy hat perched on his tiny head while his father, Nick, played the instrument below. In Nick’s lap was his beloved wife and Bradley’s mother, Carole, and beside them belting along the lyrics of ‘Great Balls Of Fire,’ was Pete and Charlie.

A happy memory, plagued with the tragic moment that occurred days later. Goose and Mav ejecting from the jet, but the canopy failing to open properly causing Goose to smash his head against the glass. The impact alone was enough to kill him. The man laid in Maverick’s arms as they floated in the water waiting to be rescued. He knew Goose was gone.

“God, he loved flying with you, Maverick,” he could still hear Carole’s pained voice as he watched her son. The happiness radiating from him was a spitting image of his father. The pilot had to look away, for there were tears welting in his eyes. Unbeknownst to him, Penny saw him from inside the bar, her gaze flicking from Maverick to Goose, realizing who the young man was to the aviator.

Feeling his knees start to buckle, Maverick pushed away from the window, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Reaching up, he wiped away any residue that leaked out before walking away. The sun was setting, casting a dark blue across the horizon as nightfall began to emerge. The Captain made his leave. As he approached the parking lot where his bike was, he stopped short when he noticed the bike parked next to him.

It was the Ducati he gifted Barbara when she got her motorcycle license at eighteen.

“I should’ve known it’d be you,” her voice came from the side, sending a wave of anxiety through Maverick as he stiffened. It had been so long since he heard it, and when he slowly turned to find her seated at the picnic table, Mav felt his shoulders drop.

Recently promoted Lieutenant Barbara ‘Legacy’ Mitchell stared back at him with an unreadable expression. A cigarette in hand and aviators perched on her head, the black haired beauty adorned a leather jacket similar to Mav’s with several patches lining its sides. A patch with her call sign was nested on her left breast reading, ‘Legacy’.

“Barb,” he whispered, watching her take a puff of the cigarette and holding her breath before slowly letting the smoke out. He hated the fact she smoked, and part of him believed she did it to spite him.

The woman didn’t greet her father. Instead she pointed her gaze at the beach in front of her, “When Ice told me I was being called back here, and what all to expect, I should’ve known he’d have you as the instructor. What I didn’t expect,” more smoke left her mouth, eyes going back to the man, ''was you to actually agree.”

Unsure of what to say, seeing it was going on four years since he’d seen his daughter, Mav cleared his throat, “Didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

“Let me guess,” she raised her brow, but there was not a flicker of surprise as she added, “You went against orders, pissed off an Admiral, was probably gonna get sacked once and for all, and being here is what lets you stay in the air. Am I on the right track?”

Mav bit back a smirk. Barb knew him too well—well, at least knew his routine. Instead he gave a curt nod, glancing at the ocean briefly, “Can’t really say you’re not. You know me too well.”

“I don’t know you at all,” she snaps, causing the smile to drop from his face. Barb extinguishes the bud on the table and flicks it into the trash beside the table. “I know Captain Mitchell. The Navy’s infamous pilot with a record that’s distinguished despite his tendencies to act unorthodox. That’s all I’ve ever known from you.”

As much as he hated to admit it, it was the truth. The relationship between Charlie and Maverick fell through shortly after Barabara’s birth in 1989. Due to his status as a fighter pilot and rarely being stateside, Barbara was raised in D.C with her mother, Charlie. It was rare for Maverick to get time off and visit his daughter. Mostly in the summertime or around the holidays did he manage to get a few days of leave, but on average it was twice a year that Barabar spent time with her father. And when she did, all Mav did was take Barbara flying and teach her all there was about the Navy and their family.

It was how she fell in love with aviation. It made her feel a connection to her father, something she longed for as a child. Her mother taught her a lot about astrophysics and engineering, but Barbara loved to take to the skies. From a young age she knew she wanted to follow her father’s footsteps and continue his legacy. She thought it was what he wanted. Why he spent so much time teaching her the basics on how to fly and expressing his love for the Navy.

But that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want her flying. The same way he didn’t want Bradly flying either.

And that started the first wave of strain between father and daughter. The second wave came when Barb joined the Naval ROTC program at Vanderbilt university. Had she applied for the Naval Academy her father would’ve known. So, she applied to schools with NROTC and kept it from him until the letter came from Vanderbilt with a full ride to their program. Barbara would’ve kept her entire college career a secret, but her father managed to find out from her mother. That put a second dent in their relationship.

Shortly after Barbara reconnected with Bradley when the Naval Academy played Vanderbilt in football. It had been years since they saw each other, the last being around the time he had graduated high school and first applied to the Naval Academy. She never heard what had happened, so it surprised her to see him there as an undergraduate when she had expected him to already be a commissioned officer. He was a senior already in his mid twenties while Barb was a sophomore having just turned twenty.

Their reunion was anything but a happy one which had Barb confused. Bradley was displeased to see her and pretty much ignored her when she tried to talk to him. Eventually he got his head out of his ass when she went off on him by saying, “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is Bradshaw, but if has anything to do with my dad—which wouldn’t surprise me— then it’s unfair to treat me like this since I don’t know what the fuck he did to make you this angry.” Believing her words, Bradley invited her to lunch to explain what happened. It angered Barbara, for who was her father to have the right to do such a thing to Bradley.

Although they two didn’t see each other much after that weekend, the two kept in touch through email and phone calls. They would update each other on school and their programs, Bradley’s upcoming graduation, and their excitement to go to flight school and start their careers. Barbara wasn’t sure when her feelings for Bradley started. He was older, roughly by six or seven years and she only ever saw him once in a blue moon growing up whenever she’d fly to visit her dad when he’d try to spend time with both Bradley and her. As a young girl she found Bradley cute, but he of course paid no mind to her except when she’d join in on little adventures with him and Maverick. All she knew was she’d get butterflies in her stomach whenever he laughed at something she said or recounted a small detail she told him weeks prior. Then when he sent an invite to his graduation, Barbara swore her heart skipped a beat and she was doing the most in order to look her best the day of.

For Bradley, he realized his feelings for Barbara about eight months after their first meeting. He suddenly found himself looking forward to their phone calls, reading her emails, and felt a longing to see her again. It’s why he invited her to his graduation. And then again to his commissioning ceremony. Seeing her there, looking absolutely ethereal, sealed the deal for Bradley. At his commission he formally asked her out and thus started their relationship that lasted almost eight years.

Bradley went straight to flight school, and Barb followed two years later after her graduation and commissioned—which Bradley got time off to attend. At some point—probably when the two were drunk and in a festive mood, Bradley proposed. It was a spur of the moment decision, but he loved Barbara with his whole heart. And she loved him too. Once Barb said yes, the two went on a whim and drove up to the courthouse with Charlie and Natasha as their witnesses.

Maverick had no idea. It wasn’t until he popped in to visit Barbara out of the blue at her first duty station, hoping to make amends for the way he behaved four years earlier, and found Rooster there….and rings on their fingers. One photo of them at the courthouse combined with Barbara’s embarrassed expression was enough to put the pieces together. Rooster took it upon himself to leave saying he’d be back later that afternoon, but not before kissing her right there in front of Mav.

And so a third and permanent dent was put between the two. One that was not so easily forgiven. “Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me? Did you not want me there?” “It’s not like you would have come, Pete.” “You don’t know that!” “Fine, here’s the truth: Rooster didn’t want you there and honestly neither did I. We’re happy, and I don’t need your seal of approval on what I do. You were rarely there for me and when you were all it was ‘planes this, planes that’ and ‘Navy this, Navy that.’ You didn’t bother actually being a father, Pete.” Yeah, it was true when they said words hurt.

It only brought more strain. Soon it would impact her own relationship. Barbara completed flight school and unfortunately like most military marriages where both parties are active duty, the two were separated on different assignments. They made it work for the most part. Everyday they texted or emailed and when they got time to call or Skype they would. By that time Barbara had garnered her own reputation in the Navy, not just because of who her father was, but because she herself tended to act unorthodox. It was no wonder why her fellow aviators in flight school dubbed her ‘Legacy’. She didn’t know how they found out about her parentage, at the time she went by Barbara Bradshaw, but it didn’t matter. They’d find out sooner or later.

But the topic of Maverick would come up and each time it never ended well. Rooster still held resentment for him pulling his application. For Barbara, as much as she was angry at her father for various reasons, she still loved him. There was still a longing to have that father-daughter relationship she desired as a kid. When talking to her mother about it, Charlie offered the advice of, ‘It won’t be fixed if you do nothing about it. Talk to him, hear him out, and also take responsibility for your actions.” That night Barbara called Maverick, without telling her husband, and had a two hour conversation with her apologizing for not telling him about Rooster and Mav for his reaction to her career plans.

Barbara eventually told Rooster about her conversation with her father that weekend over Skype. She was hesitant, and judging by the look on his face when she told him she was correct to assume he would not be happy. All he said was, “You know how I feel about him. I’m not gonna stop you from talking to your dad, Barb, that’s on you. But I just ask that you don’t expect me to forgive him anytime soon.”

Years passed and things had slowly become complicated. Rooster went off to Top Gun, Barb was promoted to LTJG, and their jobs became more demanding. Although they finally got a duty station together, they hardly spent time together. At one point the topic of kids came up after a colleague had mentioned it at a dinner party. It resulted in it never being brought up again. If they wanted kids, well, one person would have to either leave the Navy or change their job because having both parents as fighter pilots while raising kids was impossible. And neither of them were ready to give that up just yet. In the last year of their marriage, they would go days without talking to each other, even if they were both home.

The year 2016 proved to be the one that would ultimately end the relationship once and for all. And it was because Barb had finally had enough with the deal between Maverick and Rooster and took it upon herself to confront her father. A decision she would regret.

“Tell me,” she demanded as they sat in a booth at a bar close to the base. Maverick had gotten leave and decided to drop by, so Barb used what little time she had as the opportunity to get the truth. “Tell me why you pulled his application, dad. Why would you stop him from flying when you knew that’s all he ever wanted to do?”

She watched him bring a hand up to rub his face. “You don’t want to know, Barb.” His words only angered her more, the woman scoffing as she narrowed her eyes.

“The hell I don’t! Bradley trusted you—he looked at you like a father, and you betrayed him like that?” She refused to accept that Maverick would hurt the man he saw as a son without good reason. If there was a good reason for it.

“He wasn’t ready,” Mav gave the excuse, though it had some truth to it.

“That wasn’t for you to decide,” she snapped, leaning forward against the table slightly. “And even if it was, that still isn’t a good excuse to pull his papers. You’re hiding something else.” Barb could see it in the way he kept turning from her, clenching his jaw, and attempting to change the subject. There was another reason behind why he did it.

“Look,” Mav sighed, giving his daughter a stern warning. “If you knew the real reason why I did what I did, you wouldn’t want him knowing either. So by telling you, you’re putting yourself in a position where you can either break his heart with the truth,” he paused, hating how there was now an ultimatum on the table. “Or, you spare him the pain by taking it to the grave.”

Barbara should have let it go after Mav dropped that on her. But, like the stubborn pilot, the young Mitchell was relentless and believed it was up to her then to decide for herself. Initially, she was going to tell Rooster the truth because she believed he deserved to know. But then the words came out, and Barb felt her heart and stomach sink as it went down the drain. There was no way she could tell Rooster now, and judging by Mavericks' expression the older man immediately regretted confessing. And she didn’t blame him because now she felt the burden of the secret.

For months Barbara kept it hidden. Rooster was overseas on an assignment and would not be back for some time. When they would call, Barb played it off like normal. Although they ended up doing voice calls rather than Skype, her excuse being the internet service was acting up. Barb felt it in herself that she’d break if she looked into those hazel eyes of his. She proved herself correct when he returned at the end of the summer and immediately Rooster could tell something was up. Her body language was off, the tone in her voice sounded unsure.

“What is it?” He asked a few days later, catching her off guard. In the five years they’d been married and almost seven as a couple, Bradley was pretty much a pro at picking up on signals from his wife. Barbara was stubborn and good at masking her emotions, but the man could see past it. “You’ve been acting weird since I got here.”

“It’s nothing, Bradley,” Barb assured, but her voice betrayed her. Quickly she gave the excuse, “I’ve had a long week. The test run I mentioned last week didn’t go as planned. That’s it.” She felt his eyes in the back of her head as she washed the dishes in the sink.

“Whenever something is bothering you and you don’t want to tell me, you always turn your back to me so I can’t see your face.” The patter of feet against the wooden floors indicated he was walking up to her. “You can’t fool me, Barbara.” What followed involved a screaming match, accusations, and finally, Bradley packing a bag before slamming the front door behind him.

There was no formal separation between the two. Hell it wasn’t even a verbal agreement of divorce. For weeks Bradley ignored her calls, her emails, he had his friends give excuses when Barb reached out to them to get him to talk to her. Then one day she decided to go to his work, fed up with him ignoring her and witnessed him getting a little close with a female colleague. All Barb could see was Bradley leaning against the wall while a pretty blonde stood next to him, laughing at something he said before lightly tapping him against the chest. The gesture looked anything but friendly. And judging by the smirk on her husband's face, he enjoyed it.

It sent daggers into Barbara’s heart, turning on her heel to escape before he saw her. She cried the entire drive home, but took a break to put on a serious face when she stopped at the legal office before making a call to her Godfather, Iceman. The next day, to Bradley’s surprise and the shock of his coworkers, he was served divorce papers. When he arrived at the house that afternoon to confront her, another shock came at the sight of boxes and suitcases where Barbara informed him she was being transferred to the Pacific Fleet.

That was the last night Barbara and Bradley saw each other. Harsh words were thrown at each other—the woman literally threw a water bottle at Rooster during the heat of the argument when he insulted her. He easily avoided it, but the act itself increased his anger. Once again Bradley was the first to leave, but not before he signed the papers and spat, “Have a nice life, Mitchell.”

Talk about adding salt to the wound. It didn’t help that Barbara hadn’t spoken to her father in months. Months that would soon turn to years.

Now here the two were. Finally face to face after so long with little to no explanation why Barbara suddenly stopped talking to Maverick after the day she squeezed the truth out of him. The music from inside continued. Even outside, Barbara could make out the voice of her ex-husband. He always stood out when he sang that song.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” She says, reaching into her pocket to pull out another cigarette. Using her jacket to block out the wind, she ignites it before pocketing the lighter. “I saw you at the window.”

Mav felt a lump in his throat, looking down at his feet. Goose entered his mind and the wave of emotion hit him like a brick. He changed the subject, which probably was a bad idea but he had to take the chance while he had it. “What happened, Barbara?”

She doesn’t look at him when she answers, jaw tight and attention on the empty beer bottle in front of her. “Exactly what you said,” the chuckle she gave was anything but humorous. “I did it to myself. You were right—I should’ve never asked you why you did it.”

Maverick sighed, feeling his heart break at her confession. “I’m so sorry, honey. Does he—.”

“No,” she cut him off swiftly. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. That's why he walked out.” Biting her lip and looking away from her father, she adds, “And I let him. Because I knew deep down he would never forgive me—for not telling him after I went behind his back and confronted you. It brought on another dose of betrayal.” Barbara finishes her second cigarette with a long drag before extinguishing it.

“It wasn’t going to work anyway,” Barbara stands from the picnic table, moving to stand in front of Maverick. She was wearing heeled boots that made her taller than her natural five foot two and a half inch stature. She was small for the average pilot, but made the height requirements by half an inch. “You know how it is—husband and wife, both active duty in demanding fields with little to no time spent together. The topic of kids being a sore subject, plus a father-in-law that the husband can’t stand? I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did.”

“Don’t think of it like that, Barbara,” Maverick scolded, upset with her view of the marriage. Frowning, he stepped closer to the woman, but she shook her head.

“How else am I supposed to think of it?” She questioned rhetorically. “It didn’t work for you and mom, it wasn’t going to work for me and him.”

“What happened between your mom and I was complicated,” Mav told her. “We tried our best that year after you were born, and most of it was on me as you know.” He really did try. He loved and cared for Charlie, but marriage was not in the cards for Mav at the time. It was still young in his career and although the birth of Barbara was a surprise, he still was over the moon and tried to make the relationship work for the sake of their daughter. In the end, he and Charlie wanted different things and had to go their separate ways. “But I never stopped caring for Charlie—and I’ll always have a part of me that loves her. And just because it didn’t work out for us, doesn’t mean it will always be like that for you, Barbara.”

She was silent for a moment. Maverick stood still, unsure of what she was thinking. He wanted to hug her. It was tempting to just pull her into his arms and hold her like he did when she was a child. It had been so long since they did that he feared how she’d react. Pushing the thought away, Mav heard her exhale and say, “It doesn’t matter anymore. There’s other things to worry about than my tragic love life. I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.”

It felt like a knife was thrown to his chest. It was always like that when Barbara referred to him as his rank or name instead of ‘dad’. It was like she no longer saw him as such. “Barbara!” He shouted as she mounted her bike and kicked the stand up. Glancing up to him, her face remained stoic. With a slight cough to clear his throat, Mav tried to smile but it didn’t work. Instead his face almost looked like he was pleading with her to not push him away again. “It’s good to see you.”

The light breeze swept through her hair, and Barbara gave a short nod. “It’s good to see you too.” The roar of the engine came to life and Mav watched her pull away from the lot before speeding down the road and disappearing around the corner. The sun had finally set, stars twinkling in the sky and the only light was from the moon shining down on the sea and the bar behind him.

With a heavy sigh, the pilot adjusted his jacket and mounted his own bike. He gave one last look to the bar before starting the engine and taking off on the same road Barbara had traveled.

What a day it had been for the veteran aviator. It started with him getting transfered, returning to Top Gun for the first time in 30 years, reuniting with his ex, and finally seeing Rooster and Barbara again. Now with one reunion down, he had one to go.

The next morning, Barbara Mitchell dressed in her flight suit to start her day by attending the first briefing and training. She didn’t know what to expect. After the previous night's conversation with her father and knowing he was to be the instructor for the next three weeks, Barbara realized she was going to have to push her limits like she’s never done before if she wanted to prove she was worthy of the mission.

Growing up, Maverick taught her the basics and how to perfect them so that by the time she went to flight school she was already more advanced than her classmates. The young Mitchell took it upon herself to learn aerial combat—when she was not supposed to—and managed to fly her way to the top of her class at Top Gun years later. With years of experience and having Iceman as her superior for the past few years, Barbara proved herself again and again to those who underestimated that she was the best there was.

It was Iceman who told her Rooster would be one of the candidates for the mission. He warned her the same time he informed that she was also selected. It sparked a sense of dread in the aviator. It was one thing to have to reunite with her ex-husband for the first time in three years, it was another to have to compete against him for a spot on the six-man team. With her father as the instructor, it was going to be an interesting three weeks.

Having opted out of going inside The Hard Deck last night, arriving at the hangar was the first time she became acquainted with her fellow candidates. “Well, well well,” Hangman’s voice was the first to reach her ears, “Just who I was hoping to see on this fine Wednesday morning.” While they waited for the instructors, the officers took seats at the tables provided in the middle of the hangar. Barbara was the last to arrive.

It brought a cheeky grin to Hangman’s face, giving a brief glance to Rooster, who had his head turned to the side. The lieutenant stood from his chair, meeting Barbara halfway up the aisle of tables. The first thing he did was look at her name patch, where the name ‘Mitchell’ was embroidered. Jake smirked, towering over the small brunette, “Lieutenant Barbara Mitchell.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, but greeted the man nonetheless, “Seresin.” Turning her head to the left, she makes eye contact with Natasha, “Hey, Phee.”

Nat gives a small smile with a nod, “Hey, C.” Barb tilts her head to the man with glasses behind the woman, “Who’s your friend.”

“That’s Bob, WSO.” The man in question lightly lifts a hand in a small wave, offering a smile to Barb. She smiles back, throwing a wink which has him blushing. “Those two hunks are Payback and Fanboy—I don’t think you’ve met them yet.”

“I have not,” she looks past Hangman to see the two men. They both give a gesture in greeting. “Nice to meet ya, fellas.”

“Same to you,” Payback replies and Fanboy nods in agreement. Barbara pays no mind to the man seated on her right, instead going to the open chair in the front next to Hangman’s. She ignores the looks they give Rooster, throwing down her wallet and keys on the table and plopping down on the chair.

Hangman sits beside her, leaning close and aware of the daggers being sent to his back from Rooster. “So, Mitchell—gosh that’s gonna take some getting used to,” It took everything in Barb to stop herself from throwing a punch to his jaw. They were in uniform and on the job. Now was not the time to get a demerit. “This is probably not the time to ask—.”

“Then don’t ask, Seresin,” she hissed in warning, assuming the question involved Rooster. He raised his hands in defense as he chuckled, “Hey, hey, now I’m not trying to dig up an old can of worms, but I’m just curious you know.” He gestured to her patch, “Can’t you let a fella in on what the secret is behind your call sign? I’ve only ever known you as Mrs. Bradshaw—but that couldn’t have been it.” He leans back to wink at an infuriated Rooster.

Barbara tsks, staring ahead at the large American flag draped in front of her. “Nice to see you haven’t changed at being a pain in the ass. You’re lucky we’re in uniform, Hangman, otherwise I would wipe that damn smirk off your face. Didn’t your momma ever tell you to mind your business once in a while?” she said in a low tone, but the whole company heard. In the back Coyote let out a whistle while Fanboy, Phoenix and Bob held back laughter. Rooster even had to stop himself from smirking.

Before Hangman could respond, the whole hangar was brought to attention at the shout of, “Attention on deck!!” The Admirals march in, Warlock taking to the podium while Cyclone comes to a halt beside Hondo.

“Morning,” Warlock greets the officers. “Welcome to your special training detachment. Be seated.” Chairs squeak as the group falls back to a sitting position, posture straight and attention on the admiral. “I’m Admiral Bates, NAWDC commander. You’re all TOPGUN graduates. The elite. The best of the best,” many grin at his praises, but they soon frown when he then says, “That was yesterday. The enemy's new fifth-generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are few, but you can be sure we no longer possess the technological advantage. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box.” Still grinning, Hangman bids a look to Legacy before doing the same to Phoenix.

“Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be named mission leader. The other half will remain in reserve. Your instructor is a TOPGUN graduate with real world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master,” Barbara tenses, clutching the pen in her hand when she hears the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Warlock continues, “His exploits are legendary. And he’s considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced.”

In the corner of her eye Barbara sees Hangman turn in his chair, at first excited to see the instructor. But then the second he realizes who the man walking up the aisle was, the blonde brings a hand to his face and turns away in embarrassment. Having witnessed him, Coyote, and Payback throw her father out of the bar the previous night, it took every inch of her soul to not react at their shame. They were about to find out who he was to her, and she knew it was going to have everyone looking at her differently.

“What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death. I give you Captain Pete Mitchell,” the second the last name leaves Warlock's mouth, Handman’s head is snapping towards her. He’s not the only one. Phoenix’s expression is one of shock, as is Fanboy’s. Payback whistles under his breath, and Bob just looks confused—not really putting two and two together just yet. But Barbara remains stoic, unreactive. “Call sign: ‘Maverick’.”

Maverick replaces Warlock at the podium, “Good morning,” he smiles at the group, particularly at the three who threw him out of the hard deck the night before. They all smile back, embarrassment and awkwardness in the gesture. Hangman gives another glance to Barbara when he catches Maverick nodding to her. Then the man looks at Rooster, who turns away from his gaze with an unreadable expression.

With a thick book in his hand, Maverick draws everyone's attention to it as he lifts it level with his head, “The F-18 NATOPS.” He pats the top before placing it onto the podium. “It contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. I’m assuming you know the book inside and out.”

“Damn right!” Payback shouts with pride. Others follow in suit with “Damn straight.” “You got it!”

Maverick nods, smiling before surprising them all—minus Barbara—by dropping the book into the trash can beside him. Barbara shakes her head, expecting it from her father. Cyclone and Warlock share a look. “So does your enemy.”

“And we’re off,” Hondo sighs from the side. Like the Captain’s daughter, Hondo had worked with Maverick long enough to know how he played.

“But what the enemy doesn’t know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them, push beyond.” Feeling the pressure rise, some candidates straighten their posture. Mav looks at each of them as he lists off the day's plans, but his eyes linger on both Rooster and Barbara, “Today we’ll start with what you only think you know. You show me what you’re made of.”

When they are dismissed and Mav takes the chance to leave the podium, the sound of Hangman’s light laughter captures everyone’s attention. “Something funny, Lieutenant?”

Still seated, Hangman licks his lip before saying, “Oh nothing, Captain Mitchell. I think I just got my answer to why our Legacy here,” he turns his head to Barbara, whose jaw was tight and looking anywhere but him. “Got her name in the first place.”

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the-whispers-of-death · 17 days

Note

i like to imagine pilot!reader sending hellstorm something like this in the middle of a mission like ‘haha got your nose’

Hellstorm most likely wouldn't see it until after the mission, because only you are cocky and reckless enough to check/use your phone during a mission (actually everyone else does it, he's just such a stickler for rules despite "not caring about anything").

He's storming (heh) towards you, phone in hand and is like "Why did you think taking pictures during a mission was the best idea???"

He'd never admit to you that he thought it was funny once he got past the whole "taking pictures during a serious mission" thing.

#tyler's asks #tyler's inbox #tyler answers asks #answering asks #call of duty oc #cod oc #call of duty oc: hellstorm #cod oc: hellstorm #cod oc x reader #cod oc x male reader #oc x reader #oc x male reader #male oc x reader #male oc x male reader #hellstorm x reader #hellstorm x male reader #cocky pilot!reader #:)

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for-the-sake-of-color · 3 months

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Detritus and LAAt Pilot Howler in "Don't close your eyes, cmon, stay with me a little longer, Howler please! Please open your fucking eyes!"

Or the Alternative working title "Howler's no good, very bad day," Getting shot down is pretty much every clone pilots retirement plan, and they all knew it from the start. It's a miracle if their wreck of a ship makes it to the ground in identifiable pieces, much less with any survivors on board. Detritus never liked those odds, but desertion is not an option for them, they'd never get very far at all. Their only choice is to survive until the war is over to be able to fly away free and together. Howler had accepted those terrible odds from the beginning. Though, and as it started to get harder and harder to stay awake, he found himself thinking that at least he gets to have someone to miss him. Most pilots in his position never even got that.

don't worry, he gets better. "Biggest godsdamned miracle of our time" The Medical Officers call him

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #sw tcw fanart #tcw #clone oc #clone trooper oc #clone pilot oc #original character #oc x oc #detritus tag #howler tag #my art #blood tw #gore tw

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wild-karrde · 1 year

Text

Part 2: The Pillar

Series Master List | Previous Part | Next Part

A/N: ALRIGHTY THEN. Did I intend to write a part 2 for this little ficlet from my 400 follower celebration? No. Did I do it anyway and use it as an excuse to introduce my OC Crater? Yes. Will there be a Part 3? Also yes. I REGRET NOTHING. The biggest of thank you's to @teletraan-meets-jarvis, @sleepingsun501, and @rexxdjarin for helping me make sure my boy gets the best intro and that all of the thoughts/thots about him in my head translated well onto paper! If you'd like a little more info about Crater, you can find his character sheet here.

Pairings: OC Crater x f!Reader, mentioned Gregor x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ MINORS SKEEDADDLE)

Warnings: language, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, fingering, rough sex, anal play, oral sex, PiV sex, marking, anal sex, sex toy use, cum eating, mention of foursome

Word Count: 13.5k words (I'm sorry... it got away from me so fast)

“KARKING HELLS, CHUCK! Do you have mynock shit between your ears instead of brains?”

You’re angry. Angrier than you’ve been in a while. And Chuckles isn’t backing down either.

“I don’t know who the kriff you think you’re talking to, Bolts, but you’d better take a walk before we both say something we’ll regret,” he grits out, teeth clenched and a fire in his eyes.

But you’re not about to be told what’s what. Not when he’s on your turf.

“It’s my fucking garage. You don’t like what I’ve got to say? You take a walk.” You jab your finger into his plastoid chestplate threateningly. His nostrils flare as he glares at you, and you can see him teetering on the edge of control.

You’ve gathered a bit of an audience as you and the mohawked clone pilot go nose to nose, some of which are snickering and “ooooh”-ing.

“Your garage?” Chuckles snarls.

“Yeah, in case you missed it, I run shit around here. And I’m telling you I can’t get your fucking fighter fixed until next week.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“You should have thought about that before smoking your stabilizers flying like a fucking hotshot.”

“You sure you wanna tell me how to fly my ship, Bolts?”

“Since you don’t seem to have an idea how to, sure.”

The vein in his neck is bulging now, and the scar at the corner of his mouth is pulled tight. You’ve known Chuckles long enough to tell that you’ve pushed all the right buttons to get a rise out of him.

Good. Asshole.

“I thought Gregor fucked the grump out of her,” Strike mutters from his seat on a crate, which garners more snickers. You whirl on him, brandishing a wrench and waving it menacingly at the pilot.

“You want me to fix your face next, shithead? Got the only thing I need for that right here.”

Strike scowls, pushing himself to a standing position. “You’re out of line, Bolts.”

“I’m out of line? Fuck you.”

“That’s enough.”

The jeers and laughter grow silent and the crowd parts as the commanding officer of the 28th Combat Wing strides forward, carrying his helmet under one arm. Crater’s voice is gruff as he steps in between Chuckles and you, glancing back and forth between the two of you.

“She’s right, and you know it Chuckles. You’ve been told before not to fly in that config. You know it burns out the stabs faster. Now, I’m sure you’ll get your fighter as quickly as Bolts can get to it. Isn’t that right, Bolts?”

You glare at him, but his eyes demand a response. “When I get the parts.”

Crater watches you for another moment before nodding. He seems to understand that’s as much of a concession as he’s going to get out of you right now.

And then he whirls on Strike. “And you will learn to hold your fucking tongue. We don’t do that shit here. You want to air other people’s business out in front of everyone? You go run for the fucking senate. Until then, you keep the scuttlebutt you hear to yourself.”

“Didn’t hear anything. Just not hard to put two and two together,” Strike mutters under his breath.

Crater strides forward until he’s looming over Strike. They’re the same height, but somehow, the captain towers over the other pilot. His tone is low and dangerous, his voice dropping to a gravelly octave that makes you shiver. “I know you haven’t been off of Kamino long, but around here, you don’t speak to a commanding officer that way. Especially when you don’t have a single scratch on that shiny fucking armor.”

Strike swallows slightly but says nothing else.

Crater glares down at him for one more second, pinning him with his gaze before he turns and addresses the rest of the onlookers. “Now all of you get to the fucking barracks and get cleaned up. You stink to the seven hells.”

The squad departs, some of them still shooting dirty looks over their shoulders at you, especially Chuckles.

He’ll get over it.

You turn on your heel, heading towards your private office in the corner of the garage. The door’s been off track for a while, so you slam it open unceremoniously and stride inside. Just as you go to slide it shut with a grunt, a gloved hand slips around the edge, keeping it open. You glance up and meet Crater’s eyes.

“Can we talk?”

You shrug, stepping away from the door and plopping down on the creaky chair by your desk. The joints protest as you lean back in it, threatening to finally give out and dump you on your ass. Crater shuts the door behind him before setting his helmet on your desk and leaning a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms as he studies you. He looks tired, and you’re not sure if it’s the campaign he just got back from or his men or you. A small pang of guilt shoots through you as he meets your eyes, raising his scarred eyebrow at you.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?”

You sniff, shrugging as you pick some lint off your jumpsuit. “Nothin’. Just a scuffle.”

“Seems like you’re getting into more and more of those.”

You and Crater have always gotten along just fine, finding a mutual respect and trust almost immediately. He always seems to have everything figured out, and you’ve never seen him fly off the handle like some of his brothers. In fact, the incident in the garage just now is the most upset you’ve seen him, and even that was hardly more than a growl and a few threats. You admire his leadership. He always seems to find the right thing to say to each of the various personalities on his squad, but sometimes you dislike when he deploys the same understanding on you. It unnerves you to a degree.

Now, you roll your eyes at his observation, astute as it is. “Your boys don’t listen, Crate. Neither do any of the other flyboys that come through here. Everyone’s shit is broken because they can’t be bothered to fly with an ounce of sensibility, and then they’re all pissed when it takes time to get repairs done.” You wave your hand at the stacks of datapads and flimsi that are stacked on your desk. “I’ve got backorders on backorders, out-of-date maintenance logs, you name it. But I’m one person. And there’s not exactly a line to come work down here.”

“You’re stressed,” he notes.

“No shit.”

“Overwhelmed.”

“Tired of giving orders and making requests that are ignored.”

“Tired of being in charge?”

“Sometimes. Yeah,” you admit. “But someone has to be.”

He nods. “When’s Gregor planetside again?”

You glare at him, but he gives you a knowing look. You sigh. “Who the kriff knows? That’s not a regular thing, by the way. Just a way to blow off steam. But it’s been months since I saw him last. Seems he’s being kept busy.” You worry about the commando sometimes, but you’re not about to admit it. Judging by the look Crater gives you, you don’t need to.

“And you were more tolerable when it was happening,” he teases.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m on my own in that department for the foreseeable future.”

You don’t know why you feel comfortable talking with him about Gregor. Probably because it felt less like an accusation and more of just a concerned observation, not like he was looking to get more gossip at your expense.

Because you trust him. Maybe too much.

Crater is quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, clearly weighing something.

“What?”

He smirks.

“Well, if you’d ever like to blow off some steam, let me know. But you can’t keep taking it out on my men.”

You snort out a laugh. “Crate, I don’t think you can help with that.”

“Oh, I think I could.”

“How so?” Your curiosity is piqued, particularly with the way his grin is playful but his eyes have darkened considerably. You’re in denial internally about what he might be implying, but that only lasts for another second as Crater huffs a quiet laugh before closing the distance between you. He puts one gloved hand on your desk, leaning over you as his other hand comes to rest just above your shoulder, gripping the back of your chair. Your stomach flutters as he stares down at you, tilted back in your chair so far you feel as though you’d tip over if he let go. The chair creaks, but you hardly note it over the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can feel his breath on your cheek and your cunt throbs at the realization he’s standing between your knees, your toes barely touching the floor with the way he has you tipped backward. You feel as though you can’t breathe. He’s studying you again, clearly making a final judgment call before he speaks.

“I think you’d like someone else to take charge for once. So you can let go.”

His voice is so low, it feels as though it rumbles every organ in you and sends shivers down your spine. He’s so close, you can smell him, see the tattoos on his neck that just barely poke out above the collar of his black undersuit, and the greys that are beginning to dot his dark chestnut beard and hair. You’ve always thought Crater was attractive. You’d have to be blind not to, but you’d never anticipated having him lean over you like this, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of him while he suggests things like that.

At least, you think that’s what he’s suggesting.

You can’t help but tremble slightly at the thought as his eyes bore holes into yours. Your thighs clench together subconsciously, and his eyes dart downwards, watching you squirm. He laughs in a low rasp that promises trouble, straightening and picking his helmet up off the desk. You haven’t moved, but he’s already at your door, pushing it open again.

“Remember what I said, Bolts. All of it.”

And with that, he’s gone.

—

Weeks pass. Nothing gets better. If anything, things get worse. A major supply hyperspace lane gets shut down by Separatist forces, meaning parts are even harder to come by, causing even more delays. At least the clone pilots seem more understanding, the 28th Wing in particular. You aren’t sure if Crater privately met with his men, but they have been suddenly more lenient with you. The natborns, however, make up for it by being infinitely more terrible.

“THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE,” one particularly surly human admiral rants, spittle flying unchecked as you don’t even bother looking up from your datapad. “You are to have those fighters ready to go within a rotation. That is an order.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, Admiral, I don’t take orders from the GAR,” you mutter. “And unless you’ve got a stash of converters, stabilizers, hyperdrive capacitors, and power couplings in your back pocket, no, your fighters will not be ready to go in a rotation.”

“I’ll have your job for this.”

You’re exhausted, but can’t help but give him a smug smirk, nudging him even closer to an explosion. He’s easy prey in that respect, hardly sporting, but it’s been a miserable week, and you’re ready to have some fun. He’s not the first officer to try to intimidate you with unemployment, and you know he’s unlikely to be the last. But you also know it’s an empty threat. No one else could handle this work. If that person existed, the GAR would already have hired them since you’ve pissed off everyone else.

“I have work to do, Admiral. So if you’re done bloviating, get out of my office and try to have a lovely evening.”

The man is practically purple with rage, veins bulging from his throat above his tight Republic collar. He clearly isn’t used to having people check him, and his response is even more telling.

“I’d heard you were challenging, but really, you’re just a frigid little bitch.”

That does it.

You stand, kicking your seat away from you. It rolls into the back wall with a loud crash. “You wanna try that again, Admiral?” you ask, charging towards him with anger heating your cheeks. He’s taller than you, but that’s never stopped you, and you certainly aren’t going to let some washed-up asshole that reeks of stale caf and cheap cologne talk to you like that in your own office. His fists clench, and you almost hope he swings first so you have an excuse to pummel him right there.

“Problem in here?”

You both whirl to look at the doorway. There stands Crater, helmet on and cocked to the side as he studies the both of you. His posture is completely relaxed, as if he didn’t just walk in on the start of a physical altercation.

It takes all of the wind out of your sails.

The admiral turns and smirks down at you, clearly convinced he’s won by your reaction. “I was just leaving.” He pushes past Crater, exiting the office. Crater’s visor never leaves you, but you can’t look at him.

You’re fuming. Angry that nothing’s going right. Angry that your garage can’t run efficiently and the reasons are completely out of your control. Angry that you didn’t sock that admiral in the jaw. Angry that he got the best of you and he knows it.

Crater says your name, but you don’t look up, trying to slow your breathing. He sighs and turns to leave.

You make a decision.

“Captain.”

He turns back.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you plunge into uncharted territory.

“I’ll take you up on that offer you made a few weeks back.”

He doesn’t move for a moment before, clearly making sure you won’t change your mind. Some of your fire returns at his hesitation, and you jut your chin out defiantly.

“Chickening out on me?” you challenge.

In an instant, he’s closed the distance between you and has backed you up against the wall. Your breath fogs his visor as he stares down at you, resting his hand against your throat.

“You certain you want to be a brat right out of the gate?”

You swallow hard, feeling the gloved palm of his hand press against your neck.

“Might want to pace yourself. Otherwise you’ll be in for a long night,” he warns.

“What makes you think that isn’t what I was hoping for?”

He chuckles darkly, and the helmet’s modulator seems to make it even more intimidating.

“What are your hard no’s?”

“You’ll be hard-pressed to find them,” you reply. Your mouth is dry, but other places are already soaking. You’re almost glad he has you braced against the wall because your knees suddenly feel gelatinous beneath you.

He tilts his head. “Think on it a bit more. Have an answer when I come back from my briefing. Then we’ll begin.” He releases your throat and steps back. “Be ready.”

He once again leaves you alone in your office, shivering in his absence.

How the fuck do I get ready for this?

You brush your hair out of your face, catching a glance at your reflection in the small mirror you have stuck to one wall. You’re covered in grease and sweat, and your hair is sticking out at odd angles.

A shower then.

You’re glad the day’s over as you slide your office door closed. It would be hard to concentrate on anything else right now. You push through the door that connects to the small apartment and refresher that have become your home away from home. It had been one of your few stipulations when you took the job, knowing you’d rarely make it back down to your lower-level Coruscant apartment. It had originally been a large storage closet, but with some work, you’d converted it into a decent-sized bedroom, stacking a few changes of clothes in an empty crate in one corner. The bed was at least comfortable, tucked up against one wall with a small bedside table next to it. You quickly shove the dirty clothes strewn on the floor in a corner before shucking off your jumpsuit and hurriedly showering. You don’t have any sort of lingerie or anything remotely alluring here, and you’re considering what to wear while wrapped in a towel when you hear a soft knock at your door.

You turn and find Crater’s silhouette looming there, blocking out the dim light of your office.

“That was a quick briefing.”

He shrugs as if he’s used to coming upon you in only a towel.

“You shut the office door?” you ask.

“Yes. And you should really get that fixed.” His helmet is off, and his dark eyes are roving over you and your towel-covered body.

“Add it to my list,” you mutter, trying to maintain some sort of confidence under his stare. “I’m sure that admiral will be so pleased to hear it takes priority over his fighters.”

He snorts in amusement as he steps into the room, shutting the apartment door behind him. He sets the helmet on the ground before he starts peeling off the top half of his armor, one piece of plastoid at a time, and neatly stacking it in the corner.

“Did you think more on what your hard no’s are?” he asks.

You’d come up with a few and rattle them off.

“Those are fairly extreme. Don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” he rasps. The top half of his armor is completely off now, and he rolls up the sleeves of his black shirt as he approaches you, circling you slowly. “But I’m glad you put serious thought into it and came up with something.”

“You got anything I need to avoid doing?” you ask, trying not to nervously rock on your heels. You’d rarely had issues with people seeing you naked, but for some reason, Crater’s gaze has you feeling timid, even with the towel still hiding your body.

“I don’t think you’ll get there, but I’ll let you know if you get close,” he replies as he comes to a stop in front of you. His sleeves are rolled all the way to his elbows, and you can see the tendrils of the other end of his tattoos poking out on his forearms. You’d never realized how far his tattoos stretched, only ever having seen the fine lines that poked out of the collar of his shirt. Now, you find you want to know how much of his skin is inked and how far the pattern stretches.

“My eyes are up here, gorgeous.”

You flush, but raise your eyes to meet his steady gaze. He’s watching you carefully and fuck, you want to squirm with him looking at you like that.

“So you respond to praise then. You prefer that?”

You shrug. “Could go both ways.”

“Where would you like me to cum?”

You can’t help but smirk at that question, but his expression is stern. “Wherever you like,” you reply. “I’ve got an implant.”

He hums, gently brushing some of your damp hair out of your face, a tender gesture that contrasts sharply with his next question. “May I mark you?”

“Nowhere the jumpsuit can’t cover.”

“How rough would you like me to be?”

You think for a moment. “Breathplay is good. Impact too. Bruising is fine. Nothing that would draw blood.”

He smirks. “Good girl.”

Your thighs rub together, and he notices, huffing a quiet laugh.

“Toys I can use?”

You point to the bedside table. “In that drawer.”

“You know the color system?”

You nod.

“Give me your definitions.”

“Green is good. Yellow is slow down. Red is stop.”

“And if you can’t verbally communicate?”

“Three taps.” You reach out and demonstrate on his chest, letting your fingertips rest there.

He catches your hand. “I want to be very clear here. You are under no obligation to do anything with me. And if you say red, we stop. No debate, no questions. This is for your benefit, so I’ll push, but when I hit a limit, you have to let me know. Deal?”

You can’t help but smile there. “Deal.”

“Any other last requests?”

“Ruin me.” The words fall out of your mouth before you realize you’ve said them, but you don’t regret them. You need this, and he can see it. Crater’s eyes darken even more, and he grins wickedly as he pulls your wrist to his lips. You feel his beard scratch your skin, and you shiver at the thought of where else you may feel that sensation before the night is over.

“With pleasure.” He cups your jaw, running a thumb over your lower lip. “You will refer to me as Captain or sir. Understood?”

A thrill shoots through you, and you push your luck, shrugging. “Sure.”

His nostrils flare and his grip on your jaw tightens. “You are such a fucking brat,” he whispers. “I'll fix that.” He grips the towel, giving it a firm yank and tossing it in the corner. He steps back and studies you. You shiver again, although you can’t be sure if it’s from the chill on your damp skin or his piercing gaze. He circles you again, inspecting every inch of your body. You feel yourself tremble slightly as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “On your knees.”

You think about pushing him further, but decide against it, at least for the moment, slowly sinking to your knees and gazing up at him expectantly.

“Open your mouth.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He squats down in front of you, balancing on the balls of his feet, watching you. You start to giggle from nerves, but his hand rockets out, catching your jaw again and squeezing until your lips part from the pressure.

He slips the tip of his glove into your mouth.

“Bite,” he grits out.

He loosens his hold just enough for you to do as you’re told this time, gently taking the tip of the fabric between your teeth. His fingers slip out of the glove, and he takes it from you. He repeats the exercise with his other glove, tucking them both in his back pocket. Warm tan fingers press on your lower lip, and you open your mouth, allowing him in. Two fingers slide in, pressing on your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth, but Crater keeps your jaw pried open until you feel some drool slide down your chin.

“Messy girl,” he rasps. “Suck.”

You close your lips around his fingers, sucking gently on the pads. You can taste his sweat, slightly salty against your tongue.

“Oh, come on, gorgeous. With a mouth like that, I expected more. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to let you suck my cock later.”

You feel your cunt throb and you inhale sharply as warmth floods between your legs. You’re certain you’re dripping onto the floor by now, and it’s only been a few minutes.

“You like that thought, don’t you?” Crater asks, shoving his fingers into the back of your throat. You gag, and he starts to withdraw, but you catch his wrist, pressing his fingers deeper while you run your tongue over his knuckles.

Crater’s brow furrows and his lips part slightly as he watches you gag again on his fingers, but you keep going, obediently sliding them in and out of your mouth. You hum around him, and you can see he’s fighting to maintain control. You grin.

“Something to say, pretty girl?” he asks, shoving another finger into your mouth. “Go on.”

“Having fun, Captain?” is what you try to ask, but it comes out garbled around his digits.

“Try again, gorgeous. I can’t understand you.”

You glare up at him and he smirks before withdrawing his fingers.

“I was always told it’s rude to talk with my mouth full, sir,” you snark.

“You’ve had no problem being rude up until this point,” he murmurs, letting his damp hand trail across your collarbone before grazing your breast.

You clench around nothing. It's been months since anyone touched you.

He notices your response, raising his eyebrow as he pinches one nipple between his fingers and tugs it gently. You whimper quietly.

“Needy,” he observes.

“Been a while.” He pinches your nipple harder. “Sir,” you gasp.

“Hmm.” He releases you, pushing himself to a standing position. You shift, trying to gain some source of friction, but he slips a knuckle under your chin, tilting your head upwards. “None of that. You take what I give, and nothing more. Understood?”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “Yes, sir.”

Crater stares down at you with an unamused expression for another half a beat before releasing you. He crosses your room to your nightstand and pulls open the drawer, rummaging inside. You can see his eyes raking over the contents, carefully cataloging everything before he holds up your plug, glancing over at you.

“You stretch yourself on this?”

“Yes, sir,” you say quietly.

“Anyone ever taken you there?”

“No.” It’s something you’ve always wanted to try, but you’ve never had a partner you felt bold enough to ask. And those that have asked have always seemed too eager. So you’ve resorted to toys, stuffing your ass full with the plug as you fucked your cunt with another toy. But no matter how many times you came, teeth clenched around the fabric of your pillowcase, your curiosity about the real thing still wasn’t sated. You always knew it would have to be with someone you trust completely, someone you know won’t push you or your boundaries just to lay claim to you.

Someone like Crater.

He stays silent, clearly expecting more from you.

You try to stutter out a more thorough response. “B-but I like to feel full when I…”

“When you what, pretty girl?”

“When I fuck myself.”

The corner of his lip curls. “Filthier than I thought. Good.” He takes out a bottle of lube, your dildo with the remote, and the plug and sits on the bed with them next to him. He leans forward on his knees, crooking a finger towards you.

“Come here, gorgeous.”

You grin, falling forward on your hands and crawling towards him, allowing your ass to sway back and forth. His face remains neutral as you slide between his knees, running your hands over the plastoid that still covers his thighs. You’ve always been good at finding the right buttons to push with people, but Crater has largely remained a mystery to you in all the time that you’ve known him. Now, you watch carefully as you scrape your fingers closer to his inner thigh, watching for any telltale twitch. You want to see if you can make him crack.

He’s immovable.

“You seem to think this is some sort of competition,” he says quietly, as though he can read your thoughts. “You won’t break me, sweetheart.”

You pout your lips. “You’re no fun.”

He slips one hand into your hair and grips tightly, pulling your head back as he leans over you again. You can feel the roots of your hair tug sharply, and it sends another thrill through you. Crater leans forward to whisper directly into your ear. His beard scrapes your cheek, and his breath is hot against the shell of your ear. “You’re still being a brat.”

“I thought pilots enjoyed a challenge,” you manage to gasp.

“I do.” He releases your hair, and you sit back. He shifts back on the bed and pats his knees. You start to straddle one, but he places a hand on your hip, stilling you. “No, love. Over them.”

Your legs quiver at the realization of what he’s asking, and your mouth falls open slightly.

“Tick-tock, pretty girl. The longer you stand there and waste my time, the longer this’ll be.”

You drape yourself over his thighs slowly, shuddering at the chill of the plastoid and how the edges of it bite into your skin. You rest your elbows and knees on the mattress on either side of him, balancing as he pushes down on the small of your back to arch it to his liking. Your ass is in the air, and it feels so exposed. Crater rubs small circles in your spine before allowing his hand to drift downward, lightly passing over the curve of your ass. You feel your skin explode in an array of goosebumps as a jolt shoots through you. You unleash a shuddering breath.

“You are needy. So eager to be touched,” he teases as he traces down the curve of your ass, curling his fingers on the inside of your thigh. He’s so close to where you want him, but he steers clear of your dripping cunt. For now.

“I think fifteen is a good start considering how you’ve behaved the last few weeks,” he rasps. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you have my cock.”

“Fifteen, huh? Can you count that high, Captain?” you ask, earning yourself a sharp pinch to your nipple with his other hand. You inhale sharply, biting back a curse.

“Twenty then. And you’ll be the one counting. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, smart girl?”

You open your mouth to retort, but the first smack lands hard, biting into the skin of your asscheek. Heat floods through you and your mouth falls open.

You’re already craving another.

“Count for me, or we start over.”

“One,” you pant.

He continues, landing some blows over the same area, and you can feel the heat and redness bloom there. Other times, he moves onto an untouched patch of skin, and the shock of sudden pain makes you squirm, desperate for some sort of friction against your neglected clit. It feels as though electricity is licking up your spine with every strike, the pain giving way to a euphoria you’ve never before experienced as his warm palm soothes your stinging skin in between each blow.

But you keep count.

“See, I knew you could be a good girl for me. You’re doing so well,” he whispers as he rubs the place you’re certain he just left a handprint. “Halfway there.” One hand curls around your thigh again, and you feel fingers finally brush against your folds, slipping along them with ease. “I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Crater observes. “You’re soaked.” He lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking your taste off of them before he lets his hand slip back between your legs, sinking two of his thick digits into you. You fist the blankets as the next blow lands at the same time Crater curls his fingers inside of you.

“Ah fuck! Eleven!”

Crater pulls out slightly out before pressing back into the knuckle, driving into you. He finds the spongy place inside of you and bears down on it as he spanks you again in the same place. Your eyes roll back into your head.

“T-twelve.”

“Good girl.”

SMACK.

“Thirteen,” you whine. The plastoid is so cold against your heated, sweaty skin as you writhe in his lap, trying to press back against his hand. He adds a third finger.

“Who would have known all it took for you to be nicer was a few spanks and some fingers in your pussy?” Crater chuckles. “Such a desperate girl.”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Please what?”

“More.”

“So polite all of a sudden.” He presses against your asshole with his thumb, and you arch your back, pushing against him. “Oh, you want me to take you there, don’t you? Want me to claim your ass tonight?”

You do. You want him to, and he knows it. You mouth a silent “yes” as you glance back at him, and his eyebrow raises at your muted admission.

Crater hums as he pushes harder against the tight ring of muscle and you gasp. Your knuckles are white with how hard you’re gripping the sheets.

“Color?”

“Green. Fuck. Green.”

SMACK.

“FOURTEEN.”

Your breath is coming in short pants as he rubs at the raised, tender flesh of your ass. You hear the click of a cap, and suddenly his thumb is pressed back against your asshole again, slicker than before. He pushes forward, breaching the tight ring of muscle as he curls his fingers in your cunt again.

“Oh, Maker, yes. Right there, Crate-”

SMACK.

“It’s Captain or sir,” he reminds you in that same gravelly tone he used on Strike, sending a shiver through you. “Now what do we say when someone gives you what you want?”

“Fifteen! Thank you, sir,” you gasp, tears starting to pool in the corners of your eyes.

“Good girl.”

You clench around his fingers at the praise, and he huffs another laugh, pressing his thumb deeper into your ass. He lands the next few blows in rapid succession.

SMACK.

“SIXTEEN. THANK YOU, CAPTAIN.”

SMACK.

“FUCK. SEVENTEEN. THANK YOU, SIR.”

You can feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he lands two more, nearing the end. After nineteen, you’re babbling in his lap, desperately pressing back against his hand, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers.

“You think you deserve to cum?” he asks.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you whimper.

“Not yet, pretty girl.”

SMACK.

“Twenty,” you sob.

He removes his fingers from you, and you immediately feel painfully empty. His other palm rests on your back, rubbing soothing circles as you feel your pulse in your fluttering, empty cunt.

“You did so well,” he praises. You quiver under his touch. “Are you still green?”

“Still g-green,” you stutter.

“Louder.”

“Green,” you declare more firmly.

“Good. Lie down.”

He helps you stand on shaky legs, carefully moving you to lie on your back on the bed. You feel the softness of the blanket rub against the inflamed skin of your ass and thighs, and you shudder at the thought of the marks that’ll be there tomorrow, a reminder of your night with the captain.

But he’s far from done with you.

“Wait here,” he commands. “Don’t touch yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” you sigh with a hint of a whine.

He retreats to the refresher, washing his hand before he comes back, his head tilted as he watches you, laid out for him on your bed. He quickly removes the rest of his armor and boots, grinning smugly as your eyes follow every new part of him that’s exposed to you. You want him, and he knows it. Reaching for his waist, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, tossing it next to his armor.

He’s fucking stunning. You knew he would be, but somehow still weren’t prepared. The tattoos you’d seen evidence of curl from his elbows over his shoulders, weaving in geometric patterns across his collarbone and shoulder blades before reaching up his neck, where they end. Each line seems to flawlessly frame a muscle or tendon, perfectly accentuating it. His body is littered with small scars, with one larger one visible on his hip, dipping below the waistline of his pants. Without his codpiece, you can see the pronounced outline of his cock, straining against the black fabric. Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips, meeting his eyes.

“Not yet,” he teases.

You’re huffy now, having recovered slightly from your denied orgasm, and he glowers at you as you pout.

“Hands under the headboard,” he orders. You glare at him for another moment, and he raises his eyebrow again in warning. You concede, slipping your fingers under the wooden edge and gripping it tightly. “Good. Keep them there,” he orders as he slowly approaches the bed. “Or else I’ll get some binders.”

“Probably the most use they’ll have gotten,” you snicker.

“You really want to make this difficult?”

“Got a reputation to keep up.”

He snorts before climbing onto the bed and straddling you, lowering his body onto yours slowly. You can feel the warmth of his chest against your skin, and your body is screaming at you to wrap your legs around him, but you really aren’t that interested in the binders that he threatened you with.

You’re more interested in getting his cock inside of you as quickly as possible.

Crater is infuriatingly patient and precise in his motions, but then again, you suppose that’s why he commands an entire combat wing. He slips his hand into your hair again, gripping but not pulling. He tilts your head slightly, exposing your neck to him. “If I remember correctly, your jumpsuit collar goes to about here,” he whispers, nosing at the perceived boundary on the skin of your throat. His beard is tickling you, and you’re shaking with anticipation. “That seem right to you?”

“Yes, s-sir,” you stutter.

“Already a mess and I’ve hardly started,” he rasps, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll have you begging soon enough.” He kisses your neck, and you let out a sharp exhale. You’ve tried to play it neutral, but somehow, he’s zoned in on the exact spot you like to be kissed, the spot that drives you wild. And he notices the way you respond, bearing down on it with his teeth and tongue. You start to grind against him, desperate for any sort of friction, desperate to feel his cock. You manage to catch the head of it on your clit through his pants, rubbing for a millisecond before his unoccupied hand locks firmly on your hip, holding you still.

“You’ll take what I give, pretty girl,” he snarls in your ear. “And the longer you’re greedy, the longer you’ll wait to have me fill that pretty pussy.”

You whine but relent, letting him resume his attack on your neck and collar bone. He works slowly and methodically, marking you as he works his way to your breasts, where he seemingly spends an eternity lavishing them with attention. He sucks bruises, he bites gently, and he takes your nipples in his mouth, paying special attention to what makes you writhe and gasp.

And then he moves lower, slipping between your legs and kissing just below your navel as he spreads your legs wide with his hands on the back of your thighs. His breath is so warm against your dripping cunt, and you spasm in his grip as he blows on you purposefully.

“Asshole,” you grumble.

He bites the inside of your thigh hard, and you yelp. Looking down, you can already see the bruise blossoming where his teeth caught your skin.

“Only nice girls get to cum. Now, remember, keep your hands where they are.”

He nuzzles against the flesh of your unmarked thigh, placing warm kisses and gentle bites. His beard scrapes the tender skin just before his teeth graze you, threatening to mark you where only you’ll see. You close your eyes, tipping your head back as you try to fight the way your legs are trembling, but that earns you a sharp slap to the inside of your thigh.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.”

You catch your lip between your teeth as you obey, your eyes finding his brown ones, which seem to be practically glowing. He keeps his gaze locked with yours as he nuzzles your clit, blowing on it gently. You whine, and your legs try to close, but he firmly holds them open.

“I’m going to break you,” he whispers. “By the time I’m done, all you’ll know is my name and the word ‘please’.”

You tremble again just as he dives in, driving his tongue and eating you ravenously as you gasp and thrash in his grasp.

Crater is a master at pulling you apart slowly, and he takes his time, working you to the edge with his tongue and mouth and then chuckling as he pulls away, leaving you trembling and crying out in frustration. He’s a quick study and eventually adds his fingers, thrusting into your cunt as he suckles at your clit in the way that he now knows will have you clenching and gasping. The third time he deprives you, you unleash a frustrated growl, and he laughs quietly at your frustration.

“Please, Captain,” you whine. “Please.”

“Not yet.”

He goes at you again, alternating with his tongue and his fingers, and it feels as though it only takes seconds for your body to begin to tighten, begging for the release that he’s robbed you of.

“Knew you’d taste good,” he mumbles into your skin as he presses his fingers back inside of you. “So sweet and warm.”

“P-p-please. Please.”

He nips at your thigh and you cry out, tears leaping into your eyes as droplets of perspiration dot your forehead. Crater bears down on the spot inside of you, watching you as you babble.

“Please, I'll do anything you want. Please, sir, please. I need it.”

“Tell me what you need, gorgeous.”

“I need to cum. Please. Do anything you want to me. Please just let me cum. PLEASE!”

“Not yet.”

You sob.

He keeps working you, disintegrating your resolve with every pass of his tongue and his fingers. The scratch of his beard is delicious, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his mouth and the soft press of his tongue against you as he laps at your heat.

“Captain, please. Gods above, I’ll let you have anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes. I’ll suck your cum out of your cock. You can have my ass. I’ll give you anything.”

He chuckles. “At the bargaining phase, are we?”

The tears are streaming from your eyes, and you unleash a choked sob.

“Ask me again.”

You’re gasping now, teetering on the edge.

“Please, Captain. Please let me cum.”

“Good girl.” He kisses your clit, and you moan, your knuckles aching from how hard you’re holding the headboard.

“Cum for me.”

You do, screaming his name as your body spasms with wave after wave of your orgasm. He holds you in place, working you through it until your body finally sags into the bed, slick with sweat and wrung out. Your mind is hazy as you feel him crawl up next to you, pressing his fingers against your lips. You let your mouth fall open, welcoming them in as you clean your release from the pads of his fingers. When he’s satisfied, he leans over you and kisses you, and you can feel how wet his beard is from your release. He reaches up as he kisses you, pulling your hands from the headboard. You immediately bury them in his dark curls, running your fingers over the back of his head, relishing this new touch he’s permitted.

The way Crater kisses you feels as though he’s stealing the air from your lungs. His tongue gently finds its way inside your mouth, running along your lower lip as his hands wander your body, gently rubbing and caressing. After what feels like an eternity and not long enough, he relents, resting his forehead against yours.

“Are you ready to continue, my gorgeous girl?”

“Yes, sir.” You’d been determined to make this harder for him, but he’s broken you, and you’re more than ready to bend to whatever his will may be. You trust him implicitly, just like you always have, but somehow, it feels deeper now. You know as rough as he may be with you here, he’ll never hurt you in a way you don’t ask for. His eyes are staring directly into yours as he strokes your cheek tenderly.

“So good for me,” he whispers. He kisses your cheek, moving along your jaw until he reaches your ear. He gently takes your earlobe between his teeth as he grips your thigh, coaxing you to wrap your legs around him. You do it immediately, quivering again at the thought of finally being filled by his cock.

Crater is kicking his pants off as he whispers into your ear. “Now that you’re being good, I’m going to fuck you until you’re boneless. You’re going to cum exactly as many times as I want you to, and no less. But you have to ask me first, and ask nicely. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Use your words, love.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Color?”

You can feel the head of his cock resting against the puffy, soaked lips of your pussy. Crater is stroking himself against your slit, coating himself with your release. You look down and see he’s as big as Gregor, but with a little more girth, and Maker above you’ve never wanted anything more.

“Green.”

He grunts as he notches his head at your entrance. “Good girl.”

Crater enters you slowly, watching your face as he breaches you. Your release makes it easier to take him, but not easy. You feel your walls stretch to accommodate him as he slowly thrusts shallowly into you, pressing a little deeper each time. Every time his head catches your entrance, you whimper, and he responds with a thrust. You can feel how tightly you’re stretched around him, every ridge apparent as he takes what you’re more than willing to surrender.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers.

You reach up to touch his face, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist before he leans forward and captures your lips again. He groans into your mouth as he bottoms out, pressing his hips against yours, and the feeling of him inside of you is bliss you’ve never experienced. He stays still, but his entire body is tensed, a taut spring waiting to be unleashed. He strokes your cheek.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I won’t be gentle.”

You raise your head, grazing his lips with yours. “I don’t want you to be.”

He chuckles darkly. “Good.”

His hips draw back before slamming against yours, and you see stars as the head of his cock finds the perfect place inside you. He starts off at a steady but hard pace, knocking the wind from you with every thrust of his hips. His hands wander your body, squeezing your breasts, playing with your clit, finding every place that makes you unfurl more underneath him.

At one point, he sits up, placing his hands at the back of your knees and pushing them towards your chest. The angle of his next thrust has you screaming to religious entities you don’t even believe in as he reaches impossibly deeper inside of you. His thrusts are deliberate and perfectly timed, his fingers bruising, and it’s not long before you’re pleading with him again.

“Maker, I’m gonna cum again. Please let me cum, Captain. Please.”

“Yeah? Already? You’re not making this very difficult.” He sheathes himself to the hilt and holds there. It feels as though he’s rearranging your insides, and you’re shocked you can’t see an outline of his cock through your stomach.

“Gods. Please, Crate. I’m so full.” Tears are leaking from the corners of your eyes as he drags himself out again, leaving just the head inside of you. His thumb presses against your clit with a feather-light touch, and you jolt at the contact, whining desperately.

“Not yet, you’re not,” he rasps. You feel his fingers prod at your asshole, and you fist the sheets, arching your back as your mouth falls open. You hear the click of the lube bottle opening again.

“Color?”

“G-green.”

His cock slips from you, and you want to scream, but he holds your legs where they are, and you feel the blunt head of the plug nudge your other entrance.

“Relax for me, pretty girl.”

You do, inhaling and exhaling deeply as you quiver with anticipation. The plug slips inside you, and it’s bliss you’ve never experienced. Crater watches you for a moment before he slides his cock back inside of your pussy, folding you back in half again.

You’ve never felt this full before, never this pleasured, and you’re not sure you’ll ever feel this way again.

But you need it.

“Fuck. Don’t stop.”

A hand settles on your throat, firmer than the last time he grasped you like that.

“Eyes open for me, love.”

You didn’t even realize you’d closed them, but your eyes flutter open and find Crater’s in the dim lighting. They’re piercing. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and his gaze follows it.

“Do as you’re told, yeah?” he groans.

“Yes, sir,” you gasp.

The grip on your throat tightens slightly, pressing on the sides. “Squeeze for me.”

You focus on contracting your muscles even though your mind feels like a blur. Crater grunts as your cunt tightens around him. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.” His cock slams into you, and you relax, letting him fill you.

“Again.”

Crater releases your legs, fucking you with his hand around your neck. You’ve never tried spice, but you imagine this has to be what it’s like. You’re floating, you’re moaning, you’re sweating, all while wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, more intense with every thrust of Crater’s hips as the head of his cock continues to stroke that perfect place inside you. The grip on your throat tightens when he wants you to flex your muscles, and after a few cycles of it, you tighten around him without having to be asked. Crater’s fucking you in earnest now, the hand still around your throat, and your head is swimming. He releases you for a second, watching you.

“Color?”

“Green,” you whisper.

“Louder for me.”

“Green,” you say more firmly.

He’s still watching, and you see a flicker of something, concern maybe.

“I said I’m green, Crater.”

He takes your hand, placing it on his side. “Tap if you need.”

“I will. Now please fuck me.”

The grip tightens again, and you’re back to floating, and before you know it, you’re begging him again.

“Cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

You do. You cum hard, clawing at his back as he bites your shoulder. Your vision whites out as you writhe underneath him, clenching around his cock until the orgasm subsides, leaving you panting.

“Good. That’s two.”

“How many you shooting for?” you gasp.

“As many as it takes. Now on your knees for me, love.”

You roll over onto your knees, bracing yourself against your elbows. You feel exposed like this, back arched and presenting yourself to the captain. You feel him staring at your dripping heat, and you shiver under his gaze. His fingers trace along your lips as he positions himself behind you, nudging your knees apart as he presses his cock back into you. Your back arches almost by instinct, and he groans as he bottoms out, leaning over you. You feel his abdomen press against the plug in your ass, and you try to push backwards to drive it in deeper, but a sharp smack to your ass makes you freeze.

“What did I tell you about being greedy?” he rasps. “You take what I give you.”

You squeeze around him in the only act of defiance you can muster, and he chuckles darkly before he leans forward, pinning your arms behind your back with one hand while fisting your hair with the other. The roots of your hair creak again under his grip, but the pain is beautiful as he slams into your cunt again with a wet slap that makes your face burn.

“You talk a big game, but I know what you really crave,” he grunts as he fucks you. “You want to be told how filthy you are. You want to be used like this, to surrender to someone else. You want someone else to take charge. Your dripping little cunt tells me everything I need to know.” He’s got his weight tipped forward onto the small of your back, arching it even further as he snaps his hips into you again, accelerating the pace with each thrust until he’s pounding you into your mattress. Your head is pulled back and forth by the grip he has on your hair, and you allow yourself to go limp as Crater drives into you again and again. You’re more than happy to let him use you, especially as he strokes your insides deliciously, stretching you around his cock as your ass relaxes around the plug. It’s bliss.

After a few minutes, he adjusts again, tipping further forward, and suddenly, he finds the deepest part of you again, and he knows it when you moan loudly under him. He slows, dragging himself out of you before thrusting roughly back in, and you try to bury your face in the sheets to hide the obscene whines that are falling from your lips. But a rough tug of your hair turns your face outward, and you gasp and moan, some of your saliva leaking onto the sheets as Crater fucks you.

“None of that, love. I want to hear every noise you make.”

He pulls you apart, piece by piece, yanking another orgasm from you in a matter of minutes before he flips you back onto your back, pulling your ankles up to rest on his shoulders and gripping your hips as he pistons into you roughly. You lose track of how many times you’ve orgasmed, and each time, Crater only allows you a moment to catch your breath before he’s moving you again, gripping your body roughly and taking what he wants from you. You’re boneless and malleable, and he’s seemingly insatiable.

He’s fucking you on your back again, with one leg extended between his with the other on his shoulder as he drives into your soaked cunt. Sweat is trickling down his neck, trailing along the lines of his tattoos. His dark curls are glistening with moisture, and one drop falls from his nose, landing on your abdomen as he snaps his hips into you relentlessly.

“I’m almost there, love,” he gasps. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up.”

You’re panting with exertion, trying to hold your orgasm at bay as he grips your hip, driving himself into you impossibly deeper. You worry that his orgasm will mean the end of this night, and he seems to notice your concern.

“Ask for what you want, pretty girl.”

You’re suddenly shy, even with his cock buried inside you, even wearing the marks of his teeth and his hands on your flesh.

He slows, whispering your name. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I want you to fuck my ass. I want you to have me there, Crater.”

His eyes search yours for a second before he resumes his relentless pace. “I’m going to cum in this pussy. Then you’re going to clean my cock off with that smart mouth of yours. And once I’m nice and hard again, I’ll claim you there. That what you want?”

Heat rises in your cheeks. “Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir. Please sir.”

“Good girl.”

He leans forward, adjusting to the angle that he knows will rip another orgasm from you, and sure enough, you’re pleading with him again in a matter of seconds. This time, he’s merciful.

“Cum with me. Right now. Do it.”

You’ve never been so responsive to a lover, never felt as though your body was perfectly calibrated to follow their commands, but Crater’s words send you hurtling over the edge, and you feel him twitch as he empties himself inside of you. It takes several thrusts, and you’re certain you’re full of his cum, dripping with it.

His final thrusts make obscene sounds, and you feel the warm stickiness dribble out of you. Crater pushes himself up on his hands and knees, reaching for the dildo and gently nestling it inside of you, replacing his cock. It’s cold and not enough compared to him, but your disappointment only lasts a moment as he crawls to the head of your bed, sitting against your headboard with his legs spread. He reaches for the remote on your nightstand and beckons you forward.

“Come clean me off, love. Get me ready to take you again.”

You feel as though you’re drunk as you roll yourself onto your hands and knees, clumsily crawling towards him on wobbly limbs. He watches you with a slight smirk as you drop to your elbows between his knees, nuzzling at his abdomen and kissing the scar on his hip. He gently brushes your hair out of your face, gathering it in one hand.

“You want this, love?”

“So much,” you whisper.

His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your combined releases, and you gently wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around the tip. The taste is salty and tangy and warm, and you can’t believe how quickly you crave it, slipping him further into your mouth. He grunts in surprise as you suddenly feel a second wind overtake you, making you eager to run your tongue along every inch of him. You clean him until your saliva replaces the slick cum on his shaft, tracing veins and flicking the head of his cock with your tongue. You hear a dull thunk as his head falls back against your headboard, and he gathers your hair in one hand, applying pressure to the back of your head.

You want him to use you. You want him to bruise the back of your throat. You want him to make your voice rasp in the morning as a reminder of this night.

His cock hits the back of your throat, but you hold yourself there, fighting your gag reflex and the tears that are blurring your vision. You can see his abdomen heaving as he experimentally thrusts into your mouth, testing your limits. You swallow around him.

Crater moans.

“Good fucking girl. Maker, I knew that mouth would be incredible. Gonna have to be careful or else I’ll cum down your throat, love.”

You hum and the grip on your hair tightens as you feel his cock swell and pulse against your tongue.

“Oh, you want that do you? You want me to fuck your mouth?”

The sounds as your saliva squelches around him are obscene, but he begins pistoning up into your mouth, moving your head to meet his thrusts. You rest one hand on his thigh in case you need it, and you feel his muscles tense with every snap of his hips.

“So fucking good. I should come by more often just to do this. Shut your office door and fuck your throat when you get mouthy with me. You love this, don’t you? Love being put in your place. Love being used to slick my cock, you sloppy little thing. Relax your throat for me. Oh, fuck, yes. Just like that.”

You’ve never heard him this vocal, and as you manage to glance up, you see how his lips are slightly parted. His brows are furrowed, and you can tell you might finally have him knocked slightly off balance. A new wave of arousal shoots through you at the thought of making Crater crumble. With renewed fervor, you bury your nose in the curls at the base of his cock, inhaling his scent just before your airway is cut off, and you gag. But you hold yourself there, and his hand rests heavily on the back of your head.

Suddenly, you groan as he clicks the remote for the dildo in your cunt. It vibrates to life, pressing against your stretched walls, making your legs quiver.

“Good girls get rewarded,” he rasps.

You become ravenous, eager to taste his cum, desperate to have this man fill your throat. You want nothing more than to pleasure him, to submit to him, and you let him take what he wants from you. Crater drops the remote, burying both hands in your hair as he lazily thrusts in and out of your mouth, giving you instructions occasionally, which you follow without question. The dull buzz between your legs combined with the pressure in your ass and the throb of Crater’s cock on your tongue brings you to the edge again, but this time, you can’t beg with your mouth full.

He notices.

“Do it. Cum for me. You’ve been so good.”

He clicks the remote again, and you scream around his cock. He presses your head all the way down, groaning as your shrieks vibrate around him. Just as you’re spent, he pulls you off of him, turning the vibration off. He’s almost painfully hard, you can see that. His cock is fully erect and twitching, glistening with your saliva in the dull lighting of the room. You rest your cheek on his thigh, and he strokes your hair.

“Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

“Wanted… wanted to taste… you,” you pant.

He strokes your hair. “Another time. I promise.”

You whine. “Please fuck me.”

That was apparently the answer he was hoping for, not wanting to expend himself too early if that’s what you really wanted. He’s read you again, but you can’t be bothered by it as he asks you “Where?”

You know he’s making sure this is what you want, so you meet his eyes with as firm a gaze as you can muster. “Please fuck my ass, sir. I need it.”

“How could I refuse such a polite request?”

Crater eases out from underneath you, crawling around behind you and guiding you onto your stomach. He folds a pillow in half and helps you raise your hips to stuff it under them, raising them to his liking before he straddles you, enclosing your legs with his. He pushes the vibrator in your cunt a little deeper, you having squeezed it out slightly during your last orgasm, and then he clicks the low vibration back on. Your muscles tighten around it, and you grip the sheets, arching your back and moaning as he presses it further in and clicks the button again. The vibrations ramp up, and you writhe beneath him. He taps the end of the plug in your ass, and you turn to look over your shoulder at him.

“You gonna let me have your ass, sweetheart?”

It’s one last check. And you’re so grateful for it. But you’re also so impatient.

“Yes. Please fuck my ass, Captain.”

His eyes leave yours to watch as he plays with the plug a little, tapping and moving it in and out of you before he removes it completely. You feel achingly empty and wiggle your ass, hoping it will entice him to fill you faster. You’ve never been taken there before, but right now, you want nothing more.

“I’m going to go slow. Use your colors.”

“Please, Crater.”

The lube bottle clicks open, and a few seconds later you hear the sound of him slicking his cock. Coolness hits your asshole, and you gasp as fingers slip inside of you, working you even more open.

And then you feel it.

Crater uses one hand to spread your asscheeks as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and slowly begins to ease in. So slowly. Tears leap into your eyes as your muscles stretch to accommodate him. It’s slightly painful, but the pleasure outweighs it as he gently thrusts just the head in and out of you. It feels as though your cunt is stretching too, and the vibrations inside of you suddenly become more intense.

You need him deeper.

“More,” you plead.

Crater sinks a little further into you, moving his hand to the small of your back instead to brace himself. And that’s when it hits you: he’s inside of you completely, not having to hold himself there, in a place no one else has ever been.

The realization drives you wild.

And then he taps the vibrator again. You gasp loudly, fisting the sheets.

“More. Please!”

He sinks deeper, but it’s too much too fast this time. You gasp out a color.

“YELLOW.”

He backs off quickly, but your hand rockets around to keep him inside you.

“Just a little slower. I’m sorry. I thought I was ready,” you choke out.

“Don’t be sorry. Not at all. I’m glad you told me.” His voice is tight. You know he’s holding back. And that’s why you want to keep going. Because you trust him like you’ve trusted no one else.

“Don’t stop. Just go slower. But please don’t stop.”

“You’re sure?” he asks again.

“Yes. Please. I’m green.” You thrust back slightly, just to your breaking point, and he takes your lead. You feel your body relax around him, and this time, you’re positive when you ask him for more. He’s slow and patient, working his way inside you. The stretch is delicious, and Maker, you’ve never been this full. Nothing you do with your fingers or toys after this will be enough. Not with the way his hand is rubbing comforting circles in the small of your back as he destroys you one centimeter at a time.

“More.”

He sinks deeper, and now you’re babbling as he slowly drags himself back out of you before sinking back in. You reach between your legs to press the vibrator against your clit.

“Fuck, Crate. You’re so big. It’s so big and perfect. Fuck. I fucking love the way you feel in my ass.”

“You gonna let me cum in this tight ass, pretty girl?” he grits out. He doesn’t correct you on his title, but you’re pretty sure he’s almost as far gone as you are.

“Gods, yes. I want you to claim me there. Paint my walls where no one else has. I want to feel you leak back out of me.”

His hands grip your hips so hard you’re certain there’ll be a perfect set of fingerprints there. He’s doing everything in his power to go slow, and you can’t wait to turn him loose.

“More, Crate.”

You feel his hips come to rest against your ass as he bottoms out. He’s panting against your shoulder blades, attempting to keep his composure. The realization of how deep he is inside of you has your cunt fluttering around the vibrator, and you almost orgasm from the thought alone. He stretches his legs out, lowering his weight on top of you. One set of his fingers interlaces with yours, and the other hand comes around to cup your throat. He doesn’t squeeze this time, just cradles your jaw, holding your head up as he nuzzles against you.

“You’re so good for me,” he whispers against your skin. “So fucking good.”

You look over your shoulder at him as much as you can, watching a line of sweat trickle down his temple.

“Fuck me, Captain.”

He does. He’s slow at first, but the drag of his cock all the way back out and all the way back into your ass makes you mewl, and before long, you’re pressing back into him. He ramps the vibrator up to its highest setting, and your eyes roll back into your head.

“Harder. Please.”

He obliges, snapping his hips deeper and putting more of his weight into each thrust. Your toes dig into the sheets as your whole body begins to tighten.

“I’m so full. It’s so good. So good. Fuck.” You can’t stop babbling as he pounds into you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he gasps. “You take my cock so fucking well. Like you were made for it.” He groans loudly as he bottoms out again. “You love this, don’t you? Being stuffed in both holes?”

“Yes,” you sob. “It’s so good.”

“I bet you’d love to have Gregor’s cock in here too. Maybe he takes your sweet little cunt while I pound your ass.” You moan, clenching at the thought. Crater doesn’t stop. “But that still leaves your mouth. Maybe I get Chuckles in here to fuck that smart little mouth while Gregor and I take you. Would you like that, pretty girl? To be ruined by three men at once?”

You whine and spasm around him, and he feels it. “Fuck, you’re such a dirty girl. Who would have known the smart-mouthed mechanic would let me do this to her? Let me ruin her in the backroom of her office. I want you to always remember this when you’re out in that office working. How I took you back here and made you scream my name. How you begged for my cock. Maybe I’ll take you over that desk before I go in the morning so you think about that for the rest of the day while my spend leaks out of you.”

“Crater, I’m gonna cum.”

“Not until I say you are,” he grits out. “Not until I’m ready to.”

You inhale sharply, trying to keep your body from toppling over the edge.

“Don’t you cum yet,” he snarls.

“I’m trying,” you whine. “But I’m so close, Captain. So close.”

“Keep talking.”

Your mouth runs on autopilot, desperate to find the words that will yank him to the edge alongside you so that you can both tumble off together.

“Your cock is so fucking good, Crater. Gods, nothing will ever be enough after this. You fill me up so perfectly. I need it, Crate. I need to feel your hot cum in my ass. I want to feel it leak out of me. Fuck. Please give it to me, Crater. Please cum in my ass.”

His thrusts grow more erratic, and you know you’re about to get what you want.

“G-gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Gonna be the first to claim you here.”

“My ass is yours, Crater.”

“Yeah it fucking is.” The grip on your throat tightens, pulling your head back again, and that last little pinprick of pain has you teetering on the brink. It’s like the first day when he had you tipped in the chair of your office, your toes barely touching the floor. All it will take is the slightest push to send you toppling over the edge.

Just a little further. So close.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you sob.

“You’re so cute when you beg,” he rasps directly into your ear. And with a loud groan, his hips stutter as he cums in your ass, gasping.

“Now,” he moans.

And your orgasm rips through you. He drops your head, and you scream into the sheets as wave after wave washes over you in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. Tears stream from your eyes and your body spasms again and again. You feel like you’re floating somewhere between consciousness and some other plane of existence as you come out of it, barely aware of what day it is or what your name even is anymore.

When the waves of your orgasm finally stop battering your wrung-out body, you collapse limply against the sheets of your bed. They stick to you, but it feels as if you’ve sunk halfway through the mattress somehow. Your mouth feels dry from screaming. Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, and you’re aware Crater is laying on top of you, panting against your neck, but trying to hold the majority of his weight off of you.

“Get it out,” you mumble.

He’s already slipped from your ass, but he quickly turns off the vibrator and eases it out of your cunt. You feel yourself start to shake uncontrollably. You’re not sure if it’s due to the orgasm, the sudden chill on your sweat-soaked body, or something else. Regardless, Crater lies next to you and pulls you close to him, being careful to keep his sullied hand clear of you. His nose grazes yours as he gently cradles your head.

“Breathe with me, Bolts.”

You do, and the shivering begins to subside after a few cycles. You finally open your eyes and find Crater’s steady gaze watching you, a comfort as always.

“I’m going to go get something to clean you off with. I’m going to be right back. Alright?” You nod, your mind still hazy, and he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before moving off towards your ‘fresher. The sink hisses softly, and a moment later, you feel your legs gently being parted and a warm, damp cloth moving over your body, thighs, and between your legs as Crater carefully cleans you. Once he’s done, a dry towel runs over the same areas, soft and gentle, before he rolls you onto your back, removing the pillow from beneath your hips. You hear the mini-fridge in your outer office open and close, and a straw is placed at your lips. You drink greedily as he strokes your hair, draining the water packet in a few seconds.

“Good girl.” The words are softer now, carrying no heat. “Do you need more?”

You shake your head and open your eyes just in time to see him toss the spent water packet into the rubbish bin. He slides into the bed next to you, pulling the blanket over the two of you before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You snuggle into the crook of his shoulder in a daze, inhaling his smell and draping one of your legs over his thigh. His fingers stroke your cheek, and he presses gentle kisses to your forehead and cheeks. Strong, gentle hands trail over your skin, caressing tenderly in a way that so sharply contrasts with how he touched you just moments before. He searches for sore muscles or tension left untouched but finds none; you’re completely relaxed in his grasp. His fingers graze over the bruises and bite marks he left, pressing gently and watching for your reaction, ensuring you’re not in too much pain. It’s sweet, but not something you’re used to. You know this hardly counts as being pampered by most people’s standards, but you’re not used to the doting tenderness. Even if you do find yourself melting into him more with every passing second, allowing your eyes to drift shut again as you release a satisfied sigh.

“I’m alright, Crate,” you mumble after a few moments, growing shy under his attention.

“I need to be sure,” he says quietly. “That was intense for you.”

You smile. “It was, but it was so good.” Your eyes flutter open, and your heart melts at the way he’s looking down at you. You were worried about how this moment might go, concerned about how your friendship might shift after allowing this to happen.

But you should have known better. Crater is a pillar but also a soft place to land, someone you’d confide in without hesitation. His men fall in line because he’s someone to fly into battle with, someone you know will keep you safe. He’s proud but humble. You know he won’t tell a soul about this night. He doesn’t need to. He knows what he did for you, how you begged for him, and that’s enough. And if you’re honest, you think he got as much out of it as you did, enjoying watching your walls come down and you relaxing with him, enjoying the process of helping you.

“Just didn’t realize this was an all-inclusive sort of encounter,” you joke. “You’re starting to make me feel like royalty with all the attention.”

His expression grows serious as he looks down at you, pushing some of your hair out of your face. “You shouldn’t be accepting any other kind of encounters, Bolts. Do I need to chat with Gregor when he gets back?”

“Nah. He’s fine for what he is. And he does take care of me. It’s just… different.”

He grunts noncommittally, pulling you closer. You feel his thumb graze your spine.

“You jealous?” you ask, tongue poking out between your teeth teasingly.

“Not at all. We’re different people giving you different things.”

“That makes it sound like you don’t intend for this to be a one-time thing, Crate.”

“That is entirely up to you.” His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you kiss it.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, as if this night won’t have you craving his touch seconds after he’s gone. “Well, I can’t be getting cranky with your men again, now can I?” you murmur, snuggling deeper into the crook of his shoulder.

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. “Definitely can’t have that. And I’m more than happy to do my part.”

“More than happy?”

“Yeah, Bolts. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think I’d enjoy myself too.”

“You do this with a lot of people?”

“Nope. Only ones I trust. And that trust me.”

You twist one end of your hair nervously, the mention of trust bringing a question charging to the forefront of your mind. He can tell, taking your fingers and carefully intertwining them in his own.

“What is it? You having second thoughts?”

“No, not at all. This was great. It’s just… have you heard if Gregor’s talking about him and I? I didn’t think he would, but what Strike said a few weeks back stuck with me. I don’t want to be the Battalion Babe of the week.”

He nods, pulling your knuckles to his lips. “I can assure you that I haven’t heard anything and I don’t think Gregor’s like that. I think Strike was angry and lashing out. I know several of the men did see you leave 79s with Gregor, so the conclusion wasn’t too far-fetched. But Gregor’s not feeding the rumor mill.”

You sigh. “Dammit.”

“For what it’s worth, you haven’t been a topic of conversation within my earshot. I had a chat with Chuckles too and asked him to make sure it wasn’t happening when I’m not around. He said he would, and I trust him. As much of a pain as he is at times, he’s a good man. I trust him.”

You nod appreciatively, melting slightly at the thought of Chuckles doing that for you, but the mention of the mohawked pilot brings another question to the front of your mind. “Were you serious about you and Gregor and Chuckles?”

He shrugs. “It was something I said in the moment, but not a thing I’d approach them about without your express consent. No one needs to know about this if you don’t want them to. And I would only bring in people you and I trust explicitly. Gregor and Chuckles are two of those people. But again, it was said in the moment and doesn’t have to be a serious thing ever.”

Your mind is whirling at the thought of having three of them at once. You can’t lie, it does pique your interest. You smirk up at him. “I’ll let you know.”

He huffs a laugh. His eyes are gentle as he leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Thank you for trusting me to do all that for you.”

You snuggle further into him, absently tracing his tattoos with your fingertips. “Thank you for doing it for me in the first place. I’d have never asked.”

A quiet laugh rumbles through his chest. “I know. You’re too stubborn. That’s why I offered.”

“Glad you did.”

“Me too.”

His steady heartbeat lulls you to sleep only a few minutes later.

—

When you wake in the morning, Crater’s still there, but he’s in the process of getting dressed. He’s snapping his vambraces in place as you stir, sitting up and stretching. You ache deliciously in all of the right places, but seeing him standing there reawakens your hunger. He smiles at you as you sit up in bed.

“Morning. Figured I should get out of here before the droids start powering on. They’re not known for gossip, but better safe than sorry.”

“I suppose you’re right.” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice, and even if you had, you’re confident he still would have picked up on your cues. He pauses.

“What’s wrong?”

You wonder if you’re overstepping, but after the night you just had, you figure it doesn’t hurt to ask. You get out of your bed, opening the door to your office. Despite you being completely naked, covered in his marks, Crater’s eyes are firmly locked on yours. You lean against the doorframe, glancing over at your desk.

“You mentioned a parting gift last night that involved my desk. That offer still on the table?”

He huffs a laugh, his hands falling to your waist and gently guiding you out into the office. The cool edge of the desk presses against the front of your thighs as he leans down to speak directly into your ear.

“Elbows on the desk for me, pretty girl. And try to be a little quieter this time.”

You shudder as he nudges your feet apart, placing his codpiece on the desk next to you.

“Yes sir.”

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