mdni !!
a/n: this came to me in a dream. JACK ABBOT CAN I BE YOUR CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GIRLFRIEND??
cw: fem reader, age gap, fluff, suggestive content, daddy kink, Jack Abbot is a freak (that is MY truth, move along)
For Jack, dominance is less about control and more about proving to himself that he is useful. Useful to you, most of all. That is not to say he does not enjoy control. He loves it, especially when it makes him feel productive, like he is doing something worthwhile, fixing something, taking care of someone. And you make him feel more useful, more productive, than anything else ever has.
He had wanted to be a father once. He had imagined it in the vague, aching way people imagine futures they assume they will have: teaching a child how to drive, reminding them to wear a coat, showing them how to do things properly. But life got in the way of that. He lost his wife, got older, buried the want so deep inside himself that he stopped noticing it was there.
And then you came along. You ask him questions, you let him explain things to you. You roll your eyes when he tells you to eat something, to go to sleep, to stop apologizing, and then you do it anyway. He likes teaching you things, likes the way you look at him when he is showing you how to do something, likes that you come to him when you need help. He likes taking care of you, likes making your life easier, likes having someone to fuss over and guide and gently boss around.
Sometimes he thinks there is something wrong with him for it. Something sick in the way his chest tightens whenever you are around. You are so cute, so pretty, so unbearably tempting that eventually it stops mattering. It stops mattering that it turns him on when you rely on him, when you look to him for help, when you come so willingly at his beck and call. He forgets all of his worries when you're in his bed gasping out for daddy, for him.
He tells himself he is too old for this, too old to get so attached to the way you look at him when he gives you instructions, too old to enjoy how easily you let him take over. He thinks he should feel guiltier about the warmth that spreads through him when you call him "dad" as a joke, all teasing and saccharine, and then look up at him through your lashes to see what he will do. Is it really a punishment if you enjoy yourself so much?
But you are so pretty when you need him, so sweet. And all he ever really needed was to be needed.
So he stops thinking about it eventually. Stops thinking at all, really, when you are curled up in his bed in one of his old t-shirts, breathing softly against his pillows and reaching for him with a soft, sleepy little, "Jack," like you already know he is there, ready to pull you against his broad chest, ready to make it all better. Because he always does, he always takes care of everything.
He is the sort of man who keeps an extra sweater in his car because he knows you never check the weather before you leave the house, and even if you did you probably prioritized your outfit over your comfort. The sort of man who notices when you are cold before you say anything, who wordlessly drapes his jacket over your shoulders and presses a hand to the back of your neck. There's no words needed, just the firm press of his skin against yours.
He ties your shoelaces when they come undone, kneels before you dramatically even when you have asked him not to time and time again, even if you frown and complain, tell him he's not as young as he used to be, he can't be putting all that weight on his prosthetic. But still you rest your foot in his hands as he ties the laces carefully. He cuts up fruit for you when you are working too late, setting the plate beside you with a quiet, "Eat." He stands behind you while you study, one hand heavy on your shoulder, reading over what you have written and correcting you with that low, patient voice of his. He likes teaching you. Likes the way you huff and insist you already knew that, even as you lean back into him and let him explain.
You let Jack choose things for you. What you wear when you cannot decide. What you order when you get overwhelmed at restaurants. Which side of the bed you sleep on, because he likes you closest to the wall where he can keep you safe, away from the door, from possible intruders.
He is always touching you, as if you were his lifeline. It's absentminded, you doubt he notices how much he does it. In reality, you doubt he realizes the extent of his obsession with you, the extent of his possessiveness. A hand at the small of your back. A palm on your knee beneath the table when you get fidgety. Fingers brushing over the inside of your wrist when he takes something from your hands. The lazy, possessive way he hooks two fingers through one of your belt loops to pull you back against him when you wander too far away. Fingers beneath your chin when he wants you to look at him. His palm spread over your thigh in the car, squeezing once when you get bratty with him.
You think he likes when you act bratty because it gives him an excuse to pull you into his lap and hold your face still while he tells you, very patiently, exactly how you are going to behave. An excuse to make you repeat yourself when you mumble. An excuse to tip your chin up with two fingers and make you look at him while he talks.
And you like it too. You like the way he buttons your coat for you with a little frown, muttering about how you would forget your own head if it was not attached to you. You like the way he scolds you for skipping meals, the way he pulls you into his lap the second you start pouting. You like the way he tells you what to do as though it is the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is. For you it is.
Sometimes, when Jack gets home in the early mornings, tired and aching after a draining shift and he finds you tucked under his bedcovers, breathing slowly under the soft morning light, he smooths a hand through your hair and thinks that this must have been what he wanted all along. Someone to love. Someone to take care of. Someone who lets him feel useful.
And maybe that is where it starts to become something else. Something warmer and stranger and just a little embarrassing. Because he is a pervert, really. A pathetic, middle-aged man who should probably know better than to get so worked up over the way a girl half his age looks at him when he tells her what to do.
There is something almost embarrassingly domestic about the way he indulges it. The way he calls you his girl under his breath when he thinks you are asleep. The way he tells you to climb into his lap when you are upset, then strokes your hair and presses your face into his chest until you stop crying. The way he praises you for the smallest things.
He never says it out loud, but there is a part of him that feels almost spoiled by you. Spoiled by how easily you hand him that role, how readily you let him take over. You look to him before you make decisions, ask him what he thinks, what he wants, what you should do. And every time, something in him preens.
He catches himself lingering in it. Taking a little too long to straighten your collar, to smooth his thumb over your lower lip when you are pouting, to keep you tucked against his side with a hand low on your waist. He likes when you wait for him. Likes when you ask for permission even when you do not have to. Likes the little pause before you do something, that tiny glance in his direction as though checking whether daddy approves.
You linger, too. When you wake up before him on the rare day off he takes, and you can take a moment to explore the freckles and scars that litter his back, you can trace them with your fingertips or your lips. You linger when he fixes your collar or buttons your coat, staring up at him hungrily. You like it when he laughs and tells you you worry too much, that he will make it all better as he pulls your lower lip out from between your teeth. You like asking for permission, not because you have to but because it brings Jack a strange sense of comfort. You like it when he tells you to sit still while he fixes your hair, murmurs, βDonβt squirm,β and you do, letting his hand settle low on your waist while he brushes down a stray strand.
And sometimes, when you're sat in his kitchen in the afternoon, watching Jack make coffee; and the sunlight filters through the curtains just right, you think maybe this is what you wanted all along. Someone to hold you when you feel small, someone to make things easier for you, someone who lets you lean in completely.
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cw: 18+ mdni, fluff and more fluff, age gap (reader mid-late twenties, Simon mid thirties), it's readers birthday.
You wake up with the sun peaking through the shades, scarf someone it's not supposed to be. You try to run the sleep from your eyes but your can't, sleepily rolling out of bed, barefoot and in a pair of your sweatpants and Simons shirts. The two german shepherds who two own immediately circle you once you leave the bed room, panting and ready to play as you go down the creaky steps of the old house.
And then you see the back of Simon's head, sat on the couch in the living room. You see him reach for the ash tray on the coffee table, putting out the cigarette even though he's not done with it, his voice deep, gruff, "Come on kitten, don't just stand there."
Even though your feet are light on the hardwood floors, Simon can still sense you. He's stealthier than you of course, comes with the job.
He doesn't even look up from the book he's reading, raising the other mug over to you, " "Ere."
You plop down beside him, taking the hello Kitty mug in your hands and taking a sip of your favorite tea Simons made for you.
You hum as it runs through you, snuggling into Simons side. It's instinct for the older man to pull you closer, wrapping his tattooed arm around your shoulders, leaving kisses atop of your head
"It's my birthday." You finally say, looking up at Simon.
"Is it? Didn't realize." He quips, sliding the book out of his hands and lifting your face closer to him, his lips meeting your skin over and over.
You purse your lips, crinkling your nose, "I know you took off today, or else you wouldn't be here."
"Take off when I want." And he playfully bites your chin, making you let out an airy giggle.
"Well, since it's my day, I thought maybe we could go shopping or on a date er-"
"βRejected."
"βButβ"
"βGot my own plans for you," Simon squeezes your cheeks together, pecking your lips once, he lets your long lashes flutter open, brown eyes on him, just how he likes it, "Let your old man treat you, yeah?"
And that he does just that.
Has you get all dolled up, hair cascading down your back, a sleeveless black turtleneck, your nipples peaked through, a pair of blue jeans that hugged your curves with a pair of dark army green converses. Gold jewelry on your wrists and around your neck. And it's to have breakfast at the new cafe that's connected to a natural history museum you take a stroll inside of. And it's sickeningly adorable how cut you look reading the signs about evolution and all the different types of animals.
From the gift shop to the train to go to your favorite antique shop to "browse." Theres a hesitation when you place things in your little basket, you're always hesitant when other people buy for you, never wanting to do too much. But the older man simply takes the small basket from you, nodding toward anything is in the store,
"Break the fuckin bank baby, s' yours, get whatever you want."
With that, you end up with a few more knickknacks, ceramics, and handbags that Simons paid for. And Simon is the one who's carrying them into your favorite place for a late lunch. Wining and dining and bug eyed when they bring out a little dessert that signed happy birthday [+] on the plate in chocolate. And Simon, the brute of a man, is recording it on is recently cracked phone (because he constantly drops is) like you're the most precious thing on earth. And you are the most precious thing on earth.
At least to Simon Riley.
But the days doesn't end there, not till you hit a record shop you've been too busy to go to. Collecting your favorite records and CD's that have been on your mind like the plague.
And it's almost silly how much this man has fallen for you, even more so on a day like today where he can make your happiness happen. When your hairs pushed back and the reading glasses are low on your nose and large hoops in your ears. You're tired from walking all day but still blabbing on and on, on the crowded train home. Simon is towering over you between you and the sliding door. The back of his finger gently going up and down your cheek, the smooshing your cheeks together again.
"Wat ish it?" It come out muffled through your lips.
And you see the corner of his eyes crinkle, his tone amused, loving
- "You're just so fuckin cute today lovie, what'ere ya doin t'me?Makin me bloody daft."
He searches your face once, as if you have the answers, but he leaves it at that, letting go of your face and scanning the area as he usually does. Leaving you flustered, buttflies flying in yout stomach.
And the night is spent so cozy, so warm. Putting together some puzzle, wine and dinner made by yours truly. Pasta of course. You You FaceTime your family somewhere in between, Simon promising them you'd celebrate your big day with them tomorrow and that today was "Just for him and his special girl."
You don't even realize when you knock out for the night. All wrapped up in Simons hoodie and a blanket on the couch.
It's when he's gotten you all settled in the bed and in your pajamas, he comes out the bathroom, shirtless. He box blonde climbs into the bed, pulling you into his muscular arms. He lets his fingers lightly caress your skin, it's hard for him really. Never in his life has he cared- no loved so much. Given himself to someone wholeheartedly and gotten the world back. And sometimes Simon wonders if you even realize how good you are to him, how you made him want to feel again. Live a civil life, with you by his side.
It's so soft when it leaves his lips, airy, but it's there. A plea for God to let him stay with you. Continue to have more sweet memories like this. "God, swee'art, love you so much."
a/n: it's not my birthday (obviously). I don't usually do posts but π€·πΎββοΈ. Happy birthday gorgeous who requested. Inspo: Love You Anyway by The Mariaβs. Iβm sorry I love when a man calls himself old manπ«¨π€·πΎββοΈ
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IN WHICH⦠miles quaritch needs a scientist on his team, and you just had to draw the short straw.
Notes: scientist/doctor! reader, petnames, inappropriate jokes, age gap (not explicitly stated, but it is there),
β
As a kid, you were always quiet and introverted. As a teenager, you rarely spoke. Now, as an adult, you were on the most dangerous planet, working as a scientist despite having a medical degree. You werenβt even sure how you got on Pandora. All you did was get outstanding grades, win some awards, and then the RDA shipped you off. Itβs not like you were complaining, you had nothing left on Earth.
Pandora was your home now and little by little, you grew comfortable with the new environment. You were working along Grace Augustine, a renowned scientist. And you were finally happy with where you were in life.
βThose idiots!β You heard Grace yell as she slammed her cup of coffee onto the table, accidentally spilling the hot liquid onto her latest report. She screamed out a string of curse words, causing every head to turn in her direction. "I need a damn cigarette!"
You hurried over with a pack, handing it over to Grace. "What's wrong?" You asked, furrowing your brows together lightly. You didn't have to question it too much to know what was running through Grace's head. You knew, based on the frown and sneer pulling at her lips, that it had something to do with Parker Selfridge or Quaritch. Maybe even both, with the way her eye was twitching in annoyance.
"Quaritch, that bastard!" She exclaimed, throwing a rage fit. "He wants a scientist on his team for today, even though I offered before, and he said no!" Grace clicked her tongue, banging a hand down onto her desk.
No scientist would willingly work for Quarditch, and Grace knew that. That's how you ended up in the conference room with about ten other scientists who doubled as doctors, Miles Quaritch, and Lyle Wainfleet.
You stood close to Grace, almost hiding behind her. The Colonel had always intimidated you; he towered over you, and you were rather scared of his strength. You had seen him punch another marine, sending the soldier flying back. So, it was safe to say you wanted to stay on his good side.
"Alright, everybody, grab a straw," Grace muttered. Some of the other scientists groaned, tilting their heads back in frustration. Drawing straws was the usual method the scientists used to decide who would write the next report or who would have to chug the year-old alcohol sitting in the cupboard.
"That's how you're gonna decide my team's scientist?" Quaritch grumbled, clearly unimpressed by the childish method. Grace merely rolled her eyes. "Just assign me your best one. Or better yet, assign me the prettiest one." He pointed right at you, lips curling into a snarky smirk.
Grace held out an arm, "She is my best scientist."
Quaritch shrugged, "That's a bonus."
Grace ignored him, holding out a handful of straws. Quaritch watched as each person picked a straw, their gazes darting around nervously and hoping they weren't the unlucky person. "Okay. Hold 'em up." Grace muttered. There was a moment of silence before her eyes flickered to you in pity. "Y/N got the shortest."
"Well, lookie here, I won." Quaritch didn't even try to hide the grin on his face, mocking Grace.
She scowled, pointing the middle finger at the marine. "You better keep her in one piece, you dog. I need her to finish writing her thesis."
"Yeah, I'll keep your pretty little scientist safe." He uttered as he walked around the table, stopping in front of you. "In the meantime, get that damn report on my desk before Selfridge has a fit again." Quaritch hooked a finger around your belt, pulling you forward. "Let's go, Wainfleet."
You barely had time to process the situation before Quaritchβs firm grip on your belt yanked you forward again, pulling you into unified steps with him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides, feeling the stares of your coworkers burning into your back.
As you walked, more like jogged, you could feel the intimidating presence of Lyle trailing behind you. He didnβt say a word, but you knew he was watching your every move. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, the cold, metallic walls making you feel claustrophobic.
Quaritch finally broke the silence, his voice gruff but not as harsh as you expected. "Listen up, Doc. I don't need a nervous wreck on my team. Youβre here to get the job done, not to cower in the corner. You got that?" He poked your shoulder, and you quickly nodded.
βGood,β He continued, his pace not slowing as he spoke. βMy team and I need someone who can act as a scientist and a doctor. We're lucky we got stuck with you." You heard a loud click beside you, and you turned your head to see Lyle grinning at you. He was replacing the bullets in his gun as a means to scare you even more. "Weβre going into the forest, and I, more like Selfridge, need you to analyze some samples. Think you can do that, pretty?β
You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady as you responded. "Yes, sir. I can do that." You kept your gaze lowered.
Quaritch glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. βGood. Keep up that attitude, and you might just survive this.β
You didnβt know whether to be reassured or terrified by his words. You knew that Pandora was dangerousβmore dangerous than you ever imagined when you first arrived. The creatures, the environment, and even the air could kill you if you werenβt cautious. You had never actually left the science base before, and now you were being dragged out against your will by a team that seemed to care more about their mission than your life.
As you reached the armoury, Quaritch stopped and turned to face you, his gaze piercing. βSuit up. We leave in ten.β
You nodded again, quickly moving to gather the gear you needed. Your hands trembled slightly as you secured your equipment, the heavy weight pressing you down. You had always been comfortable in the lab, surrounded by data and experiments. This was entirely differentβthis was survival.
Lyle handed you a weapon, and you hesitated for a moment before grasping it. You werenβt used to holding one, and the cold metal felt foreign in your hands. βBetter learn to use that fast,β He said, patting your shoulder. βYouβll need it out there.β
You barely had time to attach the last handgun to your hip before Quaritch approached you again. "You ready, pretty?" He grinned down, hands resting on his hips. Without another word, he turned and led the way towards the rest of the marine team.
They lifted their heads, raising their eyebrows. "Who's that?" One of the only female members questioned, pointing at you.
"Our little scientist." The Colonel uttered, slinging an arm around your shoulder, "Play nice with her. Sheβs never been outside before.β
The team gazed at you, looking you up and down with a mix of curiosity and amusement at your height compared to Quaritch. Their eyes soon flickered to Quaritch's arm that was draped around you.
"New meat? The forest will eat her alive." The same female marine, Z-dog, smirked as she crossed her arms over her chest.
You heard Quaritch chuckle and felt his grip tighten around you as an act of reassurance. Or perhaps it was to keep you from running. "Sheβll be fine. Iβll ensure she knows how to use more than just her brains out here."
Lyle, leaning casually against a nearby chair, grinned as he chimed in. "Oh, I bet you will, Colonel." There was a grin spreading across his face. "You always did have a soft spot for the smart ones. Just donβt get too distracted."
The team laughed, their voices rough and playful. Quaritch rolled his eyes but didnβt bother to deny it. "Donβt worry, Wainfleet. I can multitask. Besides, if youβre so concerned, why donβt you take her under your wing? Show her how the big boys play."
Lyle gave you an exaggerated once-over, his grin widening. "I dunno, boss. She might be too delicate for me. I wouldnβt want to break her."
Z-dog snorted. "Please. Youβd be lucky if she didnβt break you first, Wainfleet. Donβt underestimate the quiet onesβtheyβve got a lot of pent-up energy."
Quaritch raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. "You heard the lady, Wainfleet. Better watch yourself. Might just find out what this oneβs capable of." He slapped you on the back.
You couldnβt help but blush at the teasing, not accustomed to it. Your science and medical coworkers never mocked each other; they were far too lost in their own worlds.
Another marine piped up with a grin. "Hey, just make sure you keep her out of trouble, Colonel. The last thing we need is her getting lost out here and us having to play rescue squad. Unless, of course, youβd enjoy being her knight in shining armour."
Quaritch huffed, giving his teammate a mocking glare. "Iβm nobodyβs damn knight. And she wonβt need rescuing. Right, Doc?" He nudged you.
You nodded quickly, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. "Right."
"Atta girl," Quaritch said with a grin. He gave your shoulder a light pat before stepping away, his authoritative tone taking over again. "Alright, enough with the jokes. Weβve got work to do."
The thick vegetation continuously slapped your oxygen mask, causing you to stumble every second. The suffocating air clung to you as you slowly trudged after the marine team. You noticed how Quaritch, who was at the front of the pack, would glance over his shoulder at you. You could tell in his gaze that he saw you as a liability.
After what felt like an hour of jogging through the forest, Quaritch abruptly stopped, raising a hand to signal to the others. The soldiers halted with practised ease. You, on the other hand, clumsily crashed into Lyle.
"Alright, Doc," Quaritch grunted, turning to face you. "Before we go any deeper, we need to ensure you know how to handle yourself. No point in lugging around dead weight."
You felt a lump form in your throat as he stepped closer, his tall figure casting a shadow over you. He gestured to the weapon slung over your back. "First lesson: how to use that thing. Have you ever fired a gun before? Or, are you more of a delicate touch type?"
Despite being covered from head to toe in weapons you had never held before, you knew you still looked out of place amongst the hardened soldiers surrounding you.
You shook your head quickly, trying not to let Quaritch's words fluster you. "No, sir. Never."
Quaritch smirked, clearly expecting your answer. "Figures. Well, youβre gonna learn fast." He grabbed your belt loop again, leading you a few steps away from the group. "See that tree? Thatβs your target."
"Hey, Colonel," Lyle called out, βDidnβt know you were into giving private lessons. Thought you left the hand-holding to Grace."
The other marines chuckled, their laughter low and suggestive. "Careful, boss," Another of them exclaimed. "You might have to be gentle with this one. Donβt want to scare her off."
Quaritch rolled his eyes, but the smirk never left his face. "Donβt worry, boys. Iβll go nice and slow for her. Gotta make sure she enjoys her first time, right?"
You blushed, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the suggestive jokes being tossed around. Quaritch stepped closer, grabbing your gun and handing it to you. Quaritch moved to stand behind you, his hands settling over yours on the rifle to line up the weapon with the tree.
"Feet shoulder-width apart. Donβt lean too far forward, unless you want to kiss the dirt.β Quaritch grabbed your hips, pulling you back. What must have been an insignificant touch to him felt huge for you. You had never let anyone touch you in that way, too busy with your academics. βKeep your grip tight; Youβre aiming a gun, not giving it a massage."
Behind you, Lyle couldnβt resist another remark. "Hey, Colonel, careful where youβre putting those hands. Might give her the wrong idea."
Quaritch shot him a sideways glance, his smirk turning into a full grin. "Jealous, Wainfleet? Donβt worry, Iβll let you hold her hand next."
Behind you, the marines barely held back their laughter as they leaned against the nearby trees. "Colonel, you gonna take her to prom next?" Z-dog teased, earning another round of chuckles.
Quaritch laughed lowly before returning to you to whisper the instructions in your ear. You took a shaky breath, nodding your head to his words. You shifted from side to side, steadying yourself before you squeezed the trigger.
The rifle's recoil almost knocked you off your feet. Lucky for you, Quarditch was there to catch you.
"Oh, Colonel's getting handsy," Lyle exclaimed. The bullet you had shot grazed the side of the tree trunk, missing the target.
Z-dog laughed. βMaybe you should teach her to aim at something a little closer, Colonel. Like you."
Quaritch didnβt miss a beat. "She doesnβt need to aim at meβsheβs already got me in her sights." He loudly clapped his hands together, gaining your attention again. "This time, donβt overthink it. Just line it up and shoot."
You nodded, focusing on the tree once more. This time, you steadied yourself better, and your muscles started to faintly remember the movements.
Quaritch gave a grunt of approval at your second attempt. "Better. Keep at it. Youβll get there."
You practised under Quaritchβs watchful eye for the next hour, gradually getting more comfortable with holding the rifle. The marines kept up their teasing, mainly aimed at their boss and how he was eying you like a hawk.
"Not bad, pretty," Quaritch finally muttered, his usual hardened gaze softening just a bit. "Maybe you wonβt get us killed after all." He turned to the Marines, clearing his throat. "Let's move out."
The next time the group stopped was in a secluded part of the forest deep inside the jungle. Your gaze studied the trees and plants around you.
βThis is it, Doc. Get to work.β Quaritch handed you the rest of your tools. Lyle sat down on a rock, fidgeting with his gun.
At first, you were so focused on collecting samples that you didnβt notice the eyes following your every movement. You could hear the quiet shuffling of Quaritch, Lyle, and the other marines as they spread out to keep guard. They continued with their teasing banter to pass the time.
As you crouched down to get a better look at some glowing moss, you could feel Quaritchβs gaze on youβintense, and not exactly subtle. The other marines noticed too. His eyes trailed over you, lingering on your body.
You tried to avoid talking to the soldiers as best as you could, desperate to return to the lab so you could study your samples. That was your definition of fun.
Your silence was interrupted by Lyle crouching down beside you. βCareful with those flowers, Doc. They look like they bite.β You glanced at the cluster of spiky flowers, shrugging.
βThey donβt.β You quietly murmured.
βWell, if they do, I bet I could beat them.β
Quaritch, overhearing Lyleβs nonsense, shook his head. βThatβs ironic, Wainfleet, considering youβve lost every fight against me.β
βYeah but you ainβt a flower, Colonel.β
Quaritch sly grinned before looking at you. βYou sure you donβt need any help, pretty?β You quickly shook your head in response. The last thing you needed was a soldier ruining your research.
βWatch out for the Colonelβs βhelp.β Heβs got a way of making it sound real nice, but before you know it, youβre running laps around the base at 0500." Lyle pitched in.
Quaritch rolled his eyes, standing up and slapping Lyle on the back of the head. βThats only if you keep running your mouth, Wainfleet. Which reminds me, you still owe me ten laps from yesterday. You can start now.β With a groan, Lyle stood up, leaving your side to run his dreaded laps.
You were pleasantly surprised that you had not tripped yet. You were naturally clumsy, always managing to make a mess out of the simplest of tasks. You walked forward to look at another flower but a vine that was hidden within the foliage caught you off guard.
You tripped and fell with a large thud, catching the attention of everyone nearby. Quaritch walked over to help you but not before laughing. βCareful.β He teasingly warned. The Colonel made no attempts in hiding how he eyed your body up and down. βYou gotta watch where you step. Though, I gotta say, I donβt mind the view.β
You quickly scrambled to your feet, cheeks heating up. Lyle, who had been watching intently, snickered. βYou sure youβre just out here for the plants, sir? No other reason?β
You were ready to head back for the day before a plant in the distance caught your attention. βIβll be quick.β You muttered to Quaritch, hoping heβd let you look at it. He nodded after a long pause.
βIβll go with her. The rest of you, stay here.β He ordered his soldiers before following after you. You had a skip in your step as you carefully manoeuvred through the maze of tree roots but you were soon too distracted to keep up the pace. Quaritch easily overtook you as you scribbled messy notes into a small notebook.
You were almost at the plant before you slipped again. You mentally cursed at your clumsiness and inability to stay focused of your surroundings. You couldnβt catch yourself in time before stumbling into Quaritch. The impact was enough to send him forward but he quickly turned so his back would take the brunt of the fall. You landed on top of him with a soft grunt, hitting your head on his shoulder.
You took a few moments to regain your breath before you felt Quaritchβs hands rest on your hips. βIf you wanted to lie on top of me, pretty, you could have just said so.β He teased. βI always knew you scientists had a habit of being direct but this is a little much, donβt you think?β
You quickly pushed yourself up. βIβm sorry, sir! I didnβt mean to!β This was the loudest Quaritch had ever heard you talk. He could barely hear your whispers sometimes, having to lean down to understand your words.
βI ainβt complaining but unless youβre into dangerous places, you might wanna save this stuff for when weβre not in the middle of an alien jungle.β He drawled, causing your body to heat up with embarrassment. He didnβt let you stand up, wanting to see how much of a reaction he could draw out.
Lyle peaked his head around a bush, having heard the sound of you falling. βAre you guys gonna keep us waiting for long while you deal with all that tension? Because I have some coffee Iβd really like to drink back at the base.β
βCalm your horses, Wainfleet. Weβll be there in a second.β Quaritch responded, letting you go like he hadnβt purposefully held you down.
In the end, you got the plant and you returned to the base safe and sound. You had expected the Colonelβs attention to be a one time thing but he followed you into the lab.
Grace arched an eyebrow at his appearance. βHere she is, Augustine, safe and sound like I promised.β Quaritch grinned, patting you on the shoulder. βThe next time I need a scientist, I want her.β You were already scrambling towards your workspace, laying out your samples.
Quaritch turned to leave but he flashed you another grin. βSee you later, pretty.β He called out.
βYou will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.β
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