#and only read the rest while writing the answer

[avengxrz]

the fool humbles the golden boy ; jake "hangman" seresin x reader [part two]

pairings: jake "hangman" seresin x reader

word count: 16.6k (i think i am crazy)

summary: jake seresin thought he had it all together until you came back, colder and sharper than he remembered, holding a higher rank and flying like a ghost he couldn’t catch. everyone noticed you, and rooster was practically drooling every time you spoke. but it was jake who couldn’t look away, jake who kept wondering when the girl who once adored him turned into someone who barely blinked in his direction. the worst part was you were starting to act like him back in college, and now he’s the one left feeling pathetic. he shouldn’t care, right?

warnings: language, aviation terms used wrong on purpose, mentions of past emotional manipulation, unresolved tension, rooster being down bad like embarrassingly so, hangman being jealous and quiet about it, emotional whiplash, flashbacks to academic humiliation, reader is hot and scary now, slow burn and enemies to lovers energy, squad chaos, hangar tension, hard deck tomfoolery.

notes: i am crazy for the word count, i am so sorry. if tumblr still tries to stop me from posting 20k+ words like the menace it is, this might end up having a part 4 lol. blame hangman and rogue for the tension. blame rooster for being in love. blame me for not knowing when to stop writing. also, taglist is in the comments because y’all are TOO MANY 😭💛 thank you so much for the love!!

part one

masterlist

your callsign is rogue.

Lunch hit with a weird kind of tension. The kind that made the cafeteria quieter than usual, like everyone was trying not to say the wrong thing too loud. Trays clattered, boots scuffed across the floor, and pilots moved like they were walking around a minefield. Jake grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of something he didn’t care about, following the rest of the squad to their usual table—only to stop short when Rooster, standing beside him, froze in place.

“There she is,” Rooster whispered, reverent like he’d just spotted a deity in mortal form.

Jake didn’t need to look. He already knew. But he looked anyway.

Rogue was at a table near the far window, sunlight catching the edge of her profile, casting shadows under her eyes. She wasn’t talking, wasn’t laughing—just flipping through a paperback with one hand while sipping coffee with the other.

Beside her, Jinx and Ruin were leaning back in their chairs, both grinning like schoolkids caught in a joke. Jinx nudged her shoulder with a smirk; Ruin said something that made him laugh under his breath. Rogue didn’t laugh, but the corner of her mouth lifted.

She looked calm. Untouchable.

Like none of them had even scratched the surface.

Jake sat down hard in his chair, sandwich forgotten.

“They’re like... intimidatingly hot,” Fritz said, wide-eyed.

“No,” Payback corrected. “She’s intimidating. They’re just scary.”

“She’s literally reading a book in the middle of a Navy base,” Fanboy muttered. “Who even does that?”

“Geniuses,” Rooster answered, without shame. “Geniuses and goddesses.”

Jake groaned. “You’ve known her for five minutes and you’re ready to tattoo her name on your dog tags.”

Rooster shrugged, unapologetic. “If she asked.”

“Can we stop acting like she’s some mystical creature?” Jake snapped. “She’s just another pilot.”

Everyone turned to look at him, clearly not buying it.

“She’s a commander,” Phoenix pointed out. “And they made you look like a deer in headlights this morning.”

Jake shot her a warning glare. “I wasn’t the only one.”

“Yeah, but you were the only one who looked like someone ran over your ego on the runway,” Coyote said with a grin.

Jake forced a smile, biting back the instinct to say something reckless. He took a bite of his sandwich instead—dry, bland, tasteless. His eyes flicked back toward Rogue’s table.

She hadn’t looked over once.

Not even a glance.

And the longer Jake watched her, the more he hated that it still bothered him.

She was supposed to be the one with soft edges. The one who lingered. The one who waited.

But now?

She wasn’t waiting for anyone.

The noise level picked up around them—cutlery clinking, chairs dragging, idle chatter from other tables—but their squad stayed weirdly focused. Or maybe it was just that Jake could feel their attention even when they weren’t speaking. The way Coyote kept glancing between him and Rogue’s table like he was waiting for a detonation. The way Fanboy bit his cheek like he was holding back another quip. The way Phoenix kept shooting him these looks like she knew exactly what this was and was just waiting for him to crack.

Jake didn’t crack.

He chewed his dry sandwich like it had personally wronged him and stared past Rooster’s dumb grin toward the far table, where Rogue still hadn’t spared them a single glance. She was laughing now—soft, low, nothing dramatic—but it was the kind of sound that hit him like a punch to the gut. The kind of sound he didn’t even know she could make. Not back then.

He looked away. Fast. Like he could unhear it.

Rooster sighed again, obnoxiously dreamy. “You think she’s single?”

Phoenix threw a carrot stick at him.

“Dude,” she said, “you’re practically vibrating.”

“I’m appreciating talent when I see it,” Rooster replied, brushing the carrot off his lap. “She’s clearly brilliant. That whole ‘I’m not here to be your friend’ line? Iconic.”

“It was kinda terrifying,” Fritz muttered.

“It was hot,” Rooster corrected.

Jake slammed his bottle down harder than necessary, the plastic thunk echoing off the table.

“She’s a commander,” he said, voice clipped. “Maybe stop talking about her like she’s some poster on your bedroom wall.”

That earned him another round of side-eyes. Hondo, who had wandered over with a coffee in hand, arched a brow at Jake like he’d just walked into a soap opera he didn’t sign up for.

“Everything alright over here?” he asked, amused.

“We’re just admiring leadership,” Rooster said sweetly.

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “More like actively planning your own destruction.”

Jake stood up.

No one told him to sit down, but they all looked at him like they expected it. He ignored them, grabbing his tray and heading for the nearest bin, because if he stayed there another second he was going to say something stupid—like I knew her before you did. Like she used to smile at me.

Like she used to wait for me to notice her… and he never did.

And now?

She hadn’t looked at him once.

Jake didn’t go far. Just far enough that it didn’t look like he was running. He dumped his tray, grabbed a napkin he didn’t need, and hovered near the drink station like he had unfinished business with the water cooler. He could still hear them laughing behind him, still feel the weight of her name heavy in the back of his throat. Rogue. Rogue. That wasn’t the kind of name you earned without fire. That wasn’t the kind of woman who came back looking like that unless she wanted you to choke on it.

Back at the table, the rest of the squad watched him in silence for a beat.

Then Rooster leaned forward, elbow on the table, brow raised like a kid who just caught his older brother sneaking out after curfew. “Okay, I know I’m not the only one who noticed something is up with Hangman.”

“You mean besides the fact that he looked like he got punched in the soul?” Coyote replied.

Fanboy whistled. “I thought he was gonna throw the bottle at me.”

“He almost snapped my neck just for breathing near her name,” Rooster added.

Phoenix hummed. “I’ve seen that look before.”

“What look?” Fritz asked.

She pointed subtly toward Jake’s back. “That look. The one where you’re watching someone you thought would stay in the past… and they show up not just alive, but better. Higher rank. Sharper. Untouchable.”

“She didn’t even look at him,” Yale said.

Rooster grinned. “Cold-blooded. Icon behavior.”

“Hangman’s not used to being invisible,” Payback added, smirking.

Hondo chuckled from where he was sipping his coffee nearby. “Y’all talk like he’s not twenty feet away with Navy hearing.”

“We’re not subtle,” Phoenix said, unapologetic.

Jake still hadn’t moved. Just stood there, eyes locked on the vending machine like it owed him answers. His jaw ticked, arms folded. He looked like a statue of a man trying really hard not to care. But everyone at the table could tell—it wasn’t just that he cared.

It was that he’d lost something. And Rogue? She didn’t even seem like she’d noticed.

Rooster leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head. “If she yells at him in the air, I’ll Venmo twenty bucks to whoever catches it on camera.”

Phoenix smirked. “Make it fifty if he actually listens.”

Jake felt the roar of the engine before it settled under his skin. The sim was basic—just formation flying, reaction drills, standard maneuvers. Stuff they could all do with their eyes closed. But even in the simplicity, Jake pushed harder. Sharper turns, tighter controls, smoother recoveries. He knew Maverick was watching. He knew the rest of the squad was trying to shake off the shadow Rogue had cast that morning. So he flew like it was war.

Maverick’s voice crackled in his ear. Calm. Precise. “Coyote, ease off Payback’s six. Hangman, lead the stack again—keep it tighter this time.”

Jake grinned, a little too sharp. “Copy that.”

He snapped into the lead, banking hard with a little extra flair. Not enough to be showy—but enough. Just enough.

There was silence for a beat. Then Maverick again, dry as hell. “You showing off or compensating?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Jake drawled, voice smooth even as sweat slid down his neck.

Rooster chimed in a second later, grin audible through the headset. “I dunno, Hangman. Feels like you’ve got something to prove today.”

Jake’s grip tightened on the throttle.

“No different than any other run,” he said.

Phoenix’s voice cut in next. “Except you’re actually trying.”

A few scattered chuckles filled the comms.

Jake ignored them.

Because they were right.

He was trying harder. Because flying was the only place that still felt like his. The air didn’t whisper her name. The sky didn’t laugh when she looked through him like he never mattered. Up here, he was still Hangman—the best, the fastest, the sharpest. Up here, he could pretend Rogue didn’t exist.

But even at thirty thousand feet, she was still under his skin.

And the worst part?

He knew Maverick noticed. Knew the squad did too. But no one said it outright. Not yet. They didn’t know what she had been to him, what he had done to her. They just felt the shift. The crack. The static in the air that hadn’t been there before she walked in and flipped his world upside down.

Jake exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes narrowing as he pulled a tight banking turn, perfect and effortless.

She wasn't even here.

And she was still flying circles in his head.

By the time they were back on the tarmac, the sun had dipped low enough to bleed gold across the hangars, painting everything in long, lazy shadows. The kind of evening that looked peaceful—if you ignored the limp way the squad walked, like every limb had been rung out and left to dry in the California heat.

Jake pulled off his helmet and let the breeze hit his sweat-damp face. It didn’t help much. His shirt clung to his spine, his biceps ached, and his mind—despite the perfect formations and sharp turns—was still a warzone of unanswered questions and long-buried memories.

“Alright,” Rooster muttered, peeling off his flight gear like it offended him. “Now that sucked.”

“You only say that because Phoenix smoked you in the last run,” Coyote said, elbowing him.

“I was distracted,” Rooster argued, shameless. “Some of us are still emotionally recovering from earlier.”

“Emotionally wrecked,” Fanboy corrected.

“By a woman you’ve known for three hours,” Phoenix deadpanned.

Rooster held up a finger. “Three hours and fifteen minutes.”

Jake rolled his eyes hard enough to see static.

They made it halfway to the locker room before talk of plans started bubbling up. The Hard Deck, of course. Beers. Pool. Drowning trauma in tequila. Fanboy was already planning a playlist. Fritz mentioned wings. Rooster was still mid-rant about “the way she commanded the room,” when Maverick’s voice cut through them like a sharp turn in G-force.

“You’re not going out tonight.”

Everyone stopped. Collective groans erupted instantly, as if on cue.

“Come on, Mav—”

“Seriously?”

“We just survived that sim.”

Maverick stood near the hallway, arms crossed, aviators still on even in the dying light, which somehow made him look more dangerous. Like he could smell weakness.

“You’ll need the sleep,” he said simply. “Tomorrow, you’ll thank me.”

Rooster squinted at him like he was trying to read a classified file just by vibe. “Sir, with all due respect—why do you say stuff like that and then walk away?”

Maverick didn’t even blink. He just tipped his head, gave a half-grin that was equal parts cryptic and menacing, and turned down the corridor without a single backward glance.

“Because it’s fun.”

And just like that, he was gone.

They all stood there in silence, mentally reviewing their wills.

Payback whispered, “We’re gonna die tomorrow, huh?”

Jake didn’t answer. He was still thinking about the way Rogue hadn’t looked back either.

Jake was up by four.

Not because he needed to be. Not even because he wanted to be. It was just the only way to breathe. He’d always told himself discipline was power—quiet, daily power. So he ran. Early. When the world was still blue-gray and silent, when the only thing moving was the ocean air and his own shadow pounding against the concrete. It made sense. It was simple. No questions, no ghosts, no politics. Just heartbeats and breath and routine.

Coyote joined him ten minutes later, headphones in, no words needed. Then Phoenix. Then Fanboy, groaning the entire way. By five, they were a full formation of suffering. Rooster staggered in last—sweaty, yawning, but still somehow smirking.

“Dreamt about her again,” he said through a breathless laugh, bent at the waist.

Jake didn’t answer. He just kept doing push-ups like his pride depended on it.

They finished with laps and protein bars and silence. And by six-thirty, they were changed, cleaned, and marching across base toward the detachment hangar—where God and Maverick both had something planned, and only one of them would feel merciful.

The hangar looked bigger in the morning light. Empty space, humming tension. Jake could already feel the shift in the air—like the sky itself was holding its breath.

Maverick and Hondo were already there, standing near the flight brief screens, arms crossed, expressions unreadable. Maverick had ditched the aviators but not the mystery. Hondo nodded as they entered, offering the kind of half-smile that said you're not gonna like what happens next.

Jake stood with the others in formation, arms loose at his sides, back straight, jaw clenched. Rooster nudged him lightly.

“She’s gonna be here,” he whispered.

Jake didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

Because he could already feel it. Like thunder under his skin.

She was coming. Again.

And this time, he wasn’t sure if he’d survive it.

The click of the doors echoed loud across the hangar.

Jake didn’t turn right away. No one did. But he felt it. That shift in the atmosphere—like pressure dropping before a storm. The quiet didn’t come from fear. It came from instinct. From something older. Like every one of them, despite years in cockpits and warzones, had just remembered they were still very capable of being outclassed.

Boots on concrete. Three pairs.

They walked in like they owned the air.

Jinx entered first—tall, clean-shaven, focused. His flight suit was matte black with dark gray patches, sleeves neat, gloves tucked at the belt. A rank patch on his chest. Another by the shoulder. His gaze swept across the room, sharp and measuring, but not unfriendly. Just… aware. Like he was used to being the smartest man in any room and didn’t need to prove it.

Next was Ruin. Broader than Jinx, darker gaze, flight suit creased perfectly and covered in insignia like he’d earned every damn one in blood. He walked slower, heavier, like the floor should be grateful. He cracked his knuckles as he passed the threshold, a lazy smirk on his face, but there was something watchful in him. Something that said: I know exactly how dangerous I am.

And then her.

Rogue.

Jake’s pulse skipped.

She stepped in last, calm and steady, not trailing behind them—anchoring them. Her flight suit was fitted and fierce, unzipped just enough to show the high collar of her undershirt, dark hair pulled back with clinical precision. Her name stitched on her chest like a warning. Her call sign—Rogue—flashed in stark black over deep crimson. A single badge gleamed near her collarbone: silver wings with the gold trim of command.

And God, she looked different.

Older, yes. Sharper. Like time had carved away every softness he used to cling to. Her eyes swept the squad like she was collecting intel—not sparing a glance too long, not offering a smile. She didn’t smile anymore, apparently.

But she didn’t need to.

Every step was clean. Controlled. She moved like a storm bottled up in silk and steel. Every inch of her said commander. Every breath screamed: I’m not the girl you forgot. I’m the woman who learned to fly without you.

Jake stood there, jaw tight, arms folded. Pretending he didn’t feel it.

But he did.

And it burned.

Jinx took two steps forward, boots echoing crisply on the hangar floor. He clasped his hands behind his back again and stood with the kind of posture that couldn’t be faked—a man carved by decades of structure, of battle briefs and bullet points, someone who didn’t just understand order but embodied it.

“Good morning, aviators,” he began, voice as cold and polished as his rank insignia. “I’ll keep this direct.”

His gaze scanned over them, slow and deliberate. Not cruel. Not curious. Just… evaluating. Like he was already building files in his head.

“Today’s objective is simple in design, but not in execution. We are not here to hold your hand or walk you through a syllabus. This isn’t flight school. You’ve already earned your wings. You’ve already proved you can survive. That’s not the question anymore.”

He took a breath, pacing once as he spoke.

“Now, we want to see how you fly. How you think. How you adapt.”

Jinx stopped just before Maverick, who nodded once, saying nothing. Then he faced the squad again.

“You will be running a series of maneuvers—close-range ACM, simulated dogfights, multiple-angle engagement scenarios, and formation recovery drills. Each pair will be observed for cohesion, response time, and aerial discipline. We don’t care how pretty you look on camera. We care about whether we’d trust you in a blackout with flares running low and fuel bleeding from your port wing.”

A few of the younger squad members shifted slightly. Not out of fear—out of instinct. Because this didn’t feel like a test. It felt like a battlefield they just hadn’t seen yet.

Jinx continued, voice level but sharp enough to cut.

“This isn’t about your past accolades. I’ve read your files. Every one of you was chosen for a reason. But that reason won’t matter if you hesitate when it counts. In this exercise, you will fly against and beside each other. You will be matched and rotated. There is no designated enemy—because in the air, threat is always shifting.”

He stepped back smoothly, the silence he left in his wake palpable.

Then came Ruin.

Where Jinx was precise, Ruin was weight. He stepped forward like the air belonged to him. Thicker build, jaw set, and that commanding tone that came not from showmanship but from sheer presence. His flight suit bore more badges than Jake could count from where he stood. And that patch on his arm—WSO Master Command—caught the light like a medal forged in fire.

“For those of you in the second seat,” Ruin began, voice gravel-low but absolutely clear, “let’s make something real damn clear.”

His eyes locked first with Bob, then with Halo, Harvard, and then swept to Fanboy, who stood just a bit taller than before.

“You are not passengers. You are not here for color commentary. You are here to control the sky from the backseat. And if your pilot doesn’t trust your voice, doesn’t trust your read of the threat? Then you’ve already failed.”

He paused, letting the weight of that sink in.

“The Weapons Systems Officer is not just a radar babysitter. You are the eyes, the ears, the strategy. If you’re thinking about your next line or trying to sound cool on comms, congratulations—you just got your pilot killed.”

Jake watched as Fanboy swallowed thickly. Bob nodded once, lips pressed into a line.

Ruin wasn’t done.

“Every call matters. Every delay costs. Your voice is your weapon—and if you misuse it, I will personally make sure you don’t fly in my Navy again. Not because I dislike you. But because I refuse to put someone reckless in a position that demands excellence.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Then, more quietly, he added, “Up there, we don’t get redos. And neither will you.”

He held their gaze for a few moments longer, the silence nearly sacred.

Then he stepped back beside Jinx.

Neither of them smiled.

And Rogue still hadn’t spoken. Not yet.

But Jake could feel her eyes on them—watching, waiting.

Measuring every breath.

Then, Rogue stood at the front of the hangar, spine straight, arms behind her back, her voice calm and surgical. Not a single syllable carried more emotion than it needed to. She didn’t have to raise her tone—her authority was baked into every word.

“You’ve received your preliminary briefing. You understand what’s at stake. This detachment was not assembled to entertain theatrics or egos. It exists for one purpose—refined readiness. You’ll demonstrate that today in operational flight sim.”

Her eyes swept across the formation, holding no one’s gaze for too long, but not shying from it either. There was no smile. No warmth. Just the kind of focus that told everyone here they were being watched down to the breath.

“This morning’s rotation will consist of three successive sorties. Each will simulate a separate combat condition—offensive engagement, defensive response, and recovery under pressure. These operations are based on actual scenarios run in active airspace. Your performance will be evaluated based on tactical decision-making, inter-seat communication, maneuver efficiency, and structural discipline.”

She took a half step forward, heels clicking cleanly against the concrete.

“There are four elements. Each element consists of one single-seat pilot and one crewed aircraft—pilot and WSO. The elements are as follows.”

A pause. Her posture didn’t shift an inch.

“Element One: Solo pilot—Coyote. Crew configuration—Yale and Harvard.”

Jake blinked once, expression hardening just slightly. He hadn’t expected that. A rare pair-up. And no one would be covering his six but himself.

“Element Two: Solo pilot—Fritz. Crew configuration—Omaha and Halo.”

Fritz shifted subtly, shoulders squaring. Halo gave a small nod beside Omaha, already mentally calculating routes, Jake was sure.

“Element Three: Solo pilot—Rooster. Crew configuration—Payback and Fanboy.”

Rooster straightened immediately, that telltale smirk flickering on his lips. Jake didn’t even have to look to know the idiot was probably already imagining Rogue watching him from the tower.

“Element Four: Solo pilot—Hangman. Crew configuration—Phoenix and Bob.”

A hum of acknowledgment passed between the last three, sharp and silent.

Rogue continued without pause.

“All elements will rotate lead and support positions between sorties. Your mission objectives will be given via encrypted brief five minutes prior to takeoff. No advanced schematics. No rehearsal. This is about adaptability and real-time execution.”

Her gaze hardened slightly.

“You are being watched not just for performance—but for reliability. When a call is made, you follow it. When your WSO says break, you break. You are not lone wolves. You are naval aviators operating under one command structure. If you choose to ignore that, the air will not forgive you—and neither will we.”

Her eyes met Maverick’s briefly. Then Warlock’s. Then, just for a breath, Hangman’s.

“One final note,” she said, voice colder than before. “If your element fails to communicate effectively—if your maneuvering is reckless, your targeting is loose, or your egos interfere—your file will be noted accordingly.”

Then she stepped back into position beside Jinx and Ruin without a single wasted motion.

No dismissal. No soft ending.

Because the storm was just beginning.

The sun had barely climbed over the edge of the flight line when Element One launched from the carrier. The air was sharp and blue, calm in that eerie, deceptive way. From the ground, everything looked clean—just another routine sim with Coyote in the single-seat Super Hornet and Yale flying lead in the two-seater with Harvard in the back.

Their formation held steady as they climbed altitude, the buzz of pre-flight chatter fading into focused comms.

“This is Yale, Element One has cleared the tower. Climbing to angels fifteen,” Yale called out through the comm.

Coyote’s voice crackled through, easy and confident. “Copy that. Let’s go punch the clouds.”

From the observation deck, Warlock watched with arms folded tight. Maverick leaned forward, jaw tense. The others gathered around, eyes glued to the screens—Hangman, Rooster, Phoenix, all quiet now, all locked in.

“Where’s Rogue?” Fanboy whispered. “I don’t see her in the briefing tent.”

“She’ll show up,” Phoenix muttered. “She always does.”

Up in the sky, the element stayed clean. Tight turns, good spacing. Harvard’s voice came calm from the backseat, marking simulated targets, adjusting radar sweeps. Nothing irregular. No signs of hostiles.

And then—

“Contact. Unidentified fast mover at two o’clock high,” Harvard announced, his tone still steady, but clipped now. Sharper.

“What the hell—” Yale began, glancing over his shoulder.

It dropped like a hammer.

From the upper layers of the sky, two jets broke formation hard. No transponder ping. No friendly signal. They didn’t appear on radar until they were practically on top of them.

“Jinx and Ruin?” Coyote’s voice cracked slightly. “What—were they even cleared to fly?”

“Negative confirmation from tower,” Yale replied, his voice tightening. “They weren’t scheduled to fly this run. Evasive maneuvers now.”

And just like that, the sky broke open.

Jinx cut through the clouds with terrifying precision, Ruin’s voice sharp and clear as he called shots from the backseat. “Target acquired—simulating missile lock on lead.”

Alarms screamed in Yale’s cockpit. “Fox three! I’m hit! Simulated missile strike!”

Coyote peeled hard left, engine roaring as he dove low, trying to shake the second lock.

“Shit—they’re actually running suppression tactics,” Harvard breathed.

Before anyone could recalibrate or regroup, another blip appeared on the scope. Small. Fast. Barely a whisper on radar.

“Second unknown contact—closing fast. Five o’clock low,” Harvard barked.

Coyote banked hard, jaw clenched. “Who the hell—?”

And then she hit.

Not literally. But it felt like it.

The jet streaked out of the low cloud bank like lightning with a vendetta. Sleek, silent, dark-trimmed with blood-red markings on the tail.

Rogue.

She didn’t call it in. She didn’t warn them. She didn’t have to.

Her Super Hornet broke right over Coyote’s canopy, too close for comfort, and a split second later the simulated lock screeched through his system.

“Damn it—Rogue has missile lock!” Coyote shouted, pitching hard.

From the deck, Hangman leaned forward, his fists clenched.

“No way,” Rooster muttered. “She was nowhere—how did she—?”

“She baited them,” Maverick said, low. “She knew they’d go defensive against Jinx and Ruin. And she waited. She hunted him.”

On the screens, Rogue had already broken formation and vanished again—gone into the clouds like smoke.

Coyote was still breathing hard, flying high and desperate. But they all knew.

He was dead. He just hadn’t hit the ground yet.

And Rogue? She hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Element Two launched tighter than the first. Fritz didn’t joke like usual, didn’t drop any cocky lines as he pulled into formation. He’d seen what happened to Coyote—and the man had barely lasted five minutes against them. Omaha was silent, gloved hands steady on the stick. Halo flicked through radar readouts, scanning the airspace like her life depended on it.

Because now? It kind of did.

“Element Two has cleared deck,” Omaha said, her voice cool but clipped. “Climbing to angels sixteen.”

“Copy that,” Halo replied. “Running thermal sweep. We’ve got clean air for now.”

“For now,” Fritz muttered. “Until the dragons show up.”

No one laughed. From the tower, the rest of the Dagger Squad watched in grim silence. Even Rooster had gone quiet, arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed.

“Any visual on the Big Three?” Payback asked, voice low.

Hangman scoffed, arms locked tight. “Nah. You don’t see them. You just go boom and realize it’s too late.”

“They’re in the air,” Bob said calmly. “Radar’s spiking. They’re close.”

Down in the simulation, Omaha and Fritz broke formation briefly to check blind spots, staying sharp. This time, they knew to expect it. They had to anticipate an ambush—because that’s what it would be. A trap. A hunt.

But even expecting it didn’t help.

“Unknown contact at high eleven o’clock!” Halo shouted. “Speed is—damn it, that’s Jinx. Confirmed visual. Ruin in the back.”

“Break left, break left!” Omaha barked.

Fritz responded immediately, spiraling hard down and away from their position. Jinx’s jet flashed past overhead like a bird of prey circling for blood, and Ruin’s voice—sharp, professional—echoed in the comms.

“Element Two, this is a kill zone. Fox three.”

“Missile lock, missile lock! I’m hit!” Halo shouted. “Fritz, they’re coming around on you!”

But Fritz was good—better than good. He looped out wide, flying low, using the terrain and his speed to keep his radar cross-section down. He was trying. Trying to be unpredictable. Trying to be invisible.

And for a moment, he was.

Then came the silence.

“Where’s Rogue?” Halo asked. “I’ve got no visual—she’s not on radar—”

But it was already too late.

She came in low, from below the clouds, dragging vapor and vengeance behind her. By the time Fritz registered the gleam of her jet in the sun, she was already past him—and his systems screamed with simulated impact.

“Rogue has kill on Fritz,” the tower confirmed. “He’s down.”

“Jesus,” Omaha muttered.

“We’ve got to push defensive,” Halo snapped. “Switch to countermeasures.”

They tried.

They really did.

But Jinx and Ruin worked like one body. High-low trap, coordinated flanks, timing that didn’t feel real. Ruin read their positions like a map, and Jinx executed with clinical cruelty.

Within five minutes, Halo was down. Omaha followed thirty seconds later.

Dead silence on the tower for a beat.

Then Hangman blew out a breath. “They didn’t even stand a chance.”

And high above the sea, Rogue’s jet banked silently into the clouds again—like a ghost with unfinished business.

Element Three tore into the sky with a kind of tension that buzzed between their bones.

Rooster led the climb, his grip steady, jaw tight. He had that signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—but it wasn’t arrogance today. Not fully. There was something else beneath it. Anticipation. Pressure. The kind that came from knowing the woman you couldn’t stop thinking about was waiting for you at thirty thousand feet with her kill switch ready.

Behind him, Payback and Fanboy clicked into formation, comms tight, eyes sharp.

“This is Payback. Element Three is airborne, climbing to eighteen thousand.”

“Copy that,” Rooster replied, scanning the skies already. “Eyes open. They’re out there.”

From the deck, Maverick leaned on the rail, watching with narrowed eyes. Hangman crossed his arms, jaw set.

“Let’s see if Rooster lasts longer than ten minutes,” he muttered.

“Please,” Phoenix smirked, “he’s gonna pull every trick he knows. Girl’s got him feral.”

In the sky, the clouds shifted—and the hunt began.

“Radar contact, twelve high,” Fanboy called out. “Looks like Jinx and Ruin. They’re coming in fast.”

“No surprise there,” Payback muttered. “Ready on flares.”

The first contact was brutal and immediate. Jinx descended like a missile, Ruin calling the shots with clinical precision.

“Missile lock on Payback,” Ruin’s voice echoed coldly through the comms. “Fox three.”

“Shit—countermeasures out!” Fanboy shouted. “We’re—damn it, we’re hit! Simulated kill confirmed!”

“Element Three, backseat is down,” Warlock’s voice confirmed from the tower.

Rooster sucked in a breath. He was alone now. Just him. And her.

He banked hard left, dove through the thin clouds, checked his six.

Nothing.

No blip. No ping.

No her.

Then she was there.

From his right, like a blade unsheathing from the horizon. No warning. No lock. Just a flash of her jet’s painted tail slicing across his line of sight.

“Damn—Rogue on my three!” he barked.

He pulled vertical, pushing his jet harder than he usually did this early into a sim. She followed, of course she did, her turns tighter, sharper, closer. He dove. She dove harder. He jinked left, rolled under her wing path.

They danced like fire meeting wind. And for a second—for a brief, golden second—he had her in his sights.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered to himself. “Just a little closer—”

But she was faster. Always faster.

She rolled under him, reversed, and locked on so cleanly it felt like insult.

His HUD lit up like a Christmas tree. “Missile lock. Fox three. Simulated kill—Rogue has the shot.”

Rooster exhaled, heart pounding.

And then—her voice. Calm. Amused.

“Nice flying, Rooster,” she said. “You made me work for it.”

There was a pause. The comms were quiet for a beat.

And then Rooster beamed. Like a kid.

“Uh—thank you,” he stammered, voice cracking just slightly. “I mean—I try.”

Back in the tower, Hangman let out a groan. “Oh my god. I just know he’s blushing.”

“We’re getting married,” Rooster muttered to himself, still smiling like a lunatic as he turned his jet home.

He may have lost. But damn if that didn’t feel like a win.

The jet sliced through the morning haze like a blade—Phoenix at the controls, calm but sharp, every muscle in her arms braced with purpose. The early dawn light caught the sheen of the canopy, glinting over her visor as she scanned the sky. She didn’t speak much once they were up there; didn’t have to. Everything she felt lived in the way she moved. Beside her, the ocean stretched in an endless blue mirror, deceptively calm. But Phoenix had been in the air long enough to know better. Silence like this? It was never peace. It was a prelude.

Behind her, Bob sat with his usual stillness, fingers flying over the controls. His voice was quiet in her headset, steady and low—a tether in the wind. “Systems green. Radar clean for now, but if we’re sticking to the pattern, we’ve got less than five minutes before the Big Three make their entrance.”

Phoenix exhaled through her nose, eyes narrowing. “Copy that. Let's stay fluid.”

Overhead and several hundred meters off formation, Hangman’s jet rocketed into a vertical climb—breaking formation without a word, not even a grunt of acknowledgment. He was already gone. No apology. No warning.

Phoenix caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, jaw tightening. “He’s gone.”

Bob didn’t look. “Standard Hangman.”

“He always runs,” she muttered, voice thick with disdain. “One breath into a dogfight and he’s solo. Like clockwork.”

“He doesn’t fight in a team,” Bob said simply, like it was fact. “He hunts.”

“Then he better hope he finds something worth the chase.”

But the sky didn’t give them time to be bitter. Not today.

Bob’s fingers paused over the controls for a second—just long enough for Phoenix to glance back.

“Contacts,” he said.

“Where?”

“High. Eleven o’clock. Jinx and Ruin.”

And there it was.

Breaking through the thin layer of morning cloud came the sleek silhouettes of two aircraft, moving too fast for comfort, gliding like sharks in deep water. Jinx’s jet dipped into a perfect descent, no hesitation, no showboating. Just velocity and precision. Behind him, Ruin sat coiled in the backseat, the WSO’s voice eerily absent from comms—no chatter, no intimidation. He didn’t need to speak. They came like they were born from the air itself.

Phoenix’s grip tightened around the stick, already peeling into a roll as Bob flared the countermeasures. “Deploying chaff—go evasive now!”

The world tipped sideways, the ocean flipping up into the sky as she banked hard and fast. The G-force rattled her spine, but she held the turn with practiced control. Bob was already recalculating vector angles behind her, calling movement, but every direction they turned, Jinx was there. Every duck, every spiral, every juke—they were matched before the thought even completed itself.

“They’re tracking too fast,” Bob said, voice clipped. “I can’t shake them.”

“Try harder!” Phoenix snapped, frustration flaring behind her teeth.

But there was no gap. No weakness. Jinx stayed locked in, every maneuver cleaner than the last. Ruin’s targeting calls were unseen but absolute. It didn’t feel like a fight. It felt like being dissected.

“Fox Three. Missile lock confirmed,” came the mechanical voice in their comms.

“Shit!” Phoenix pulled the stick hard, but it was done. The simulation registered the hit. Lights blared red across her dashboard.

“We’re down,” Bob said quietly.

Phoenix let the jet level, silence falling hard between them as the sky slowly came back into focus. The cloudline now felt far too empty—eerily so. Like predators had simply disappeared back into the fog.

From the control tower, the voice of Warlock echoed in grim finality. “Element Four, simulation complete. Phoenix and Bob—terminated.”

Phoenix cursed under her breath, leaning back against the seat. “Damn it. They didn’t even blink.”

Bob didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, finally: “They didn’t need to.”

And far across the sky, tearing into a new altitude with reckless abandon, Hangman was alone in the clouds—his radar hunting, not for Jinx. Not for Ruin.

He was hunting her.

He was hunting Rogue.

The sky above the carrier burned gold, the horizon bleeding into the ocean as dusk crept in. The others had landed—Phoenix, Bob, Payback, Fanboy—still reeling from the storm the Big Three had brought with them. From above, the decks glimmered, but Jake Seresin wasn’t even looking.

He was flying alone now. Higher. Faster. The silence in his cockpit wasn’t peaceful—it was coiled. Expectant.

She was out there. Somewhere in the clouds.

“Come on,” he muttered, fingers flexing around the stick. “Show me what you’ve got, PoliSci.”

He hadn’t said her name out loud in years. Hell, he wasn’t even sure this was real. That the woman he remembered—all shy smiles and trembling hands—was the same person flying under the callsign Rogue. But the second she locked missiles on Rooster like it was nothing, the moment she burned across the sky faster than any pilot had a right to?

He knew.

His radar pinged. Just once.

Then silence.

Jake straightened. She wasn’t showing herself. She was circling.

"Alright," he whispered to himself, teeth flashing into a grin. "Let’s dance."

And then the sky cracked open.

She dropped in from above—silent, fast, ruthless. No comms. No flair. No dramatic entrance. One second the sky was clean, and the next she was ten feet off his right wing, matching his speed, his altitude, his breath. Her jet shimmered in the sunlight, sleek and marked with the commander’s badge, trailing a faint signature of heat off the engines. Jake caught a glimpse of her helmet—matte black with that blood-red stripe and the word ROGUE slashed across the side.

She didn’t say a word.

She just rolled.

Not a standard barrel roll. Not even a combat split.

She pitched her nose upward, snapped the tail into a yaw, and twisted—pulling a vertical corkscrew just under his nose, flying backwards for a split-second before flipping behind him in an impossible maneuver that made Jake jerk back in his seat.

“What the—”

His HUD screamed. Missile lock. She could’ve fired.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she whispered over comms for the first time.

“You always were too loud, Seresin.”

Jake blinked. His heart jackknifed. “You—”

“Try and keep up.”

And she was gone again, vanishing into the clouds like a shadow.

Jake growled, adrenaline flooding his system. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He tore after her, body pressed into the seat, engine roaring. It wasn’t a simulation anymore. Not in his head. Not in his gut. This was something else. Something personal. Her jet darted through the clouds like smoke through fingers—untouchable, merciless, graceful.

She wasn’t just flying.

She was haunting him.

Jake gritted his teeth and yanked the stick hard right, nose diving into a tight roll, chasing the ghost trail she left behind. His heart pounded like a war drum. The G’s wrapped around his ribs like a vice, but he didn’t care. He was Hangman—he didn’t get shaken.

But right now?

He was shaking.

She was ahead of him—barely visible. Her jet shimmered silver in the light, dancing along the edge of a cloud bank like a phantom. He’d chased plenty of pilots before. He’d taunted, baited, and broken the best of them. But no one—not one goddamn person—had ever made him feel like he was chasing a myth.

He was good. No, he was great. Top percent. Born to fly. And she?

She made him feel like he’d learned to fly yesterday.

“Come on,” he hissed, pushing harder. “You’re not magic.”

But then she pulled a move that made his blood go cold.

Rogue didn’t climb or dive—she tilted. Mid-straightaway, she cut her thrust by just enough to pivot sideways, slicing her aircraft into a flat spin with zero altitude loss, her wings practically skating sideways through the air like she was ice-dancing at thirty thousand feet. It wasn’t evasive. It wasn’t practical.

It was showboating.

“She’s taunting me,” Jake muttered aloud, stunned.

The nose of her jet pointed at him as she slid backwards through the air for a second—just long enough for him to catch a flash of her canopy—and then she slammed the throttle again, vanished upward like smoke through cracks.

He blinked. “That’s not— That’s not even legal.”

He climbed after her, his HUD screaming to keep up, but she was everywhere and nowhere. Every time he got her within radar lock, she slipped through his grip like oil on water. No heat signature. No sound.

Just that same flash of the matte black jet with the blood-red stripe and the word ROGUE slashed across the fuselage like a warning label.

Jake was sweating. Actually sweating.

She pulled a double Immelmann out of a climb, twisted her wings mid-flip, then reversed thrust so violently that she dropped behind him like a shadow cast by God.

“Missile lock—” his HUD buzzed, “—warning: compromised position.”

He cursed, twisted, threw out countermeasures even though he knew she wouldn’t fire. Not yet.

And she didn’t. No kill confirmed.

But he could hear her breathing on comms now—low, steady, controlled. Like this was a game of chess and she already saw checkmate three moves ahead.

“I’ll give you this,” she said, voice smooth as sin. “You’re still fast.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “I’m not the one running.”

“Sweetheart,” she murmured, almost kind, “I’m not running. I’m leading.”

And then she was gone again. Into the clouds. Just like old times—except this time, she wasn't the one chasing him.

She was showing him how far behind he really was.

The clouds tore past his canopy like shredded silk, the roar of the jet thunderous in his ears. Jake’s hands were tight on the controls, knuckles bone-white, adrenaline bleeding into every nerve. He pitched up, throttle pushed to the edge, sensors screaming as he skimmed the jet too close to stall just trying to match her altitude.

But she was already gone again.

Somewhere above him. Or behind him. Or inside the sky itself.

He caught a shimmer at his two o’clock and banked hard, rolling with practiced grace—and for a moment, he saw her. Rogue, dancing between light and gravity like neither applied to her. Her jet moved with an elegance that didn’t belong in war. Her turns weren’t calculated—they were instinct. Like she felt the air before it even moved.

Jake twisted into a high-g spiral, trying to bait her. “You’re not untouchable,” he growled, teeth grinding.

There was a pause. And then her voice slid into his headset—low, smooth, impossible to read.

“No,” she said. “But I am unreachable.”

He caught her jet flaring above him, inverted and drifting down toward his six. What the hell was that? He swore she’d stalled her engines mid-air—dropped like dead weight—and then fired them again to snap behind him. A whipcrack of control, like she’d timed it with the beat of his pulse.

“Impossible,” he whispered, mind scrambling to keep up. “That’s—that’s not a maneuver. That’s a suicide dive.”

But she did it. And now she had him in her sights.

He dove. Hard. The ocean rose up below them in a blur, the altimeter ticking down too fast for comfort. His stomach flipped. The water was getting close.

Too close.

“Let’s see how brave you really are,” Jake muttered, yanking the stick as he buzzed the ocean’s surface. Salt spray kissed the belly of his jet.

And then she followed.

Rogue dropped with him, slicing just above the wavecaps, her wingtips practically licking foam. Jake glanced sideways—just a flicker—and saw her there. Flying parallel. A mirror. Her cockpit turned just enough to face him.

She saluted.

The audacity.

“Are you kidding me?!”

He pulled up, barely clearing a swell—and she vanished into the mist like a damn sea spirit, her jet dissolving into the horizon with only the sound of her engines echoing behind.

His HUD screamed again. Missile lock. But no fire.

Because she wasn’t trying to win.

She was trying to remind him—this was never a game she played to lose.

And Jake?

He was starting to wonder if chasing her wasn’t about catching her.

Maybe it was about surviving her.

The sky had never felt so small.

Jake climbed hard through a bank of mist, his fingers slick inside his gloves, his breath loud in the cockpit. The altimeter ticked up. He was bleeding fuel and pride. Somewhere above him, Rogue still moved like she had written the weather herself—no drag, no hesitation, just seamless, fluid violence in motion. And Jake couldn’t touch her. Every time he thought he had a shot, she bent gravity around her like it was something pliable. Something she could own.

He had fought dozens of pilots. Danced in death spirals with men and women who came from the best schools, best squadrons, best damn programs in the country. But no one flew like her. No one vanished like smoke, only to reappear in your blind spot and whisper your name before pulling the trigger.

And still—she hadn’t ended him yet.

He pulled into a tight vertical climb, tail smoking from how hard he pushed the engine. She was behind him now. He knew it. Could feel it. That burn between his shoulder blades wasn’t the sun. It was her eyes on him.

Then the voice.

Cool. Distant. Frustratingly calm.

“Running out of tricks, Hangman?”

He nearly choked on the fury in his throat.

“Still standing,” he snapped. “Still faster than you.”

“You’re not faster,” she corrected. “You’re just louder.”

He banked violently left, trying to shake her, trying to rattle her. But she didn’t even need flares. He dumped half his countermeasures and still couldn’t get a bead on her. She wasn’t fighting back. She wasn’t defending.

She was toying with him.

Then—suddenly—nothing on the radar.

Jake blinked. “No way.”

She was gone. Completely.

His fingers hovered above the comm, hesitant. “Rogue?”

Silence.

Then his heart skipped when her jet exploded from below his field of vision, inverted, flying belly-up toward him like some aerial grim reaper. He barely pulled out of a spin before she nosed past him and locked in on his six.

“Missile lock confirmed,” the simulator warned again.

Again.

He jerked the stick and fired every flare he had left, rolling, tumbling, trying to shake her. And still—still—she didn’t fire.

The silence on comms stretched long and cold before she spoke again, her voice just a whisper in the storm.

“I used to think you were the best,” she said.

And then she pulled away.

Not in retreat. No—like a queen dismissing a pawn.

Jake stared after her, his pulse thundering in his throat.

He hadn’t lost yet.

But he knew now—

She had already decided when he would.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Jake leveled out over the coast, lungs tight, heart jackhammering behind his ribs. He stared at the empty sky in front of him, the thin contrail Rogue had left already evaporating into blue. She was gone again. Just like that. No missile fired. No kill confirmed. Just the lingering sting of her voice, curling in his headset like a ghost.

“I used to think you were the best.”

He didn’t know why those words hurt more than a simulated missile strike ever could. But they did. God, they did.

His hand hovered over the comms. He should say something—something cocky, something snide. He was Hangman. He was all ego and bite and a damn good show. But the words caught in his throat.

Because for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like Hangman.

He felt like Jake. The asshole from college. The boy who thought speed and charm could outrun consequence. And in that moment, Rogue wasn’t just a pilot with a better handle on her aircraft. She was something else entirely. Something carved sharp by time and distance and disappointment. She was someone who had watched him leave her behind once and come back to prove she didn’t need him to look back.

He didn’t lose today.

But he didn’t win either.

“Hangman,” Maverick’s voice cut through the comms, steady and unreadable. “Return to base.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He was still flying, still pushing altitude like it would hide the heat in his face, the sweat slicking the back of his neck. Slowly, he keyed the mic.

“Copy.”

He turned the jet, the horizon tilting beneath him. The carrier loomed in the distance, calm and waiting. But he didn’t feel calm. And he sure as hell didn’t feel like someone worth waiting for.

Because somewhere above or below or a thousand miles sideways, Rogue was still in the air.

And she had left him in her dust.

He touched down with the kind of smooth, practiced precision that used to make instructors nod in approval. His landing was textbook. Clean. Quiet. Controlled.

But Jake didn’t feel any of those things.

The moment his jet rolled to a stop on the deck, canopy hissing open, the roar of the ocean greeted him like it was mocking him. The crew didn’t cheer like they used to. There was no clapping on the back, no familiar jabs from Payback or cocky grins from Rooster waiting at the catwalk. It was just the wind—and the silence that followed someone else’s triumph.

Rogue had already landed.

Of course she had.

He climbed down, boots hitting the deck hard, and for a second he stood there. Helmet tucked under his arm. Flight suit clinging to his skin. His chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, not flown a mission. No one approached him.

Across the deck, he spotted her.

Rogue stood near the hangar, arms folded across her chest, helmet under one arm, visor still down like she couldn’t be bothered to make eye contact with the world she just dominated. Sunlight streaked gold across her flight suit, the commander badges catching light like medals on a battlefield. She wasn’t surrounded. She wasn’t celebrating.

She was just… there. Solid. Unmoved.

Untouchable.

Jake’s jaw clenched.

He hated the way his pulse kicked just from looking at her. Hated that he’d walked through years with her shadow somewhere in the back of his mind, and now here she was—real and tangible and better than him in every way that counted. Not just as a pilot.

But as someone who had survived him.

Maverick appeared beside him without warning, arms crossed, watching the deck like a man who’d seen too much and still wasn’t done.

“Hell of a fight up there,” Maverick said.

Jake didn’t answer.

“She didn’t shoot you,” Mav added, glancing sideways. “Any idea why?”

Jake shook his head slowly. “She didn’t have to.”

Maverick gave a soft, knowing chuckle. “Yeah. I figured.”

A beat of silence passed.

“She always fly like that?” Jake asked finally, voice tight.

Mav didn’t look at him. Just kept his eyes on Rogue. “No,” he said. “She flies better when she’s pissed.”

Jake’s breath hitched.

Maverick tipped his head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “What did you do to her, Seresin?”

And for the first time, Jake had no answer.

Because maybe that wasn’t a question for right now.

Maybe it was one he’d have to ask her.

And maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t ready to hear it.

They stood in two uneven rows inside the hangar briefing space, still in their flight suits, helmets clutched like lifelines. The tension was thick, heavier than the G-force they just survived. No one dared lean against the wall. No one spoke. Not after what had just gone down in the sky.

Coyote’s jaw was clenched tight. Rooster’s eyes were fixed on the floor like it had answers. Hangman? He looked like someone had driven a knife between his shoulder blades and left it there, twisted. Even Phoenix, cool and composed, had a flush creeping up her neck.

Then came the commanders.

Jinx stepped forward first, removing his gloves with deliberate care. His voice, when it came, was cool and flat. All technical, no warmth.

“I watched your formations break apart under pressure in less than three minutes. Your communication protocols collapsed almost entirely. Coyote, you pushed your bank angle beyond your threshold for no gain. Yale, your overcorrection opened up a kill window wide enough to fly a carrier through.”

Coyote visibly swallowed. Yale didn't even flinch—just stared ahead like a man trying not to drown.

Jinx turned his eyes toward Rooster, Payback, and Fanboy. “Team Three. Your cohesion is commendable, but it took three of you over seven minutes to track a single target. Rogue was marking you the entire time—if she were hosti—”

“She is hostile,” Fanboy muttered under his breath.

Jinx didn’t even blink. “Then you’d be dead.”

Silence.

He moved back in line, and Ruin stepped up. He didn’t waste time. His focus was entirely on the WSOs.

“Harvard. Halo. Bob. Fanboy.”

Each name hit like a hammer.

“You’re not observers. You’re not co-pilots. You are weapons systems operators. That means you anticipate, calculate, and execute. If your pilot is blind, you see. If your pilot hesitates, you command. And not one of you took decisive initiative when your pilot broke formation or lost radar.”

Bob stiffened. Halo rubbed the back of her neck. Harvard’s face was stone, but his ears had gone red.

“You’re not in the backseat to ride,” Ruin said. “You’re there to kill. And you failed.”

No one moved.

Then came her.

Rogue stepped forward, her boots hitting the concrete like a slow metronome. She took her time, eyes sweeping over each of them one by one. Jake’s stomach twisted when her gaze passed over him—it didn’t linger, didn’t even hesitate. She looked right through him.

Her tone wasn’t sharp like Jinx. It wasn’t cold like Ruin.

It was worse.

It was calm. Measured. Disappointed.

“You are Top Gun graduates,” she began. “Elite pilots. That’s what the file says. That’s what the Navy says. But from what I saw up there?” She let the silence drag, sharp and stinging. “You’re flying like amateurs who think skill is something you keep after graduation without earning it every time you enter the sky.”

Phoenix blinked slowly. Jake stared at the ground, jaw grinding. Rooster shifted his weight, neck flushed crimson.

“Hangman,” she said. The name was a gunshot.

He looked up instinctively, lips parting.

“You fly angry. You pull wide. You hunt like you’re trying to prove something. You didn’t lose today because you were slower. You lost because you’re predictable.”

Jake’s throat went dry.

She turned away before he could speak. “All of you are flying like the sky owes you mercy.”

She looked over her shoulder, expression unreadable beneath the command. “It doesn’t.”

No one moved. No one could.

The silence was absolute. Stifling. Every member of Dagger Squad stood there like they'd been turned to stone, the sting of each critique still fresh on their skin. It didn’t matter how many hours they’d logged, how many missions they’d flown. In the span of a single training exercise, the Big Three had cracked them open and shown them what they really looked like.

And Rogue wasn’t finished.

She turned back, slow and sure, her arms folded behind her back with an ease that made her feel even taller, more imposing. Her voice didn’t raise—but it carried. Steady. Final.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

Rooster’s eyes snapped up, startled. His posture straightened like instinct had taken over.

“You flew with restraint,” she said, tone clipped. “Which I assume was your version of respect.”

A few of the squad glanced sideways. Jake didn’t. He couldn’t.

She held Rooster’s gaze a second longer before continuing, “Your targeting was slow. Your response time lagged. You hesitated. But unlike the rest, you adjusted. You didn’t panic. You adapted.”

Rooster’s mouth twitched—like he wasn’t sure if he should smile or swallow his tongue.

Then Rogue’s tone dropped an octave, colder. “Don’t let flattery from a woman you find attractive be the reason you underperform again, Lieutenant. That kind of distraction gets people killed.”

He blinked. Visibly flinched. The compliment—the only one given—was barbed, tethered to a brutal lesson. It sank deep. But he nodded, jaw tight.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rogue didn’t respond. She turned clean on her heel, already moving to rejoin Jinx and Ruin at the edge of the hangar. No applause. No acknowledgment. Just the echo of her boots on concrete and the taste of her words still burning in the air.

And the rest of them?

Still didn’t move.

Rogue turned halfway, just enough to face the squad again. Her gaze swept the room—slow, deliberate, assessing each of them like they were failed prototypes instead of elite aviators. The silence pressed down again, heavy and expectant. She let it settle before she spoke, her voice as cool and clean as a steel blade.

“You’re not the best,” she said simply. “You’re just the latest.”

That sentence alone made Yale shift in his boots. Halo crossed his arms over his chest and looked down. Payback scratched the inside of his glove like he suddenly needed to feel something real.

“I’ve read your files. I know your kill ratios, your service records, your graduation scores,” she continued, tone perfectly even. “You’ve all been told you're exceptional. You’ve been praised, rewarded, decorated—and now you're comfortable. You think Top Gun is a title, not a test.”

She took a step forward, shoulders squared, the commander insignia on her flight suit catching the light. “You fly like the sky owes you something. Like your previous wins are guarantees.”

Coyote’s jaw ticked. Phoenix stared ahead, her spine locked straight. Rooster, still a little flushed from earlier, was trying to bury whatever ego he had left beneath military rigidity.

“But combat doesn’t care about your reputation. The enemy doesn’t care what base you trained on or which instructor believed in you. The sky is not merciful. It only answers one question—can you survive it?”

Rogue’s words lingered like a warning carved into the walls.

Jake stood at the back of the group, arms crossed tightly, jaw tense. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this—not even during his worst sim scores. He’d always been fast enough, flashy enough, clever enough to slip past real consequences.

But with her? Every word hit exactly where it hurt. Not because she yelled—but because she didn’t need to.

Then she tilted her chin just slightly, as if weighing whether to deliver the final blow.

“I’m not interested in egos,” she said. “I’m interested in execution. Precision. Discipline. If you want to fly with us—if you want to be worth the aircraft you’re sitting in—then you need to stop being impressed with yourselves.”

Silence.

Her boots echoed once as she stepped away from the squad, and for a moment, it seemed like she’d walk right out without another word. But then she stopped—turned slightly, just enough to lock eyes with Maverick, who had stayed wordless through the entire debriefing.

She approached him with her chin high, shoulders set. There was no hostility in her movement—just purpose. He stood straighter, instinctively bracing as if part of him already knew what was coming.

“This is the squad you vouched for?” she asked, quiet but cutting. “The ones you claimed could handle anything we threw at them?”

Maverick didn’t blink. “They’re green. But they’ll catch up.”

“They’re not green,” Rogue replied. “They’re sloppy. Entitled. Too used to winning in simulations where failure costs nothing. I expected more from pilots wearing your badge.”

There was no venom in her words. No heat. It made it worse somehow—like she wasn’t mad.

She was disappointed.

“I know what you’re capable of,” she said. “I read your reports. Your mission logs. You pulled off miracles with aircraft older than most of them were when they enlisted. You don’t fly by the book. Fine. But I hoped you’d at least teach them to respect the damn air they’re flying in.”

Maverick crossed his arms loosely. “And they will.”

Rogue’s eyes narrowed just a touch. “Not if you keep shielding them. You can’t expect them to rise if you’re still playing the safety net. You told us they were ready. So let them prove it. Or stop wasting our time.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the faint hum of the carrier beneath their boots. And then Rogue took a breath and softened—barely, but it was there.

“You’re still the best damn pilot I’ve ever read about,” she said. “But don’t let that legend of yours keep these kids from becoming what they could be.”

Maverick gave her a small nod—equal parts respect and challenge. “Noted, Commander.”

Rogue paused at the door, just as Jinx and Ruin moved to follow her out. She didn’t turn around, but her voice carried cleanly across the room—measured, unwavering, and final.

“Make no mistake,” she said, “we’re not here to play instructors. We’re here to find who among you is actually ready to fight alongside the best. Some of you still have time to prove that.”

A brief silence followed—no challenge, no bravado. Just the brutal weight of truth.

Then she dipped her head, barely, a gesture of formal respect.

“Dismissed.”

With that, Rogue stepped through the doorway, Jinx and Ruin falling into step behind her. The sound of their boots echoed down the corridor, sharp and even, until the hangar swallowed them whole. And the Dagger Squad remained frozen in place—quiet, humbled, and very, very awake.

Rogue paused at the door, just as Jinx and Ruin moved to follow her out. She didn’t turn around, but her voice carried cleanly across the room—measured, unwavering, and final.

“Make no mistake,” she said, “we’re not here to play instructors. We’re here to find who among you is actually ready to fight alongside the best. Some of you still have time to prove that.”

A brief silence followed—no challenge, no bravado. Just the brutal weight of truth.

Then she dipped her head, barely, a gesture of formal respect.

“Dismissed.”

With that, Rogue stepped through the doorway, Jinx and Ruin falling into step behind her. The sound of their boots echoed down the corridor, sharp and even, until the hangar swallowed them whole. And the Dagger Squad remained frozen in place—quiet, humbled, and very, very awake.

The door shut behind the Big Three with a heavy finality, and for a beat, the room stayed still—like even the walls were waiting to see who’d dare speak first. Then, like a collective exhale, the Dagger Squad finally let go of the breath they’d all been holding.

Fritz let out a low groan, head hitting the back of his chair with a thunk. “Dude. I think I just aged ten years.”

Halo slumped forward, elbows on his knees, fingers dragging down his face. “They didn’t just roast us—they cremated us.”

Payback whistled, long and low. “I haven’t been chewed out like that since I left boot.”

Bob blinked slowly. “I kind of liked it.”

Phoenix shot him a look. “Bob.”

“What?” he shrugged. “They were… efficient.”

Rooster, still faintly red around the ears, ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “Okay but like—did anyone else feel their soul leave their body when she looked at you?”

Fanboy leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know what hurts more. The burn or the fact that I agreed with everything they said.”

Coyote grunted. “It was the way Jinx didn’t even blink. He just said I was too predictable like he was ordering a damn coffee.”

Another wave of groans followed.

But Jake?

Jake said nothing.

He sat on the edge of the bench, elbows on his knees, gloves still clenched in one hand. His eyes were distant, unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the metal wall like he could still see her shadow there—flight suit sharp, voice sharper.

You’re not the best. You’re just the latest.

That line gnawed at him more than the rest.

Because she had once said the opposite to him, back when she was just a quiet girl with bright eyes and trembling hands and too much belief in someone who hadn’t earned it.

And now?

Now she was everything he wasn’t. Everything he had claimed to be.

And Jake Seresin didn’t have a damn thing to say about it.

Fanboy let out a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, clutching his helmet to his chest like it could shield him from the flashbacks. “Man, I need a minute. I think I just got psychologically audited. She looked at me like I was a tax error.”

Bob patted his shoulder, awkward but sincere. “You did your best.”

“My best got vaporized,” Fanboy croaked. “I haven’t been that embarrassed since my mom walked in on me dancing to ABBA in sixth grade.”

Coyote snorted. “That’s… specific.”

Fanboy just buried his face in his gloves. “At least she didn’t call me slow to my face. Ruin just looked disappointed in me like I failed him as a son.”

Across the room, Rooster was still staring at the door where Rogue had exited, brows knit together like he was trying to replay her words in his head without combusting.

“She said I adapted,” he murmured.

Phoenix didn’t even look up. “She also said you were distracted ‘cause you thought she was hot.”

Rooster paused. Then, very quietly, “I mean… she wasn’t wrong.”

Payback kicked the back of his chair. “Dude. She flies like a demon and ranked all of us like we were civilian traffic. That’s not ‘hot,’ that’s terrifying.”

“I can live with terrifying,” Rooster replied with a dreamy sort of daze.

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Of course you can. You have a type.”

Meanwhile, Jake still hadn’t moved. He wasn’t chewing gum. Wasn’t posturing. Wasn’t tossing out some smug line to deflect the humiliation that had absolutely just flattened all of them.

He was quiet.

He was never quiet.

Phoenix noticed it first. Her brow furrowed, and she nudged him with her boot. “Hangman. You good?”

He blinked once. Slowly.

Then gave her a look that didn’t quite land as his usual cocky grin. “Peachy.”

But he didn’t joke. Didn’t gloat. Didn’t even fire back when Rooster teased under his breath, “Guess it’s hard being number two for once, huh?”

Jake didn’t bite.

Because that wasn’t it.

Not really.

He hadn’t just been outflown. He’d been unmade—taken apart without even being touched. Not by maneuvers. Not by missiles.

But by her.

By Rogue.

And whatever fire still smoldered in his chest, it wasn’t pride.

It was something else.

Something he hadn’t felt since she walked away all those years ago without looking back.

Guilt?

Regret?

Fear?

He didn’t know.

But it was louder than anything the squad could say.

Phoenix squinted at him across the room, leaning back against a row of lockers with her arms crossed and suspicion dripping from her voice like oil off an engine. “Alright, what gives?” she said, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been real not-you today, Hangman.”

That was all it took.

Like flipping a switch, Jake’s spine straightened and his smirk snapped into place, smooth and practiced like he hadn’t just been stuck in a silent staring contest with his own existential crisis.

He tossed his helmet up once, caught it with ease, and let out a low chuckle. “What? You missin’ the sound of my voice already, Trace?”

Rooster groaned. “There he is.”

Payback rolled his eyes, flopping dramatically into a chair. “Ugh, I was just starting to enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Jake fired back without missing a beat. “Some of us don’t need verbal affirmation to survive a debriefing.”

“Oh, now he talks,” Phoenix said, shaking her head. “I ask a question and suddenly he’s a stand-up comic.”

Fanboy peeked up from behind his gloves. “He’s deflecting.”

Jake pointed at him. “You’re crying.”

“I could be crying.”

Jake gave a shrug and leaned against the locker behind him, ankle casually crossed over the other. “Look, if a little feedback from three overpaid sky gods made y’all crumble, I hate to see what happens when you get actual enemy fire up your ass.”

“Wow,” Halo said dryly. “Defensive and deflecting. Classic Hangman.”

Jake’s grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just keeping morale up, sweetheart.”

But Phoenix wasn’t buying it. She watched him with that sharp-edged gaze she always used when she was flying on instinct—like she could see past altitude and bluster and straight into turbulence. “You sure that’s all it is?” she asked.

Jake didn’t flinch.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he said with a shrug, all teeth and swagger. “Just another day in the sky, Trace.”

But the grip he had on his helmet was a little too tight.

And in the back of his head, that line kept echoing—

You’re not the best. You’re just the latest.

He smiled anyway.

Because if there was one thing Jake Seresin was good at, it was acting like he wasn’t bleeding.

The squad was still licking their wounds in their own chaotic, mildly dramatic fashion when Maverick finally strolled back in, hands in his flight suit pockets, casual as sin. His face was unreadable, but there was a twitch of something at the corner of his mouth—bemusement, maybe. Or resignation. Possibly both.

The squad turned to him like a bunch of kids waiting for their cool uncle to either comfort them or tell them they weren’t grounded that bad.

He stopped in the middle of the room, looked around at all of them, and just exhaled through his nose.

“Well,” he said dryly, “I’ve been flying for four decades, saved the world a few times, pulled Mach 10 out of my ass—and I still got a verbal spanking from a thirty-something with a commander badge and a stare that could freeze lava.”

Rooster blinked. “Wait—they scolded you, too?”

Maverick just raised a brow. “Oh yeah. Apparently, I’ve fostered ‘reckless tendencies’ and ‘over-inflated egos.’” He shot Hangman a meaningful look.

Jake threw up a hand, deadpan. “Don’t look at me, sir. I wasn’t even talking.”

Mav continued, “Then Ruin decided to break down the exact number of Navy regulations I’ve bent since 1986. Took a while.”

Fanboy coughed out a laugh. “Please tell me you didn’t argue.”

“I tried,” Maverick admitted. “Didn’t get past sentence one. Jinx shut me down with a look I swear he borrowed from an IRS auditor. I haven’t felt that judged since I crashed a prototype.”

Phoenix tilted her head. “So what now, Captain?”

Mav gave them all that signature smile—the one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still somehow made them feel like they could survive a ten-G blackout if he said it was possible.

“Now?” he said. “Now you rest. Tomorrow, you try again. Smarter this time.”

He turned to go, but paused at the doorway.

“Oh, and one more thing…”

The squad perked up.

Maverick looked over his shoulder with a glint in his eye. “If any of you even think about hitting on Rogue again, I will personally volunteer you as a target drone.”

Rooster’s mouth opened. Closed.

Jake raised both brows, innocently. “What about professionally admiring her from a respectful distance?”

Maverick didn’t even turn around. He just walked out, muttering, “God help us.”

The silence he left in his wake was deafening—until Fanboy let out a long, very dramatic sigh and collapsed face-first into the nearest bench.

“I feel like I just went through an emotional car wash,” he moaned into the cushion. “With the heat setting on.”

Yale slumped beside him. “And the high-pressure hose? That was Rogue.”

Harvard groaned, rubbing his face. “I didn’t even get a comment. She just looked at me and moved on. Like I wasn’t even worth roasting.”

“I’d kill for a roast,” Fritz muttered. “At least then I’d know where I stood.”

Payback sat on the edge of a locker, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn low. “Where you stood? Bro, I tripped and faceplanted into a verbal landmine. I might start using ‘you’re not the best—you’re just the latest’ as my personal motivation now. Or my cause of death.”

Phoenix rolled her neck, stretching until it popped. “She didn’t say anything I haven’t thought before… she just said it better. Louder. With commander bars.”

Bob, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, added softly, “Still… she noticed who worked well together. That has to mean something, right?”

“Sure,” Rooster piped in with a crooked grin, “it means Bob and I aren’t getting court-martialed.”

Jake still hadn’t moved much. His back was to the squad now, gaze fixed on the spot where Rogue had stood, his expression unreadable. The familiar swagger had returned in pieces—he leaned on one leg, his jaw was set like stone—but the usual glint in his eyes was gone.

Rooster nudged him with a boot. “Hey, man. You good?”

Jake finally turned slightly, his smirk lazy and delayed. “Just admiring the leadership style. Direct. Efficient. Humiliating in a charming way.”

Phoenix snorted. “That your type now?”

“Wasn’t it always?” Rooster muttered under his breath.

Jake shot him a look but didn’t bite.

Instead, he leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed, lips pursed thoughtfully. “She’s good,” he said after a moment. “Scary good.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Fanboy groaned again, louder this time. “Do you think they’re, like, watching us right now? From some secret window or camera? Judging our weakness? Planning our next emotional takedown?”

Bob blinked. “You mean like… psychological surveillance?”

“Yes, Bob. I mean psychological surveillance.”

The squad started chuckling, some half-hearted, some genuine, as the tension finally began to drain from their shoulders. The sting of failure still lingered, but beneath it was something else now. A spark. A challenge.

They’d been wrecked. Demolished. Served their own guts on a silver platter.

And somehow—they were still here.

Still standing.

Tomorrow would come fast. The sky would be brutal. And Rogue, Jinx, and Ruin would be waiting.

But damn if they weren’t going to try and claw their way back up anyway.

Even Jake.

Especially Jake.

The door to the Hard Deck creaked open with a soft chime—and every member of the Dagger Squad flinched like a bunch of cats caught in a thunderstorm.

Fritz nearly choked on his beer. Payback muttered something about divine punishment. Fanboy physically ducked under the table, whispering, “No. No, it’s their day off, this was supposed to be safe.”

Because there—walking in like the final boss round of their lives—were the Big Three.

And they weren’t in uniform.

Jinx led the way, hands in the pockets of a dark bomber jacket, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos teasing the edge of his forearm. Ruin followed a step behind, t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, the kind of guy who looked like he could lift an F-18 with its WSO still in it.

And then came her.

Rogue.

Gone was the pressed flight suit and the tightly coiled professionalism. Now she was in dark jeans and a black halter that left her shoulders bare and the soft gold of her skin practically glowing under the bar’s amber lights. Hair down. Chin high. An aura so cool and commanding, it made the jukebox glitch for a second like even it had to reboot.

Jake saw her—and forgot how to blink.

Rooster, jaw practically on the table, muttered reverently, “I… I think I just had a religious experience.”

Phoenix choked on her drink. “Oh, pull it together, Bradshaw.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Rooster whispered, eyes wide. “She’s not hot. She’s like... classified. Like the Navy has a whole separate vault for this kind of danger.”

“She’s wearing black,” Bob mumbled. “I didn’t know black could glow.”

Coyote was frozen mid-chew. Halo spilled a bit of his beer. Even Payback straightened like he’d suddenly remembered to respect authority in all its intimidating, devastating glory.

The three commanders didn’t glance their way at first. Jinx headed for the bar with Ruin at his side, nodding politely at Penny. Rogue—calm, deliberate, unhurried—scanned the room like she owned the place, then walked toward an empty high table near the back.

Jake still hadn’t moved.

His beer sat untouched, his jaw tense, eyes locked on her like she might disappear if he so much as blinked.

She wasn’t looking at him.

She didn’t need to.

She already knew the effect she had.

And that alone nearly drove him insane.

The moment stretched on like molasses in July—thick, slow, and suffocating.

Jake Seresin had faced enemy MiGs, G-forces that could tear your ribs from the inside out, and more explosions than a Marvel finale. But this? Watching her glide across the Hard Deck like she wasn’t a walking, talking gut punch to his pride?

He was not prepared.

Rooster, to his credit, tried to keep the squad from completely combusting. “Okay,” he whispered, leaning in close to the others like they were plotting a prison break. “No one act weird. Just be normal.”

“You’ve said ‘hot’ twelve times,” Phoenix deadpanned. “You lost ‘normal’ at the door.”

Fanboy peeked up from behind his menu. “Should we say hi? Or salute? Or kneel?”

“No one’s kneeling,” Payback muttered. “She might think we’re malfunctioning.”

Bob sipped his soda. “I vote we stay very, very still. Like prey.”

Meanwhile, Jake hadn’t moved a muscle.

He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest like a statue carved from sheer tension. His eyes stayed locked on her figure—how she sat with perfect posture, how her fingers wrapped around the glass of water Penny had set in front of her, how her expression was neutral, unreadable, but not cold.

She wasn’t even trying.

And still, she had every set of eyes in the room trained on her like gravity worked differently in her presence.

Jinx and Ruin were talking to her now—quietly, casually. Probably planning tomorrow’s flight drills, maybe comparing notes on who in the squad was salvageable.

Jake’s jaw flexed.

She hadn’t looked at him once.

Not once.

Not even when Jinx tossed a casual glance their way, and Ruin raised his glass in their direction like a challenge.

But Rogue?

Nothing.

No flicker of recognition. No smirk. No insult. No trace of the girl who used to light up like a goddamn sunrise when he so much as said her name.

Hell. Maybe she really didn’t remember him.

Rooster leaned toward Jake now, slightly tipsy and entirely lacking self-preservation. “Bro. You haven’t blinked in five minutes. You good?”

Jake finally tore his gaze away, just long enough to shoot Rooster a look that could cut steel. “Peachy.”

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix muttered. “That’s the sound of a man thriving.”

Jake didn’t reply.

But the way his hand curled tighter around his glass said it all.

Because Rogue might not have looked at him once.

But he hadn’t stopped seeing her since the day she left.

At first, no one from the Dagger Squad said anything.

They just watched.

Watched like a bunch of underpaid extras in a military rom-com where the Big Three were clearly the main cast. It was honestly pathetic, the way they tried to look casual while sneakily observing Rogue, Jinx, and Ruin from across the bar like wildlife photographers waiting for a lion to blink.

“Okay,” Fanboy whispered, not even pretending to hide behind a coaster anymore, “do you think Rogue drinks, like, red wine or... molten steel?”

“She’s a tequila girl,” Phoenix guessed, sipping her beer. “Straight. No lime, no salt. Just violence.”

“She could pour it directly into my mouth,” Rooster murmured like he was in a trance.

Bob choked on his drink. “Bradley.”

Rooster blinked. “What?”

Coyote nudged Jake. “Hey, man. You good? You’re unusually quiet and also vibrating like a haunted microwave.”

Jake didn’t answer. He was too focused on the three of them at the bar.

Penny leaned forward with her usual calm charm, clearly enjoying the rare sight of the commanders outside of their steely flight suits. Jinx smiled at something she said—an actual smile, not the terrifying one he wore in the air—and tapped a finger against the bar to indicate his order.

“Whiskey. Neat,” Fanboy narrated under his breath like a sports commentator. “Called it.”

Ruin followed up, rolling up his sleeves and setting a folded bill on the counter. “Scotch, probably. Also neat. He looks like the kind of man who’s never diluted anything in his life. Not even emotions.”

Then Rogue leaned in, said something soft to Penny, and gestured toward the bottles.

The entire squad leaned closer without realizing it.

Penny let out a laugh, warm and familiar, and nodded before grabbing a bottle off the top shelf.

“Holy shit,” Payback muttered. “She does drink tequila.”

Phoenix looked smug. “Told you.”

Rogue accepted the glass without ceremony, no citrus, no frills, just a single smooth pour. She sipped it like it was water and sat back down between her fellow commanders, as calm and collected as if she hadn’t just shattered their egos and entire understanding of power dynamics earlier that day.

“Okay, so like…” Fanboy whispered again. “What do we do now?”

“Pretend we have dignity,” Phoenix replied, eyes still on Rogue. “Which is a lie, but we fake it till we die.”

Jake hadn’t touched his beer. His eyes were locked on her again, jaw set, expression unreadable.

Rooster leaned in, whispering like a middle schooler at a slumber party. “You sure you don’t know her?”

Jake’s voice was low, dangerously quiet. “Drop it.”

Rooster backed off, but only a little. “Okay. Damn. No need to deploy countermeasures.”

And still, none of them noticed the way Rogue’s fingers paused on her glass for just a second… like she had heard something.

But she didn’t turn.

She never turned.

And that might’ve been the most infuriating thing of all.

It happened so fast, it was honestly impressive.

One second the Dagger Squad was locked into full-fledged stealth surveillance mode, pretending to laugh way too loud, fake-scroll through their phones (despite no signal), and comment on the very interesting grain of the Hard Deck’s wooden tables.

Then Jinx’s eyes flicked toward them.

Just a glance.

A glint.

Maybe even a smirk.

And suddenly it was like God herself had turned the spotlight on their sorry asses.

Ruin followed his gaze. Slow. Methodical. Like a hawk sighting prey from two thousand feet up. His stare landed right on Fanboy, who immediately yelped and dove behind Rooster like a toddler playing hide-and-seek.

“Abort!” Fanboy hissed, clutching Rooster’s arm. “ABORT! We’ve been made—”

“Don’t make eye contact,” Yale muttered. “Don’t engage. We’re not here. We’re an illusion. We are bar stools.”

Bob tried to shrink behind Phoenix, which was hilarious because Bob was taller than Phoenix.

Payback actually flinched when Ruin raised his glass in their direction.

But then—then—it happened.

Rooster.

Bradley. “I’d-die-for-a-pretty-girl” Bradshaw.

This beautiful, chaotic man waved.

Like full-hand, kindergarten-style waved at Rogue across the bar like they were old pals bumping into each other at a farmer’s market.

“Hey!” he said, too loud and with too much teeth. “Hi!”

The entire table froze.

Jake’s mouth fell open.

Phoenix audibly gasped.

Bob choked on air.

“Rooster—no!” Payback hissed. “You absolute golden retriever of a man—”

But Rogue?

Oh, Rogue.

She turned.

Not just a glance. A full-on turn, chin tilted, one brow ever so slightly arched as her gaze cut through the bar like a scalpel dipped in elegance and violence.

And then—

She winked.

Not a friendly wink. Not a flirty wink. No. This was the kind of wink that said: You’re cute, kid. I hope you survive.

Rooster made a sound that could only be described as a strangled squeal.

He collapsed back into his seat like she had physically punched the air from his lungs.

Jake was going to have an aneurysm.

“She winked,” Rooster whispered, dazed. “She winked at me. Did you guys see that?”

“No,” Phoenix said flatly. “That never happened. For your sake, I’m erasing it from memory.”

“Oh my God,” Fanboy breathed. “You just imprinted like a duckling.”

Jake slammed his beer down. “Alright, that’s it.”

The whole squad turned to him.

“You okay, Hangman?” Yale asked, but the look on Jake’s face was more nuclear than usual.

“I’m going to the bar,” Jake declared, standing with a fury that made his chair squeak.

“Why?” Rooster blinked. “To fight? Or flirt? I feel like either could happen right now.”

Jake didn’t answer. He just walked.

Straight toward the Big Three.

Phoenix grabbed Rooster’s sleeve. “This is it. This is how we die.”

And honestly?

It might’ve been worth it.

Jake’s boots hit the hardwood floor with the heavy thunk of a man who had lost control of his own decisions and was now just running on pure ego and caffeine.

He stalked toward the bar like he wasn’t internally screaming, like his heart wasn’t hammering against his ribs like a prison escape attempt. The rest of the squad watched with wide, horrified eyes, every one of them frozen mid-sip, mid-bite, mid-breath.

“This is suicide,” Payback whispered.

“Should we…stop him?” Bob asked, ever the gentle soul.

“No,” Phoenix said, eyes narrowed. “We document it. This is how legends are born… or how careers end.”

Fanboy was already filming under the table.

Rooster, still rosy from *The Wink™, *clutched his chest like a swooning Shakespearean heroine. “My man’s going to walk up to her and get smited.”

At the bar, Jake slowed.

There they were.

Jinx, leaned back against the counter, drink in hand, already watching him approach like he knew. Ruin didn’t bother to react, just lifted his brow in idle amusement like he was calculating Jake’s funeral costs.

And her.

Rogue.

Still in her black halter, tequila glass in her fingers, skin kissed by the golden tones of the overhead lights. She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t flinch. She just turned her head, slowly, precisely—eyes lifting to meet his like it was inevitable.

“Hangman,” she said first, her voice calm, almost bored. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Jake’s mouth opened. Closed.

He had come here with something, hadn’t he? A line. A barb. Some clever, cocky insult. But she said his call sign like it was optional, like it could just as easily have been “background character.”

“I figured,” he said, casual as hell, “if you’re gonna keep embarrassing us in the sky, I might as well get a good look at you up close.”

Jinx let out a soft, knowing chuckle. Ruin just sipped his scotch.

Rogue’s lips curved—barely. Like the beginning of a smirk, a threat, or maybe a compliment. Impossible to tell. “You mean you’ve been looking from afar this whole time? How uncharacteristically shy of you.”

The squad across the bar audibly gasped.

Fanboy dropped his phone. “She just flirted back. She just flirted back!”

“No, she mocked him,” Phoenix corrected, not blinking.

“Same thing,” Rooster whispered, love-struck.

Jake, meanwhile, blinked once. Slowly. Then leaned on the bar like he wasn’t internally spiraling.

“You always this sharp off-duty?” he asked.

“You always this slow on?” Rogue replied, still not looking away.

The silence that followed was so heavy, even Penny paused in her cleaning to glance over like, Damn, this is better than cable.

Jake grinned. Something about the way she said it, the way she matched him toe to toe, didn’t piss him off.

It lit a fire under him.

“Well,” he said smoothly, “I guess I’ll just have to try harder tomorrow.”

“Good,” Rogue replied, sipping her tequila. “Try not to cry when you lose again.”

Jake’s smirk twitched, the spark in his eyes reigniting.

Behind him, the squad lost their collective minds.

“Holy hell,” Payback groaned.

“I can’t tell if he’s flirting or being verbally undressed,” Yale whispered.

“Both,” Rooster and Fanboy said in unison.

And for the first time in years, Jake felt it—the thrill.

Not of flying.

Not of winning.

But of finding an opponent who could go toe-to-toe with him—

—and smile while tearing him apart.

The tension didn’t snap—it simmered. Sizzled. Smoked like something cooking too hot in a cast iron pan, but you can’t take it off the heat yet because damn it, you’re too curious to see how far it can go.

Jake held her gaze, steady as he could, trying to measure the unreadable expression on Rogue’s face. Her eyes—sharp, calm, disarmingly clear—stayed locked on his, giving him nothing but quiet challenge.

Jinx leaned in, grinning behind his glass. “You kids need a chaperone, or should we just assume you’ll take it outside?”

Rogue didn’t blink. “He’d lose out there, too.”

Jake felt that one.

“Oh, she’s good,” Ruin muttered with a low laugh, finally joining in. “I kinda want front-row seats if this turns into something. Feels like watching a wolf poke a lion with a stick.”

Jake raised a brow at that. “You think she’s the lion?”

Jinx smirked. “No. She’s the cliff you fall off when you get cocky.”

Behind him, at the squad’s table, it was pandemonium.

Rooster was fully face-down on the table, wheezing into his arms. Phoenix was covering her mouth with her beer like it was a privacy shield. Bob looked worried for Jake’s soul.

“Is he okay?” Fanboy whispered.

“No,” Payback deadpanned. “He’s in a death spiral. But you know Hangman. He’d rather crash with style than bail.”

Back at the bar, Jake pushed off the counter, hands in his pockets, and gave Rogue one last look. Not a flirty smirk this time. Not that cocky, head-tilted grin. Just a long, slow once-over—more thoughtful than challenging.

“See you in the air, Commander,” he said, voice smooth but lower now. Less for show.

Rogue tilted her head. “Try to keep up this time, Lieutenant.”

And damn, did that hit harder than any missile.

Jake walked back toward his squad like a man on fire pretending he wasn’t. Cool strides, sharp shoulders, absolutely dying inside.

He slid back into his seat.

No one said anything for exactly three seconds.

Then Rooster exploded. “DUDE. She just verbally dismantled you and you’re smiling?”

Jake shrugged, finally taking a sip of his beer like it wasn’t now mostly warm. “Yeah, well. It’s kinda hot when someone’s better than you.”

“Better?” Bob blinked. “You’re Hangman. You never say that.”

“She made him say that,” Phoenix said, wide-eyed. “Holy shit. We just witnessed character development.”

Fanboy leaned forward. “Wait. Are you, like… actually into her?”

Jake just stared into his glass for a moment, like maybe it had answers.

Then he muttered, half to himself, half to the tequila-soaked air: “Only a fool wouldn't be.”

And judging by the look Rogue threw over her shoulder—just once, just enough to prove she knew he was still watching—

She knew.

Fanboy nearly fell out of his chair.

“She looked back. She looked back.”

Phoenix didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “That’s not just a look. That’s a warning shot.”

Rooster straightened, wild-eyed. “Is this a Top Gun soap opera now? Am I supposed to be shipping this or reporting it?”

Bob, quiet as always, muttered into his soda, “I think they’re gonna kiss or kill each other. Maybe both. I’m emotionally confused.”

Jake, for his part, took another long sip of beer like he wasn’t being loudly dissected by the world’s most chaotic peanut gallery. But the twitch in his jaw, the barely-hidden grin tugging at the corner of his mouth—it gave him away.

And the worst part?

He loved it.

Because this wasn’t just rivalry.

This wasn’t just ego.

This was a game of wits with someone who not only brought a gun to the knife fight, but had personally built the gun, customized the trigger, and probably named it something badass like Regret.

“She winked at Rooster, but she talked to Hangman,” Phoenix muttered like she was watching a crime thriller. “I can’t tell who’s winning. I just know it’s not us.”

“Nope,” Payback sighed. “We’re extras in this saga.”

“Guys,” Yale said suddenly, eyes wide. “What if they used to date?”

Fanboy gasped like he’d just uncovered the final Horcrux. “Oh my God. What if she broke his heart?”

“I knew he had trauma,” Rooster whispered reverently. “I could feel it.”

Jake dropped his head into his hands. “Jesus Christ, can y’all not.”

Phoenix grinned. “We could not. Or… we could escalate it.”

“Guys, no—”

“To Rogue,” Fanboy declared, raising his beer like a toast. “Breaker of egos. Sniper of pride. First of her name.”

“To Rogue!” the squad chorused, clinking glasses like idiots.

Jake just groaned into his palms as Phoenix added under her breath, “Also, possibly the only person on Earth who could kill Jake Seresin with a wink and still look like an angel doing it.”

Across the bar, Rogue casually tipped her tequila glass once more, the corner of her mouth quirking just enough to say: She heard them.

And Jake?

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

He was grinning.

Because maybe—just maybe—tomorrow?

He’d finally get the chance to fire back.

It was later now—lights dimmer, music louder, the Hard Deck shifting into its nighttime rhythm. Penny had swapped out her playlist for something with more bass, couples had started migrating toward the pool tables, and the air had that sticky buzz of salt, liquor, and barely restrained chaos.

The Dagger Squad had started to loosen up again. Drinks were flowing, stories were being shared, and Bob was in the middle of an uncharacteristically passionate debate with Fanboy about the ethics of leaving your wingman mid-dogfight—thinly veiled shade at Hangman, of course.

Jake had drifted from the group a little. Not far. Just enough.

Enough to lean against the bar, beer in hand, half-turned so he could see the Big Three out of his periphery. He hadn’t approached them again. He wasn’t stupid. One bold move per night was already pushing it.

But she was still there. Rogue.

Laughing at something Jinx said. Her laugh wasn’t loud—it was low, warm, almost secretive. The kind of laugh you earned. The kind that lingered.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, the tip of his tongue resting behind his teeth.

He’d never admit it to the squad—not in a million years—but God, did he want to hear her laugh like that again. And maybe this time, he wanted to be the one to earn it.

“Careful,” Penny said quietly, wiping down the bar beside him.

Jake blinked, surprised. “Huh?”

Penny didn’t look at him. Just kept polishing her glass. “You’re staring. Again.”

“I’m not—” he started, then cut himself off with a sigh. “Yeah. Alright.”

“She’s sharp,” Penny said. “Knows how to read a room. Knows when she’s being watched.”

Jake glanced sideways. “You saying I’m obvious?”

“I’m saying,” Penny said with a little smile, “she knows. And she’s letting you do it anyway.”

Jake looked down at his beer. “That supposed to mean something?”

Penny tilted her head, then shrugged. “It might. But that’s for you to figure out, Lieutenant.”

Before he could respond, a voice called out across the bar.

“Hey, Hangman!” Rooster, already two beers past subtle, waved dramatically. “You joining us or just gonna make heart-eyes at the commanders all night?”

Jake turned, flipped him off casually, and called back, “At least I’m not fantasizing about getting grounded by my superior officer.”

Rooster gasped, clutching his chest. “I respect her, Jake!”

Bob leaned toward Fanboy. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Shut up,” Rooster muttered, red-faced.

Jake turned back to the bar just as Rogue slid off her stool.

His heart stopped for half a second.

She said something quiet to Ruin and Jinx, both of whom nodded. Then—without ceremony, without looking at him—she walked.

Not toward the Dagger Squad.

Not toward the jukebox.

But toward the door.

And she didn’t even look back.

Jake watched her go, every step calculated, unhurried, like she had nothing to prove but everything under control.

Fanboy leaned in from the table, whisper-yelling: “Bro. BRO. That was your chance.”

Jake set his beer down and stood.

“She’ll give me a real one,” he muttered.

Rooster blinked. “What?”

Jake cracked his neck, eyes still locked on the door she disappeared through.

“The next chance,” he said, voice lower now, like a promise. “She’ll give me the next move.”

And with that, Jake Seresin walked back to the squad, silent and electric, a storm waiting to strike.

Somewhere outside in the cool night air, Rogue was already gone.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow, she won't walk away first.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

The next morning hit like a punch to the ribs.

Not because they were sore from flight training. Not because half the squad had gone too hard on tequila shots the night before. Not even because Maverick had scheduled them before sunrise like some sort of sadistic bird of prey.

No.

It hit hard because she was already there.

Standing on the tarmac.

Helmet tucked under her arm. Visor glinting in the dawn light. Rogue looked like something out of a recruiting ad designed to make grown men question their entire career path.

And Jake?

Jake was late.

Not by much—but just enough to see her already speaking with Jinx and Ruin as the rest of the squad geared up. Just enough to feel that familiar thrum of tension coil beneath his skin, low and hungry, somewhere between resentment and awe.

Rooster elbowed him. “You oversleep or just needed an extra five minutes to emotionally prepare?”

Jake didn’t even look at him. “Shut up.”

“She’s not even looking at you,” Fanboy whispered, trying not to grin.

“She never does,” Phoenix added, voice sharp with amusement.

“She winked at me,” Rooster chimed in, because apparently no one could let that go.

“Let it die, Bradshaw,” Jake growled.

But he was watching.

Of course he was.

Rogue was in full command mode again. Not barking orders—she never needed to—but the tone she used carried through the air like gravity. Jinx stood relaxed beside her, and Ruin had his arms crossed, mirroring her posture. The Big Three, cold and composed, like predators waiting for the slowest animal in the herd to twitch.

And Jake?

Jake didn’t know what the hell he was anymore.

He wasn’t intimidated.

No, not exactly.

It was worse than that.

He was intrigued.

Obsessed, maybe.

Because she wasn’t the same girl from years ago—the one who did his social studies homework, who blushed when he said her name (when he bothered to remember it), who brought him to an elderly home on her birthday and smiled like it was enough just to be near him.

No. That girl was gone.

She’d burned away somewhere along the years, and in her place stood this version of her—this impossible, untouchable force called Rogue with her perfect posture and unreadable eyes.

[simplyhale]

You write JJ Maybank AND Tim Bradford fics?! Idk if you’ve ever been told you’re the GOAT before, but you are.

If you are taking any requests I’d love a Tim Bradford one where maybe him and reader are married and have a few kids who say stuff like “you’re always touching/kissing mom” or “you always do what mom says”. Idk just soft domestic fluff.

˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧˚ — ˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧*

˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧˚ — ˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧*

Tim’s routine after work was always the same. He makes sure the long list of items that need to be done gets done. Each item that needs to be checked in and signed for is done.

Clocks out and changes from his uniform back into his civilian clothes.

Try to beat the L.A. rush hour traffic.

Failing to beat the rush hour. 

Text you that he did not beat rush hour.

When he does finally reach the front door of your shared home it is usually between 7-7:30 p.m. From the moment he walks through the threshold he becomes fully at your mercy. As if he wasn’t already. 

He drops his bags on the small bench by the door. Taking a seat to take off his boots, all while Kojo demands his ‘welcome home’ pets. Making sure to put his keys, pocketknife, wallet, and any other items that were in his pockets into the small dish housed on the shelf above the bench. 

Making his way to the kitchen with a slight frown of his brows. Normally your kid, a five-year-old girl, would be trying to tell him everything she did today in one single breath. While you watched from wherever the two of you had been before he walked in. Usually scoping her up into his arms and walking over to you, giving you your normal ‘back in one piece’ kiss. 

But this time was different.

Things were far too quiet.

Now normally he would assume that you two were just asleep somewhere. 

It wasn’t just any normal silences (besides the normal background house noises), it came with a sweet cinnamon smell. Along with a warmth that meant the oven was on, and you were baking something.

When he walked into the kitchen he was met with your five-year-old and you sat on the floor, watching the oven window as if it was a t.v. screen. Your girl’s face is bright and joyful with a wide smile, looking over at him. Making his own smile grow at the sight. “Daddy, you almost missed it!’ Jumping up she raced over and grabbed his head and pulled him to their spot. Turning her attention right back to the silver circle pan full of cinnamon rolls. 

You turned to him; his smile caused you to smile. “I promised her cinnamon rolls this morning, and we got busy.”

“So, this is desert?”

“See I did marry you for more than your good looks.” He shook his head slightly, still looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Reaching up and cupping your cheek he brought you into a kiss. One that you felt him melt into. All of the worries that he had from a day of work were gone. Not fully. But at this moment it didn’t matter.

“Ewwww,”

The two of you laughing is what caused you to part. Looking to seeing your child giving her parents a gross look before turning back to the glass. You simply shook your head, turning your attention back to Tim. Taking him in. He had kept his morning promise, a promise he always made before leaving the house. Making it back in one piece to you. Of course, you knew he was only a text, or call, away. Having gone a whole shift without an answer. Nearly calling the station when the words that said ‘read’ and the current time caused you to relax. You started to take in every inch of his face, as if you didn’t already have it memorized. “Hi baby,”

He caressed his thumb across your cheek, you lean fully into his hold, “Hi sweetheart,” Then he scooted over so he could wrap his arm around you, pulling you into his side. Your hand reached up and trailing your nails up and down the back of his neck, while your other hand rested on his chest. Tapping it and popping your head up from his shoulder to look at him when the thought pop into your head, “I almost forgot. I made spaghetti and your plate is in the microwave. I can heat it up if you want?”

“But you’ll miss the rise!” 

Tim nodded his head to the small girl with large pout, already knowing that she was waiting to see the dough raise up. “You heard her, we can’t miss the rise!” He exclaimed, with kiss to your temple.

“Why do you always have to touch Mommy?”

“Because I love Mommy,” He then reached forwards pulling the small girl into his lap, as your body turned so it could be touching both your child and husband. And just like that every worry that you had, rather it being Tim’s job or everyday issues was gone. Because in this moment nothing else mattered. Nothing but the three of you in this kitchen. 

— 𝜗𝜚✧* ₊˚ෆ՞ so so so sorry this took forever, i’ve been busy but i hope you enjoyed what i write! thank you for this request and thank you for enjoying my writing! i think i might be writing another JJ fic in the future and will defiantly tag you if i do! please don’t hesitate with any other especially cute fluff like this!

[reidtina]

Couch fun

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUfem!reader

Content warnings: +18 MDI sex, blowjob, creampie, coworkers having sex for the first time, orgasm (f and m), drinking, nipple piercings, porn without much plot, just pure smut

Word count: 3.5k

Summary: Spencer Reid and Y/N had been working together for years now, but on a drinking night they may become more than just coworkers... (I suck at writing summaries)

a/n: this is the first fic i write in a while cause i was in the situationship trenches, now i feel like myself again tho. hope yall enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Btw, its also on ao3, as always. love you guys. If you enjoy it pls like and repost

You didn't know exactly how you ended up in this situation. Drunk out of your mind with your coworker Spencer Reid - who you had a little (okay, maybe not little at all) crush on ever since you joined the BAU - on your couch talking about dating experiences. Or non-experiences, on his case. Maybe it was because now all the other coworkers had families (or cats, on Penelope’s case) to come home to after a case and you two weren’t so ready to let go of the drinking after closing a case ritual, even if not at a bar. Call it a superstition, if you will. All you knew was that you were enjoying having Spencer all to yourself, especially when he was dangerously close to you on your couch. That’s why you felt the courage to ask him a simple question that you had been dying to ask for years:

“Do you date women? Or in general?” You had never seen him with anyone, it was an innocent question.

He took a small sip of his beer before setting it down at the side table next to the couch, a smirk appearing on his face as he answered your question. “Yes, I date. Women, if we wanna be specific.”

Wow, sober Spencer would have blushed until his cheeks burned and then his whole body was on fire. You liked drunk Spencer.

“I do too. Men, I date men.” He hadn’t asked, but you felt by the look on his eyes that he was curious too, because as much as Spencer was secretive about his love life, so were you. JJ had tried to hide her relationship with Will for nearly a year, but the team knew. But you and Spencer? You were the most discrete ones on the team.

That made his smirk only grow more.

“Yeah? Is that right?” He raised his eyebrows. He took a moment to look you up and down again, his gaze lingering on you slightly longer this time.

“Yeah, I mean there was this one time in college.” You joke as you tilt your head to the side, resting it on the couch as you fully face him now, taking a sip from your beer.

He noticed you tilt your head and couldn't help but find it cute. “One time?” He smirked as he looked at you, his gaze stuck on your pretty face and slightly swaying body. He was feeling the alcohol in his system, but he still felt sober enough to know what’s what and make rational decisions. Well, mostly rational, at least. “Tell me about it.” He had an idea where this was going, but still wanted to hear you say it.

“Oh, nothing much, just a crazy party that ended up with me and a sorority girl hooking up in front of everyone. I was hammered as shit, though, so I barely remember it, just what people said for the next weeks.” You laugh as you relive those times in your mind.

His smirk quickly became a surprised, but amused smile. He widened his eyes as he looked at you, his head slightly turning to the side to match yours, his hand moving to rest on your knee. “You did what?”

“I mean, not like sex, just a kiss and funny hands.” You say, still kind of laughing a little bit at the memories.

“Oh, so just an innocent, little kiss, huh?” He chuckled and raised his eyebrows, letting his hand rest on your knee as his thumb absent-mindedly started moving in a circular motion.

“Oh, the kiss wasn't innocent at all.” You say as you settle your beer on the table before taking up the courage to do something you had been dying to do for ages. “It was something like this." You finally grab his face and don’t wait another second to start a passionate kiss. The unexpected move caught him off guard at first, but soon enough he fell into the kiss. His hand moved up to rest on your hip, holding you there as he deepened the kiss. He closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the feeling he had also craved for so long.

You get on top of him, resting each one of your thighs on each side of his closed legs. He let out a soft groan into the kiss as he felt you on top of him, his hands reaching to hold your waist. His grip was tight, trying to hold you there as his kiss got more intense.

Something in your mind tells you to stop it, so you do. “Is this ok with you?” You ask, really hoping the answer is yes. His chest is rising and falling a bit faster than before as he looks at you, his hands still planted firmly on your waist, as if he’s afraid you’ll change your mind and leave. His head felt a bit too fuzzy and light because of the alcohol, but he was still somewhat clear-headed.

“Yeah, this is more than okay with me.” He managed to say, his grip on your waist went down a little until he reached and squeezed your ass, trying to show you how okay he was with this.

You breath in relieve, glad you didn’t fuck up your friendship with him. “Okay, good, just checking” You say with a smirk before pulling him in for another kiss and this time it was more firm, more sure. His hands got back to your waist as you pulled him in, another groan leaving his mouth and getting lost in the kiss. He tugged at your waist, wanting as much contact as he could get between your bodies as your tongues clashed together.

You start grind on his lap as you take one hand to the back of his head, gripping onto his hair as if your life depended on it, and at that moment, you felt like it did, like you couldn’t live without having him.

He moaned into the kiss as he felt you grind down on him, his hands that were on your waist were now helping you move. And you could feel the temperature in the room raise as the heat built between you.

You gently take one of his hands to your boob, where you need it. He let his hand be guided by yours, feeling one breast under his hand and the piercing that was on it. He let out a low moan at the feeling, his fingers giving your nipple a small pinch as his chest rose and fell rapidly, starting to get overheated.

“Damn… A piercing, huh? ”He murmured into the kiss as he pulled away for a moment to get a quick breath of air.

“Take my shirt off so you can see it.” You say with a smirk.

His eyes widened and locked with yours for a moment, not expecting you to tell him what to do. But still his fingers gripped the edge of your shirt for a second before he started to pull it up. “Yeah? You sure you want that off?” His voice was low, and his hazel eyes never left yours as he pulled up your shirt.

“Don't tease me.” You answer with a husky voice.

He chuckled as he finally pulled your shirt entirely off over your head and tossed it somewhere on the floor, his hands immediately going to your bare abdomen, appreciating the view of your nippled piercings way more than he ever thought he want. Piercings weren’t his thing, or so he thought. He ran his hands up your stomach until they reached your chest. His fingers brushed over your piercings again, and the smirk was back on his face.

"You look perfect." He murmured huskily as he ran his hands down your torso, his fingers grazing your heated skin. He leaned back in for another kiss, a hand coming up to tangle in the base of your neck, tilting your head down as he deepened the kiss until you pull away and straighten your back so that your chest is on his face, slightly brushing your boobs on his lips.

His mouth opened almost automatically when your chest was right in front of his face, his lips meeting your left nipple immediately. He suckled on it, his mouth putting pressure as he did. He moaned out at the feeling.

“Oh, shit.” You moan when you feel the heat of his mouth along with the vibration of his moan on your sensitive spot.

“Do you wanna fuck me on this couch?” You say before you get the chance to think of a more subtle way to ask this. Your hand is now traveling down his body and working on his belt. You can’t wait, you need his dick somewhere in you.

He lets out a scoff at your direct question, his hands gripping your waist again almost immediately. “Yes, I do wanna fuck you on your couch, Y/N.” He was trying hard to keep his eyes open as your hands unbuckle his belt.

“Good, I need to feel you.” You say as you throw his belt on the floor somewhere to be found later. He lifts his hips to help you pull down his pants and boxers, leaving them on his knees, releasing his cock from the fabric. You didn’t expect this. You knew he was big, I mean he had big feet and you can always tell by the feet, but, shit, you had no idea how big he was. He probably had a good 9 inches there.

Now you have your hands trying to unbutton his shirt as fast as you can and his eyelids fluttered shut for a moment as he tried to hold himself back to not get over-excited and ruin this as he helps you to take off his shirt, tossing it away next to you. “You have no idea how badly I need to feel you.” He moaned out, letting go of your waist and moving his hands to the zipper of your pants.

“Get up.” He asks. When you do it, he pulls down your pants and helps you take it off your feet, leaving you only on a black lacy thong.

“Thanks.” You say, as he's left butt naked on the couch and the only thing keeping your flesh away from his legs and his dick is your thong, which he soon pulls to the side so he can see your pussy. His gaze went again to your bare body as you straddled his lap, this time completely naked and exposed. He took his time admiring you before finally speaking. “God, you look incredible.”

His hand moved up to take your chin in his hands, his thumb running over your bottom lip. You take his thumb into your mouth and suck on it, slightly moaning, looking into his eyes. That made his grip on your chin tighten as his eyes kept locked on yours.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve seen a woman do, you know that?” He murmured, his voice a lot huskier this time. He was unable to keep his thoughts inside his head.

You let go of his thumb with a pop and say “Just wait until it's your dick in my mouth.”

His gaze darkened and he bit his lip as he imagined that, another moan escaping his mouth at the thought. “Yeah? That can be arranged.” He smirked at you.

“Way ahead of you.” You say in a whisper before you kneel in front of his now open legs and take his dick in one hand and start teasingly licking the pink tip.

His hand went to the back of your head, grabbing your hair so it was out of the way his eyes shut, his head thrown back. He had to grip the couch with one hand to try and keep himself from completely losing himself in this moment. Your tongue against his tip felt heavenly.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N.” He murmured, breathing through his mouth.

You put the tip in your mouth and keep looking over at him. His grip on your hair only grew firmer, his head still leaned back on the couch as he tried to keep his eyes open and locked on yours as he watched you take his tip in your mouth. He let out a long and low moan at the feeling. And at that cue you finally slip the whole length into your mouth, you weren’t even sure it was going to fit, but with a little help from a hand to jerk him off as you went, it did.

His mouth was slightly agape from the feeling, his eyes shutting again and his grip on your hair so tight it almost hurt.

After a few minutes, you take the dick off your mouth as you lick all the way up and say “Now I have to feel you inside of me, I can’t wait anymore.” His hand moved from your hair to your hand, trying to guide you onto his lap.

“Get up here.” He practically demanded, his breath coming out harsh and quick.

“Is that how you’re going to talk to me? Do you know I’m the one in charge here?” you tease, liking the taste of power, and the taste of his cock mixed with precum, of course.

He leaned down to try and capture your lips again, but you escaped his touch on purpose, just to tease him, so he was missing his mark a couple of times and accidentally leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck and jaw. He continued trying to get you on his lap again, groans escaping his mouth between each missed kiss. Then he finally gives in and asks politely. “Please…” He murmured in between kissing your neck.

“Please what?” You smirk, enjoying the game of power.

He groaned against your neck again. “Please get on my lap.” He repeated again, his head finally coming to look at you, his eyes darkening at the sight of your smug smirk. He watched as you got in his lap. He moaned against your neck again as he felt you right where he wanted you, his hips immediately bucking up to get some friction.

“You're making me lose my mind, Y/N.” His hands held on to your waist as he continued to move his hips up to grind against your wet pussy.

And now you’re the one moaning as his dick brushes against your clit. His hips continued bucking up, trying desperately to create more friction, his head falling to rest on your shoulder as he whispered “So perfect.” His hands moved around your back, trying to pull you.

“Just dry humping, huh? Afraid I can't take all of you?” You pant, trying to keep teasing him, but barely okay enough to breathe.

His hands immediately moved back to your hip when you said that and he moaned out as you moved against him, his hips still bucking up with each movement. “Don’t tempt me.” He murmured as he tried to regain control of his hips.

“I don't need to.” You say as you grab his dick, keeping it straight and up aligned with your pussy as you slowly start getting down on it.

His head shot up from your shoulder and his mouth opened in a silent moan as he felt you take him into you, his grip on your waist tightening as he shoot his head back down to watch you taking him in your pussy as a louder moan left his mouth once again. “Oh, fuuuck…”

“I intend to.” You moan when it's all in.

His head fell back again, his head hitting the back of the couch, his fingers biting into flesh as he held your by the waist. His eyes shut again as he bit his bottom lip, his hips still slightly moving against yours. “God damn, so tight…” He moaned out. He was not even sure if he was making sense at this point.

You start riding him in a nice rhythm, his hands were helping you more. His head was still leaned back as he continued to just let you move over him. “You feel so good.” He moaned out, still trying hard to hold himself back, but it had been so long he had been with a woman that he wasn’t sure how long he was capable of lasting, especially given how tight your pussy felt around him.

And the sight of your pierced boobs bouncing up and down right on his face wasn’t helping him keep it together. He had to hold himself back, still trying desperately to get some control so that he doesn't start doing anything stupid. Even in his half-drunk state, he knew that he was probably gripping your waist too tightly and was probably leaving a mark. Not that he was really thinking about that right now.

“God damn it, Y/N.” He whimpered again.

“Slap my ass.” You pant, riding him slower now, trying to keep yourself from coming.

His hand left your waist, moving to one of your ass cheeks. He wasted no time slapping it, still holding onto the other while keeping you in place on top of him. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?” He asked as he slapped your ass again, this time stronger. It’ll probably leave red marks and maybe even a bruise by tomorrow, but he could care less at the moment.

He was letting you keep moving and control whatever you wanted to do. His grip on your one cheek got a little tighter again as he felt you move around him now in a circular motion. But he still keeping you pressed down against him.

“You know I do, that's why you'll be coming whenever I tell you to, now suck my tits.” You say and moan as his dick hits a good spot.

His head rose again, his eyes still closed as he nodded, still unable to form a coherent sentence and at this point just responding to whatever you said. “Yesss.” He was trying to move his hips in pace with you. He tried to lean down, taking your right nipple into his mouth.

“Where do you want to cum?” You ask.

He moaned around your nipple, his brain trying to think of an answer for your question. But at the moment, it was quite difficult to form any words. He finally managed to say “Inside…” His mouth was still on it as he tried to keep the pace. He could feel himself getting close, and that seemed to be the answer he could come up with, and it was quite the honest one.

His hand let go of your hip, moving down to your clit, his fingers finding that little bud as he started to rub it with his thumb. “You're going to make me come soon.” He said between kisses and nibs on your boobs.

“Spence.” You practically scream as he starts moving his finger against your clit.

His fingers moved against your clit faster, his name moaned out like that making him buck up in an unconscious response. “Cum right after me.” He murmured, trying to keep it together.

“Uhum.” You manage to say, as you ride him ever faster now, seeking your edge.

His fingers continued to rub at your clit, trying to keep up with you as he felt himself getting closer with each second that passed. “You close, baby?” He moaned out, his mind shutting off as he felt himself about to hit the edge.

“Uhum.” You moan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” You moan loud, not even afraid your neighbors are probably listening.

His head fell back again as he groaned, feeling you clenching around him, his fingers now only focusing on just trying to rub your clit a little faster. He moaned louder when you moaned.

“Fill me up, baby.” You manage to say as you let out a big moan followed by his name.

His whole body tensed and he threw his head back again as you moaned out, feeling himself come to his edge. His finger tried to get a little more fast to help you get there, his hips bucking up a little to ride out his orgasm.

“Come for me.” He managed to say, still desperately trying to give your clit the pressure you needed. Your clenching around him sent him over the edge. He moaned out loudly as he started to come, his hips riding it out as he moaned out your name again and again. His fingers tried to keep that quickening pace while he tried to stay in control. “Oh god, you feel so good when you come.” He moaned out, still trying to catch his breath. His hands slid to your back until he was holding you by the waist, his grip a little less painful now.

You try to catch your breath as you say “You were perfect.”

He let out a soft, exhausted little laugh, trying to catch his own breath. “Me? You were perfect.” He murmured, still trying to get his breathing back under control as he still kept you up against him, not really wanting to move just yet.

“Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” You say as you lean into his chest and let out a deeps breath. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

“So have I, Y/N, so have I…” He says as he holds you in his arms.

[makixroll]

helo heloooo

this is for the lyric story game!! the member id like u to write for is yuma! (not surprising coming from me) with the keshi lyric.

hope you're having a great day and I look like to reading whatever you come up with!!

- @lacedwithmsg

NO BIGGIE — yuma ۫ ꣑ৎ

pairing . . . yuma x fem!reader

contents . . . "maybe we could try it if you let me."

message . . . hi omgg !! i feel so shy rn,, i love ur works sm!

serenade — &team lyric mini event ( open )

You sighed heavily as you let yourself fall on Yuma's bed, beside him. He was laying flat on his stomach, chin resting on the back of his hand as he scrolled mindlessly on his phone, he gave you a side glance before resuming to what he was doing.

"What now?" Yuma asked, his voice coming out as a mumble.

"I just realized, in my whole entire life, that I never dated someone." You said, still sighing so heavily it would definitely annoy Yuma if not only for his disgustingly adoration to you.

"Oh, you only realized that now?" Yuma replied, in a sarcastic way as he now laid on his back, looking at you lazily. You glared at him, slapping his leg which earned a small groan from him.

"I'm basically wasting my youth." You groaned, Yuma sent you a weird look, putting his phone down as he propped himself on his elbow, looking at your side profile while you stared at the ceiling of his room.

"Stop being dramatic. I've never dated someone my whole life and I'm still alive now." Yuma answered.

"Well, that's your decision! All the girls are basically throwing themselves on you. You just ignored them!" You exclaimed, frustrated that somehow, Yuma couldn't get your point.

Not all of them. Yuma thought to himself, staring at you.

"I'm not ugly.... right? Surely there's someone out there who likes— or probably liked me, no?" You asked the pink-haired boy, looking at him. Yuma rolled his eyes, biting his inner cheek to stop himself from talking, he then took his phone once again, scrolling on his social media.

"Come on, you have tons of friends! At least introduce me to the single ones~" You whined, shaking his arm as he ignored you instead.

"Who was the one you were with yesterday? Was it... uh, EJ? He's nice, is he single?" You asked, a little bit too eager for Yuma's liking, his eyes squinted as his eyebrows furrowed together.

"Not single. He's married. Has four children. Oh, did I also mention he has a girlfriend, too?" Yuma said so quickly it really sounds like a lie he made up.

"Stop gatekeeping your friends!" You groaned, sitting up. You then grabbed both Yuma's arms, forcing him to sit up as well to face you. Yuma lets you be, a whine escape his lips as you succeeded in making him sit on the bed.

"If you're so desperate to date," his eyes that were once looking at you, is now darted elsewhere across the room.

"Maybe we could try it if you let me." Yuma mumbled, the tip of his ears turning red.

"Huh, what?" You asked, confused. You didn't know if you understood him correctly. 'Cause surely, your best friend of ten years wouldn't ask you to date him, right?

Yuma rolled his eyes,

"we can date instead, if you want. No biggie." He said, so nonchalantly it almost felt like he didn't care about anything, about this. But he did, Yuma cared too much about it his heart is beating furiously from his ribcage.

"You... you like me?" You asked, a ton of emotion swirling inside you right now. But one thing's for sure, your heart fluttered at his words.

"Dummy, was it not obvious?" Yuma replied, a laugh escaping his lips as he flicked your forehead softly, a small pout now evident on your lips as you caressed the part where he flicked you.

"I didn't know..." you mumbled softly, now having the courage to stare at his eyes. And he did, as well. Now you saw it clearly, the feelings he had for you, the way he stared at you so fondly.

"Who do you think was the one scaring away your admirers?" Yuma asked, a teasing smile appeared on his face, raising his hand as he tucked a strands of your hair behind your ear, that made you flustered, and your heartbeat tripled.

"You scared my admirers that I know nothing about?!" You exclaimed, in disbelief. He laughed once again, now louder than before.

"Well, Maki helped me too, so..."

[camficdiner]

Can we get [1.2] [2.12] (older reader) [3.1] [4.3]! Thank you, love your blog so much! 💘💘

☕️ cams fic diner — order 086

🍒 thank you For the ones who stay quiet in the corner of the internet — who love someone from a distance, anonymously, gently. Here’s a story about being seen… and wanted anyway.

💬" I Know It’s You"

✨ description & prompts

• character: Quinn Hughes

• prompt: You’re older, visiting Vancouver, and spend your mornings in the same bookstore.

• type: Slow burn • fluff only • soft obsession

• wc: 1.5k

✨🧁🍒🛼

You find the bookstore by accident.

It’s on the corner of a residential street, half-covered by ivy, tucked between a yoga studio and a shop that only sells vintage maps. No logo. No music. Just that slightly musty, paper-and-cedar smell that hits you as soon as you push the door open.

It’s quiet. Local. A place where no one knows your name.

You’re staying in Vancouver for six weeks — time off, time away, time to remember what it’s like to breathe without answering emails at midnight. Your friend offered her guest room, and you accepted without thinking twice. And now, this bookstore is part of your new morning routine: espresso from the café next door, thirty minutes browsing shelves before the rest of the city wakes up.

That’s when you see him the first time.

Quinn Hughes. Hoodie up, baseball cap low, crouched in front of the literary fiction section like he lives there. He doesn’t look up. You recognize him instantly — how could you not? You’ve followed him for years. Not the kind of fan who screams at games, but the kind who watches press interviews quietly and bookmarks post-game quotes that hit a little too close to home. The kind who notices his hands when he gestures, the way his voice shifts when he’s asked something too personal.

Still — you say nothing.

You don’t even glance at him again. You pick up a copy of Norwegian Wood and leave it at the reading table by the window.

The second time, he’s already there.

You feel his eyes before you see them. You glance up — briefly — and find him behind the poetry shelf. He’s not reading. He’s watching you. Not in a rude way. Just… like he’s trying to place you.

You duck your head. Pay for your book. Leave.

You don’t know that he asks the clerk, after you’ve gone:

“Do you know her name?”

“No,” the guy shrugs. “She pays in cash.”

Quinn doesn’t ask again. He just starts coming more often.

You keep your distance. It’s easier that way. You’re not in Vancouver for him — not really. You’re here for space, for quiet, for yourself. And besides, what would you even say?

Hi, I’ve followed your career since you were drafted, and yes, I’m older than you, and no, I’m not delusional — I just think you’re something special.

So you keep your mouth shut. You read. You sip coffee. You pretend not to notice when he starts picking up the books you set down. When he starts mirroring your schedule. When you catch him across the street at the café one morning, staring through the window while you type.

And then, one morning, it changes.

You’re in your usual seat, curled in the armchair by the classics. He walks in — no hoodie this time, just a soft long-sleeve and messy hair — and for the first time, he doesn’t browse. He doesn’t hide. He walks straight to your table, pulls out the chair across from you, and sits.

You look up, startled.

He smiles. Nervous. But not shy.

“I know it’s you,” he says.

Silence.

You blink. “What?”

He nods toward the phone on your table. “The anonymous account. The one that reposts my press interviews. The one that quoted me two years ago after that OT loss in Winnipeg.”

Your heart stops.

“I’ve read everything,” he adds, voice lower now. “Not in a creepy way. Just… I started noticing the phrasing. The way you listen. The way you write about me. It felt—familiar.”

You don’t breathe.

“I figured it out the second time I saw you,” he admits. “Didn’t want to freak you out. But then you kept showing up. And I kept hoping.”

You swallow hard. “Hoping for what?”

He looks at you like it’s obvious.

“A reason to ask you out.”

You go for tea that afternoon.

You talk about books — about why he keeps buying the ones you touch. (“They smell like you now,” he admits, deadpan, making you choke on your drink.) You tell him how long you’ve followed his game. He tells you he likes that you never asked for anything. That you always seemed like you knew who he really was.

You leave with his number in your phone, a second copy of Norwegian Wood in your bag, and the quiet knowledge that he was already yours — long before you ever said hello.

------

He picks the wine bar carefully.

Tucked away on a side street, no cameras, no autographs, dim lighting and a server who greets him by name — not because he’s Quinn Hughes, but because he’s Quinn, the quiet regular who reads while waiting for his order.

You arrive five minutes early. He’s already there.

Jeans. Button-up, rolled at the sleeves. Hair slightly damp, like he showered but didn’t touch it after. He stands when he sees you, does that awkward hand-wave-then-hug thing like he still isn’t sure what you’ll allow.

You kiss his cheek without thinking.

He flushes. You sit.

Conversation is… easy.

Easier than you expected, given the years of quiet fandom you kept between you. He asks questions that show he’s listened — really listened — to the parts of your online presence you didn’t even realize were visible.

You don’t bring up hockey. He doesn’t bring up your age. But he does look at you like he’s still trying to figure out how someone like you exists.

Halfway through a shared charcuterie board, he clears his throat.

“I brought you something.”

You blink. “What?”

He pulls a wrapped book from his jacket — clearly new, hardcover, bound in soft linen.

You open it slowly.

Jane Eyre.

Inside the front cover, there’s a note in his handwriting:

To the girl who never asked anything of me but still understood everything.

You made me feel seen before I ever saw you.

- Quinn.-

You don’t cry.

But you press your fingers to the page, trace the shape of his name.

“I thought you might want to annotate it,” he says, suddenly shy. “Like… for real. With pens. Folded corners. Highlighter. Everything.”

You glance up. “You want me to ruin it?”

“I want you to live in it.”

You smile. Big. Open. Real.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with you,” you admit. “You’re younger. Famous. Perfect.”

His knee knocks gently into yours beneath the table.

“Maybe,” he says, “but you’re the one with the annotated brain. I’m just trying to catch up.”

-----

You don’t expect him to ask.

You’re still walking slowly down the street, wine-buzzed and glowing from dinner, his jacket around your shoulders, when he glances sideways and says, too casually, “Do you wanna come up?”

You raise a brow.

He rushes to clarify. “Just to hang out. I mean, no pressure. I’ve got this jasmine tea you mentioned once, and, uh… I just—don’t want tonight to be over yet.”

You pause. Look at him.

Quinn Hughes. Shy. Overthinking. Hands stuffed in his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

You nod once. “Yeah. I do.”

His apartment is exactly what you’d expect and nothing like it all at once.

Spacious, modern, clean. Shoes lined up neatly. A reading chair by the window with a blanket thrown over it, worn in all the right places. Candles — not the cheap kind — burning low on the shelf.

He pours you tea, brings out the annotated Jane Eyre copy, and asks if he can read your favorite part aloud.

So you sit. Close.

Knees touching.

His voice is steady but quiet. And when he reads the line “I am no bird; and no net ensnares me” his eyes flick to yours like it means something more.

You don’t speak.

You just brush your fingers into his hair.

He softens instantly. Leans into your touch. His hand comes to rest over your knee, thumb stroking lightly. When he finishes the page, he lowers the book gently to the floor.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he murmurs.

You laugh. “From a few pages of Brontë?”

He looks up at you, still curled into your lap. “No. From the way you look at me like I’m something more than I thought I was.”

You still. That warmth behind your ribs? That’s not just tea.

“You are,” you whisper. “More.”

He shifts — slowly, carefully — until he’s kneeling between your legs, hands braced on either side of your hips. He doesn’t kiss you yet. Just looks.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he says. “Not gently.”

You kiss him first.

Soft. Long. Anchored in everything unsaid.

And when you pull back, just enough to breathe, he’s already smiling against your lips.

“Stay?” he whispers.

You nod.

And that night, he doesn’t touch you like he’s trying to prove something.

He touches you like he’s already sure.

Like he’s been waiting for you to arrive in his life exactly as you are — annotated, slightly dog-eared, real.

[m-robinavitch]

I feel like there isn't enough for my boy Sammy and I've yet to see anything mentor/mentee with him! I'd love to see what you come up with I love your writing so much ahdnsdnskdjj

-Mel @pxpecxdy

Trope Tuesday! Send an ask with a trope from this list with a character and I’ll make a shitty blurb for you!

@pxpecxdy Mel- you’re so right. Sammy is my guilty pleasure and needs to be shown love. And you stop that right now I’m- 😭💕 thank you so much I’m melting.

Pairing: Sammy Bryant x Reader

Trope: Mentor/Mentee

Warnings: Shooting/gun stuffs

“I don’t fucking do babysitting duty captain- I thought I was done with that when Sherman finally grew up.” Yes Sammy’s still bitching. Yes his captain is tired of him. And yes he’s still going to babysit. It’s your first year in the LAPD and the first field training officer that you’ve been assigned to is Bryant. He used to be a detective until his partner was killed, messy divorce, life just not going great so he went back to patrol. You’ve heard about him- a lot about him. He gets results from his methods- he was a good cop. But he was fucking allergic to small talk and hopefully idealists like baby faced rookies.

That whole first month was a nightmare. You talked too much because awkward silences made you nervous- and Sammy refused to fill them. You let him take the lead and watched as he worked. But after when you’d ask why he made that call or why he didn’t arrest someone- “you’ll learn with time kid.” Ugh, kid. He treated you like an annoying little sister. He treated you like he was annoyed with you at anything you did. But- he was just a simple man who could see how attractive you were. It was unfortunately the first thing he noticed when reading your file- that and you were top graduate in your class. Even had fucking letters of recommendation in your file. He wishes he got Sherman’s rookie if only so Sammy didn’t struggle to not think about how cute you were or how you rambled incessantly to fill the silence in the car. A silence he kept because he can’t get personal with you- no that would only serve to make him want you more.

And you’d be annoyed too by Sammy because he didn’t even give you a chance but he was your mentor right now. He told you what to do and- he was so fucking cute. You felt like a stupid little school girl around him- rambling about anything because he didn’t speak much to you. After a few weeks- he started to speak. Started to tell you what to do on a call and let you take the lead. He started asking your opinion after an arrest was made. He took you to a diner that Nate used to take him to when he first started working with him- letting you pick his brain about cases he worked. It made him smile a little on the inside- you studied up on him. He was a good mentor- but he still looked annoyed with you.

It takes you saving his life to break his silence and brooding. Gang shootout where Sammy told you to stay behind him. Only you didn’t listen. And he was thankful for it. Because when a bullet followed a path to him- you shoved him down, landed on top of him while Ben finally showed up with the rest of the squad that answered the dispatch call. It was only a flesh wound.

“That was fucking stupid,” he ranted at you while you sat on the hood of the squad car- bandage wrapped around your right bicep. After getting the okay from the paramedics and praise from the squad- Sammy looked pissed “You could’ve been killed-“

“You could have also been killed!” You were done- never have you been insubordinate to a superior. But dammit after 4 months you had it with Sammy. You were a good cop- you weren’t stupid and you knew what you were doing. You knew the risk when you saved him- “I need you to get your head out of your ass long enough to trust someone other than yourself! If you don’t trust me by now then-“ he finally found a fucking way to shut you up. He kissed as good as you thought he would. Moaning into it along with you- his hands holding your face tight while your lips moved together.

“Don’t do stupid shit around me- please,” he could’ve lost you. He wanted to say ‘don’t risk your life for me’ but the words died on his tongue because he knew that would just make you even more hardheaded.

“No promises,” you pulled him in for another kiss. Slow and desperate- needy, hungry even because after 4 months you’ve imagined this way too many times. Late nights in the squad car, steamy windows even. But you still had a job to do- just had a cute partner you could secretly kiss while doing it.

Okay- so after dispatch called in a domestic dispute one night a few weeks later- maybe you were too focused on the way Sammy’s tongue slid against yours to answer immediately. But that overachiever inside you reached for the button anyway when-

“No- let Sherman’s fucking lazy ass get it,” he groaned, grabbing your hand from the radio and pulling you flush against him while biting your lip so he can hear that little sound you make when he does. Just 5 more minutes and you’ll go back on patrol.

“Dispatch, this is Unit 12. I'm 10-8 and en route. Show me responding, ETA five minutes. Stand by for update once I’m on scene. Over." Thank fucking god for Ben.

[montybooks]

This is a ‘apology’ for last post🫩🥲 i loove angst but felt like this was deserved! Also i might not be getting the requests people send in (if they are requesting) but if i don’t answer within 10-24 hours do feel free to DM me your request!

⸻

🌞 Light Yagami – The Golden Boy in Love

Fluffy Headcanons:

• The classic boyfriend aesthetic. He’ll walk you home, carry your bag, and remember your coffee order. He wants to earn your affection and prides himself on being reliable.

• Bookstore and café dates. Light loves calm, classy places where you can talk for hours. Expect deep conversations about life, dreams, and the kind of world you both want.

• He keeps your photo in his planner. It’s tucked behind a schedule full of goals, but he looks at it often and smiles to himself.

• Loves when you play with his hair. He’ll pretend it’s no big deal, but he relaxes the second your hands are in his hair. Especially while he’s studying or reading.

• Protective but subtle. He’s not loud about it, but if someone says something rude to you, Light shuts it down instantly with just a look or sharp words.

• He adores gentle kisses. Especially on the cheek or forehead—he finds them pure, and he gives them like he’s afraid to ruin you.

• When he loves, he’s all in. You’d be the one person who makes him feel human again—soft, safe, and unjudged. With you, he’d show his truest, sweetest self.

⸻

🍰 L (Lawliet) – The Soft-Spoken Secret Romantic

Fluffy Headcanons:

• He doesn’t understand it, but he loves you. He doesn’t know how to express emotions conventionally, so he’ll show love through quality time and quiet presence.

• Cuddles like a cat. He’ll curl up beside you while you read or watch something, just absorbing your warmth. He never says it out loud, but he always reaches for your hand.

• Loves feeding you sweets. Tries to hide it behind “logical reasons,” but in truth, he just thinks it’s intimate. Bonus points if you bake together.

• Finds you fascinating. L watches you with wide eyes and genuine curiosity. He loves hearing your thoughts, your little rants, even your mundane stories.

• You bring him peace. He stops working to lie in your lap, eyes closed, letting you comb through his hair or hum softly. With you, his brain rests.

• Terrible at flirting but tries. Expect awkward compliments like, “You blink slower than the average person. It’s oddly endearing.”

• You’re his emotional anchor. The one person who makes him feel real—grounded, loved, and understood without judgment.

⸻

🍫 Mello – The Fiery Lover Turned Soft for You

Fluffy Headcanons:

• The bad boy who only melts for you. He acts all tough with everyone else, but with you, he becomes a human marshmallow—jealous, clingy, and warm.

• Back hugs 24/7. You’re brushing your teeth? He’s behind you. Cooking? Arms around your waist. He always needs to be touching you somehow.

• Chocolate-sharing becomes a love language. He lets you take the first bite. That’s love. That’s trust. That’s war-level devotion from Mello.

• Loud love. He texts you “I love you” in all caps. Calls you “babe” even when you’re in a bad mood. Kisses you passionately at the most random moments.

• Big spoon behavior. He won’t sleep unless you’re cuddled up into him, preferably with your head on his chest.

• Defends you like a knight. Someone disrespects you? Mello’s on fire. He doesn’t just protect you—he worships you. You’re his world.

• But he’s a softie behind the rage. He gets pouty when he misses you. He writes your name in his notebooks. He keeps trinkets from your dates and never lets go of them.

⸻

📖 Teru Mikami – The Stoic Devotee With a Tender Core

Fluffy Headcanons:

• Acts reserved, feels deeply. Mikami doesn’t show his affection often, but when he does, it’s thoughtful, deliberate, and intense.

• Loves quiet mornings with you. Waking up early, making tea, reading in silence while your feet rest against his lap—he treasures that kind of peace.

• Writes love notes. He slips them into your bag or book, always precise and poetic. His words are deep and sincere, even if he gets flustered when you read them aloud.

• Secretly loves physical touch. Especially when you hug him from behind, or adjust his tie, or kiss his cheek unexpectedly. It makes him blush every time.

• He’s your #1 cheerleader. He’ll show up to anything important to you, dressed formally, clapping proudly, calling you “exquisite” under his breath.

• Takes care of your mental health. As someone who demands perfection of himself, he’ll go out of his way to remind you you’re enough—and mean it.

• Loyal beyond reason. He will never betray your trust, and he expects the same. Being loved by Mikami feels like being held to sacred standards… and being cherished like a rare work of art.

⸻

[rr4yne]

Books and You

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊..‎܁˖‎𐦍‧₊˚· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗﹒‧₊˚⋅ᰔ ⋮

Pairing : Yuta Okkotsu x Maki Zenin

Warning : No warnings! Just fluff

Synopsis : Yuta asks Maki to go on a date (their first date) which is going to the bookstore together/bookstore date

A/N recommend reading this while listening to K. - Cigarettes After Sex

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊..‎܁˖‎𐦍‧₊˚· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪.𖥔 ݁ ˖⌗﹒‧₊˚⋅ᰔ ⋮

It was a normal day, atleast thats what Maki thought. Wake up, go to class, go back to her dorm, and rest just like her usual routine.

Until Yuta asked her to go on a date after class.

"Hey, we never go on a date before. Wanna go on a bookstore date? Since you love books." He said so casually it made her think shes the crazy one for being so flustered over it.

But she couldn't say no, of course not. She loved books, like love love. And Yuta is her boyfriend so of course she said "...Sure. I need a new book to read anyway."

That made Yuta light up "Okay, how about tomorrow after class? Cause it's Friday so after the date you would have lots of time to read." He said happily

Maki nodded and said "Alright." With a soft smile on her face as she looks at yuta, she loves it when he lightens up or smiles at her, she'll never admit this but it makes her heart flutter everytime.

• • •

After class, as expected they go on a bookstore date together. But before that they got teased by Panda and Inumaki (even tho he just said something in rice ball ingredients) Tho Yuta and Maki just ignored them and walked peacefully to the bookstore

As they walk, Yuta tried to make a conversation so the walk wouldn't be so awkward. "So, You already know which book you wanted to buy?" He said softly. That made Maki think for a moment, or so she pretends to. "I'll probably buy-" But she stopped herself mid sentence and said "You'll see." That took Yuta by suprise, he didn't expect her to make him wait and see it when they arrive at the bookstore, it sort of made him excited to see what book she'll pick

• • •

After some comforting silence they finally arrived at the bookstore. Yuta quickly made himself to the door and opened it for her, "Ladies first." He said with a wink. It made Maki rolled her eyes but she let out a smile as she walked in the bookstore

They split in the bookstore as Maki goes to the Japanese novels section while Yuta (secretly) goes to the romance section

About 15 minutes have passed and Maki already got a book in her hand, she spent most of her time just looking at the other books cause she already know what she wanted to pick, and some caught her interest but she thinks one is enough. She paid for her book and tried to find Yuta only to find him outside the bookstore, already waiting for her

"Oh, You're done?" He asked as he continue, "That was quicker than I thought." Maki nodded "Well I already know what I'm going to buy so i pretty much just spent most of the time there looking." She said as she holds her book, then Yuta found his answer to the question he asked earlier. Heaven by Mieko Kawakami, thats the book she bought. "Well I see you picked a book with a cool cover." He stated as it made her smile "I know, I can't wait to read it." It made him let out a soft chuckle "Tell me all about it once You're finished okay?" Maki said "...Fine." As she tried to sound like she didn't want to but she was secretly excited to talk about it to him when shes finished. Then she notices how Yuta seemed to also bought a book, but she couldn't see what book it is cause he used a paper bag while carrying it in his hand. "What book did you bought?" She asked as shes curious, but Yuta immediately said "U-Um...It's nothing! Just some book I found interesting." Nervously, so she didn't want to ask more and just let him be.

A/N I'm sorry if there was some mistake, English isn't my first language, I'm also sorry if i added too much timeskips. And i got inspired to write this by my headcanon that Maki loves to read books and Yuta secretly reads romance books, by the way incase you haven't realize the book Yuta bought is a romance

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[vasito-de-leche]

I love, LOVE your characterization of the Saja Boys, and while I know you’ve only written complete dating hcs for Baby and Abs, I was hoping if it was okay if I could request something with the Saja Boys (separately) where it follows the prompt “you're about to argue but you're so pretty that his brain short circuits”? If you don’t want to write for all of them, then maybe you could do Baby and Abs (separately)?

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS SAJA BOYS - "Too Pretty"

Saja Boys (separate) x Reader 2.5k words silly, fluff Being a demon's soft spot has its benefits. Who would've thought?

i'm so glad you like the way I write them!! this prompt sounded so fun, I just had to try my hand at it, thank you!

this also served as a way for me to slowly figure out how I'd like to characterize the other members o7 I tried to keep the relationship vague enough to be read as whatever people want, so hope that comes across well enough. also also, dont let these dramatic edgy idols fool you, all drabbles end up being silly and cute

JINU

"Are you even listening, Jinu?"

He is, of course. But he'd rather not, especially when you're getting worked up over nothing; so much for escaping an endless cycle of torture in the underworld, he now has to deal with a brand new mess, pacing behind him like a madman. By now, you've probably noticed the monotonous and non-committal answers he's been giving on loop.

"Uh-huh," Jinu's eyes never stray from the notebook in front of him, attempting to come up with a better verse for an upcoming song. And he knows he's fucked up when he hears you groan, stomping towards him.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I stopped listening abooout ... five or ten minutes ago, who's counting, but--"

Your hand comes into view, fast as lighting, and he can only look as you snatch the notebook away from him. Great, awesome.

There goes the perfect verse in his head. He remains frozen for a moment, the hand holding a pen still hovering over the now empty spot on his desk until your voice reaches him once more.

"If you're not going to listen, at least tell me so I don't waste my time talking to you."

Jinu slouches in his seat, raising both hands to cover his face, before sliding them upwards to slick back his hair in a feeble attempt at regaining his composure. You can't even see him from this angle, his back turned to you, but he still rolls his eyes.

You want to argue? Get it out of your system? Fine, he can give you the fight you want.

In one swift motion, his position changes; now he's straddling the chair, a powerplay he's come to master after bickering with his own band for so long, eyes closed as he prepares to deliver a devastating comeback to rile you up. But when he looks up, the golden glow in his eyes wavers--you're standing so close in front of him, looking down at his seated form with your arms crossed, as if daring him to speak.

He doesn't, and you tilt forwards, hair cascading over him so that the only thing he can focus is your face in this one-sided glaring contest.

Jinu has seen you at your best and your worst, but this is the first time he's found himself at the other end of your undivided attention and anger. It is as intimidating as it is alluring. What are you doing to him? Is this allowed? His neck feels hot, his face feels hot. The room feels like it's on fire, but not the same type of hellfire he's grown used to; it's a different sort of warmth, equal parts shame and pleasure as he takes in the sight. His lips part without him noticing, whispering ever so gently.

"Pretty ..."

"What was that?" Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Shitty. I said you look. Shitty. As in, you look like shit. Being angry isn't doing you any favors, you know? You should get some rest, okay. Byeee."

Without giving you any time to react, Jinu fumbles over his words, trips over your furniture and he stumbles out of your apartment in a rush, almost breaking into a sprint for the elevator. It's only when the doors close that he allows himself to breathe in and out, finally noticing the extra passenger inside with him. His bird companion chirps smugly, and Jinu groans into his palms.

"I don't want to talk about it."

ROMANCE

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Romance scoffs at your words, still refusing to leave his room. All the heart shaped decorations seem to mock him as he leans his full weight against the door, easily preventing you from entering no matter how hard you try to rattle the doorknob.

Both of you find yourself at the edge of an argument, and the decision to escalate things lies solely on his hands. He knows this because he can practically hear the affection in your words, even as you whine and tell him to get over himself to talk to you, face to face. That alone is enough to make Romance's chest tighten--no matter how many times he does this, this game of push and pull, you still make sure to chase after him time and time again.

Surely you must be reaching your breaking point; nobody is strong enough to withstand this much heartbreak. Maybe if he tries a little harder, you'll realize that there's nothing good in a future with him.

All he has to do is stay silent and wait for you to leave.

"Then what did you mean?" His voice is whiny, it always is. But you always insist that you love that about him, the way he feels so deeply about everything.

"You really want to argue about something like this?" You're right, you usually are--he's making things difficult when he's not even officially yours. "Well, I don't. So you can call me once you've cooled off."

And just like that, it's quiet; there's no more pressure pushing against him from the other side of the door, no more cutesy nicknames and attempts at coercing him out. Romance's heart drops, and he practically claws his way out, torn between cursing you out for proving him right and leaving, or begging you to take him back and sort everything out as if he hadn't been the one to start this. He's taken only a single step out of the threshold of his sanctuary when your smile greets him--you're leaning casually against the door frame, pretending to inspect your nails.

"So, are you done brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

That playful grin renders Romance speechless; the contrast of your casual attitude against his frenzied panic is impossible to ignore, he's gone through all five stages of grief in under a minute while your trust in him never wavered. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder because there's a glint in your eyes that tugs at his heartstrings, wild strands of hair that he'd love to twirl in his fingers and kiss ever so gently. Romance knows that you'll let him if he asks for permission, and a knot forms in his throat, face flushed bright pink.

"No." It's all he manages to squeak out before closing the door once more.

"Rommie! Are you mad at me or not?!"

"I don't??? Know??? I need a moment! Just stay there!"

ABBY

"That's the last time I take you anywhere. You can't just pick a fight like that, Abby!" Abby sinks even deeper into the plush cushions of the couch as you continue to scold him, as if his sulking and his silence could single-handedly help him win this argument.

He's already found himself a comfortable spot, but you're still fussing about the living room, throwing your shoes to the side, sending your jacket flying onto the backrest of the sofa, pausing to drink and slamming the glass on the counter a little harder than necessary. Abby knows better than to try and stop you, so he stays put, waiting for his opening.

"What if anyone saw? Did you even think about that? The amount of trouble you'd be in?"

Those are all very good questions that he never bothered to consider; in fact, he still refuses to think about the consequences. There's no point in doing so when you managed to pull him away before he could do any damage to anyone, or to his own reputation as an idol.

"Like they'd even care," Abby huffs, trying to blow a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Just catching a glimpse of us outside is enough to make everyone turn a blind eye, it's almost too easy to work the crowd. One flex of these guns and any broken noses will be totally forgotten."

He makes an attempt to flex said guns, but he finds you looming over him from behind the couch, your grasp on his wrists as steady as death. There is a wild look in your expression, one he can't quite understand, but he finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from you. Getting to play the part of guard dog for you comes as easy as breathing, Abby can't get enough of the little tells that give you away, letting him know that you enjoy his antics--but it never crossed his mind that the tables could be reversed like this.

"Fine, let me put it this way! What if you got in trouble or worse, what if you got hurt? Ever thought of that one? Just because you're an all mighty demon doesn't mean you're--"

"You're hot when you're mad." He blurts out.

"I--What?"

A chance to rectify his mistake is presented to him, and he immediately pivots away from it when you blink your pretty eyes at him in confusion. "I said that you're hot when you're--"

"I heard you the first time, Abby. It's just--were you listening to what I was saying?" Okay, this is his chance to steer the conversation back on track. It's very easy, he just has to--

"If I say no, will you scold me some more?"

"Oh my God. Abby. Nevermind."

MYSTERY

Arguing with you is a rare occurrence.

But so is speaking to you, or engaging in any sort of conversation at all with anyone. This is one of the many perks that came with his role as the cool, mysterious and aloof member of the Saja Boys; anything he didn't feel like addressing could be easily swept under the rug and left ignored for centuries. This had been Mystery's modus operandi for years, and he wasn't planning on changing it any time soon.

You, on the other hand, were the opposite, filling the silence he often sought so desperately, until your voice became background noise in his life, a constant, confusing and somewhat comforting presence that simply followed him around.

Mystery still remembers the first time he deigned himself to reply, something off-handed that didn't matter at all, and yet you clung to his every word and went the extra mile to include him in your one-sided talks. It took a long time for the demon to get used to this, and an even longer time to acknowledge the fact that he enjoys the sound of your laughter, way better than the miserable voices crawling in the back of his mind.

Which is why the claustrophobic and oppressive silence lingering in the room irks him to no end. You're supposed to be talking, not playing hard to get or ignoring him over a stupid argument; the way you brush past him, barely acknowledging his existence as you go about your day is getting under his skin in ways he never knew were possible.

And then, for a fleeting second, you meet his gaze--this moment lasts for an eternity in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, to seize the opportunity and break the ice, but before he can get a single word out, you turn around and begin to scroll through your phone. That's the last straw.

Mystery stands up and forces himself into your peripheral, hands firmly planted on the wall, trapping you in.

For the first time in forever, he wants to scream, to bark, to growl and give you a piece of his mind. But when he sees the way you awkwardly avoid his gaze, fiddling with your hands and standing at your tiptoes, Mystery relents and his frustration is replaced with something else; endearment. You're still wearing his merch, one of the very first shirts the Saja Boys released long ago with his name written on it, you're still attempting to hide from him despite knowing there's nowhere in the world you could go without him finding you.

Slowly, Mystery raises a hand towards you, enjoying your half-hearted attempt at shaking him off, pretending to bite the air near him.

And then he pinches your nose. "Cute."

After that, he leaves. You'll come around when you feel like it.

BABY

"You went too far this time, there was no need to get so personal back there."

"That's the entire point of dissing someone, duh. So, was it good? Did you like it?" Baby kicks his feet, hands cupping his cheeks to make himself look as innocent as possible. "I didn't know I could rhyme that many words with 'cunt' but it was soooo fun! Right, right?"

"Baby!"

Tsk. Guess it's the hard way today. That cute expression quickly turns into a scowl and he makes a bee-line for the fridge, if only to find something to drink and distract himself with.

He blows bubbles into the silly straw, sulking in the kitchen. "What? They got what they deserved. What kind of idiot would challenge me to a rap battle if they can't take the heat? Hellooooo, it's Baby Saja we're talking about."

"But it was a friendly thing, you turned it into a massacre for no reason."

"Heh," he knows he shouldn't, but he snickers to himself anyway. "Guess I did, huh? What, do you wanna have a go in their place?"

This is how Baby likes to play, to earn a reaction and entertain himself if only for a little--but you always know better than to play into his shenanigans. And you also know how to get a message through his thick skull, something that continues to astonish him to this day.

Baby continues to sip away on his drink as you busy yourself, fully believing himself to be the victor of this round. But dread starts to make its presence known deep in his chest as he sees you slowly gathering your things--this isn't how things usually go, you always stay the night at his place to keep him company, watching horrible romcoms, eating snacks and falling asleep at 5 a.m.

So why were you leaving?

"Hey, hey. Woaaah! Are you really going to ditch me because I got a little mean to some rando? That's so unfair." The look you give him is enough for his act to crumble, and Baby groans dramatically before hurrying to your side, tugging onto the hem of your sleeves. "Stay here! Pleeeeeeaase? I'll behave next time!"

It doesn't work; you pinch his cheeks and pull, stretching them like mochi. Your voice is stern, even after you let go. "You're old enough to know that what you have to say is 'sorry,' Baby. But if you want to beg for forgiveness, you'll have to try a little harder than that."

Shit. So much for being unfair, the tone of your voice and that look in your eye are more than enough to get all the thoughts in his mind twisted up--Baby hates when you don't indulge him, but even he has to admit that he loves that stubborn streak in you.

"What? Cat got your tongue? I know you well enough by now, there's no way you have nothing to say."

You never waver, meeting his eyes with the same intensity, running a hand through your hair. Baby's mouth turns into a fine line, followed by a pout. If he says anything right now, he'll most likely end up digging his own grave. You look SUPER hot right now, is that good enough to make up and get you to stay? Something like that would most likely earn him the silent treatment for a week.

"Sssssssorry ..."

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it--"

"...for being soooo damn good at my job. Like it's my fault?"

"I'll see you tomorrow Baby."

"Aw, c'mon!"

[hoejosatoru]

Roster Hopper - Blue Lock edition

Characters: fem!reader x isagi, chigiri, bachira, barou, rin, otoya, karasu, yukimiya, nagi, reo (all separate beside nagi and reo) characters are 21+, reader's hair color/texture and skin color not specified

Summary: College team AU, where y/n is a manager of the team and bets her friend she can hook up with all the members of the team - without them finding out. This can be read as one entire fic or if you want to jump around I have the name of each character bolded for their part.

Word count: 11.3k help this took forever

a/n: this is the blue lock version of the fic concept I've done with Haikyu teams. I prefer to write characters older but college au makes this easier to so just imagine whatever age you want. Also y/f/n= your friend's name bc I couldn't think of one

Warnings: semi public sex, car sex, fingering, dirty talk, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, spitting, threesome, face sitting, squirting, toy use, finger in ass, chigiri is a sub/calling him good boy, virginity loss for rin, girl there’s a lot we got 10 men to get through so buckle up, also not proof read sorry

"Ugh, I am not going to miss August practices," your friend groaned, fanning herself with a clipboard.

"Seriously," you sigh. Usually you loved being the manager of your college's soccer team. It was a fun position and an easy way to get involved with a sport you enjoyed. Not to mention, your best friend was your co-manager, which meant you always had someone to chat with during practices.

The only time being the manager sucked where days like this, when you had to stand out in the blazing sun. Ego, the coach, made the team come in a week before the semester starts to begin training, which meant long days in the heat.

"Well, it's not all bad," your friend smirked, gesturing to the scene ahead of you. All of the players were currently running around shirtless, sweat dripping down their toned, sun-tanned bodies. The position certainly came with perks.

"Not a bad view, eh?" you replied.

"Ego's really cruel with his no hook up rule," your friend grumbled. You laughed, remembering how awkward the first team meeting you intended when Ego lectured everyone about not having sex with each other because it was a distraction. The players being off the table was definitely a downside of the position.

"I know," you sighed, "How am I supposed to graduate without knowing who's good in bed?"

"Right, like Rin is good on the field, but do you think his skills transfer?" your friend mused.

"Maybe Chigiri likes getting his hair pulled?"

"Do you think Barou makes girls call him the king while fucking?" You both snickered, drawing the attention of Isagi.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing!" you both responded in unison. You both turned away, trying to stifle laughter. As you regained your compsure, a thought popped into your head. You'd gone the past 3 year without breaking Ego's rule, but headed into your final year, you were feeling more daring...

"I have an idea."

"Which is?" your friend asked.

"What if I hooked up with all of them so we could get answers to our question?"

Your friend stared at you, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

"I fear I am," you replied. "Breaking the rules is fun every now and again."

"You'd have to break the rules like 10 times," she countered.

You shrugged. "I've behaved the last few years, I think I'm owed it. Besides, Ego will never find out because I'll make sure they'll keep their mouths shut. They can't know I'm hooking up with the other guys on the team, it would mess with the data."

Your friend rolled her eyes. "I didn't know this was so scientific. I bet it isn't even possible."

"Wanna put some money on that bet?"

"You're on."

You two spend the rest of practice hashing out the details of the bet. You had to sleep with the top ten players on the team, so could figure out who was the best. You couldn't tell them about the bet, nor could you let any of them find out, as it might mess with how good their performance is. You wanted to see how good they are when they didn't know it was a test. But if the team finds out, game over. And if Ego find out... well that was an awkward conversation you were keen on avoiding. You both agreed you had until the end of the school year and winner owed the other $300.

Karasu gave you your first opening. He was trying to convince the guys to go to a frat party with him, but after a week of tough practices no one was interested.

"I'll come with you, Karasu," you said with an innocent smile. "I think some of my roommates wanna go too, we can all go together." You added for the players who may be in earshot. Going alone might raise some suspicions. Karasu jumped at your offer and said he could pick you guys up at 8. Little did he know...

"Sorry Karasu, all my friends bailed," you lied, feigning disappointment. "Hope you don't mind if it's just me." Karasu's eyes raked over your body as you climbed into his car. You wore a mini skirt and a little top, which the glint in Karasu's eyes told you he enjoyed.

Just because Ego had a no hook up rule, it didn't mean the guys didn't look - or flirt - from time to time. Karasu was definitely one of the players that liked to push that boundary.

"Fine by me," he grinned. "We'll still have a good time."

The party, unfortunately, left much to be desired. It was the first big frat party of the year and it was beyond packed. The one drink you had was warm and crappy. Not to mention the music they had blasting sucked. You were barely there an hour when Karasu motioned for the exit.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out for such a shitty party," he sighed when you returned to the car.

"S'okay," you shrugged. "Hey it's still early, why don't we drive around and find a spot to chill for a bit?"

Karasu nodded, his hand on the back of your seat as he threw the car in reverse. "I think I know a spot."

It was only a few minute drive until you pulled up to a private little park, far from the main road. You couldn't believe your luck. You and Karasu slipped into easy conversation for a bit. The longer you spoke with him, the more you realized just how cute he was. You sorta went immune to the team's good looks since you've been around them for so long, but staring only at Karasu for so long reminded you that he was fine.

"What're you thinking about?" you asked him when he went quiet, giving you a particular look that made your stomach flip.

"I'm thinking," he replied, licking his lips, "That you look really good and that I really hate Ego's stupid rules."

"I can keep a secret if you can," you replied, leaning into him.

He held up his pinkie. "I won't tell a soul." You wrapped our pinkie around his with a triumphant grin. "Back seat has more space."

You crawled over the center console, followed closely by Karasu. He could see up your skirt, your ass barely covered by a little lace panty. He could feel himself growing hard as he tried to commit the image to memory.

You let out a little yelp as he playfully smacked your ass. "Sorry, couldn't help it."

You maneuvered to be straddling Karasu's lap. His hands tangled in your hair as he pulled you into a deep kiss. He was shy at all, kissing you with a hunger. You let out a pleasant hum as he nipped at your lower lip.

Your hips stirred over his lap as you felt him growing hard beneath you. Your skirt had completely hiked up around you waist, leaving you covered only in lace. Karasu let a groan as looked down at your clothed cunt pressed against his hard on through his jeans.

"Like what you see?" you teased rolling you hips. The friction against your aching cunt was delicious.

"You're so sexy," he mused, bringing his hands down to squeeze your tits through your top. You mewled, nestling your cunt against his thigh to grind down harder on him. You returned to kissing him as you rocked your hips, the rush of doing something you knew you shouldn't heightened pleasure building.

Your breaths were shortening the more you rolled your hips. You had to break the kiss as you desperately tried to chase your high. "Fuck, you think you could cum just like this?" Karasu asked, an excited edge in his voice.

You bit your lip and nodded, unable to find your voice. Karasu pulled your top down, exposing your boobs. He was greedy, sucking at your nipple and squeezing the other to help you along.

Your head collapsed on his shoulder as your body tensed and relaxed deeply into your orgasm. The breathy moans in Karasu's ear nearly made him come his pants.

"Fuck that was hot," he grinned. "Can I fuck you?" He was already slipping himself out of his pants. His tip was flushed and leaking, looking as needy as he sounded.

"Please." You were just as eager for more, positioning yourself over him. You let out a content sigh as you sunk down on to him.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groaned, "All that for me?" He let you roll your hips, adjusting to him, but he couldn't hold himself back for long. He placed his hands on the seat, giving him leverage to fuck up into you.

"Karasu!" you cried. The air was thick, windows fogged from your panting breaths. Your hand streaked across the condensation as you tried to stabilized yourself.

It wasn't long before another wave of pleasure surged through your body, squeezing Karasu tightly. He let out a delicious groan as his hips stuttered and released into you. You collapsed onto of him, both of you panting.

"So worth breaking the rules," Karasu grinned. You smiled back, though for more reasons that Karasu realized. 1 down.

****

It had been a couple of weeks since your tryst with Karasu and you'd been holding your breath for Ego to call you into your office, or another player to make some suggestive comment. But there was no indication Karasu let anything slip. Your success emboldened you to set your sights on the next man

Barou always used the team gym later at night, after the rest of team had filtered out. He hated working out with them, complaining that they were loud and obnoxious. You, however, he didn't mind.

You were intimidating by Barou when you first met him, but quickly learned he was all bark and no bite. Well, with women that is. Though he had that tough exterior and an imposing size, he was always respectful towards you.

Truthfully, it was Rin you were most nervous to tackle in this challenge. Though physically less intimidating, he was certainly colder. Though Barou was smart, you had a feeling he would fall into the same pit fall most men do: thinking with the wrong head, so to speak. Rin, however, was more calculated, more observant. You feared he see through your charade. But that was a problem for future you.

You were grateful that Barou let you use the team gym in evenings with him, as you could avoid the crowded campus gym and men that ogled at every woman that walked in. For the most part, you and Barou did your own thing. Sometimes you would spot each other, but really you were just sharing the space with minimal interactions. You knew. Barou liked to do his own thing while working out and didn't wanna push it. Tonight, though, you had other plans.

You donned your cutest workout gear: tiny bike shorts and sports bra in your favorite color. You went about your normal workout, though not going as hard as you normally did so you could keep an eye on Barou. He looked as he normally did during a gym session, shirt off, hair down, wearing only small athletic shorts. He was certainly not making it hard to want him.

Barou was currently at the bench trying to beat his personal record of an incline press. He always had an impressive amount of weight loaded on his bar, but today it looked impossibly heavy. Grunts of frustration echoed in the empty gym as he couldn't quite lift the weight high enough to count as a rep. He set the bar down on the rack with a metallic clang and huff of frustraion. Now was your time.

"You know," you wandered over casually, "I heard that more testosterone can help men lift more.

Barou's brow furrowed. "Does it look like I'm low on testosterone to you?"

You appraised his broad form, thick with muscles, veins snaking down the length of his arms from the pump of his work out. A light layer of sweat made his body sheen. "Certainly not." You shrugged, not letting your true interest show. "Just thought it was an interesting theory. Probably bull shit."

Barou's eyes flickered between you and weight rack You could see the gears turning, the desire to conquer the a weight that would put him far above his teammates. "You'd be willing to try?"

"Sure, why not," you replied. "Could be a cool experiment."

"Alright, c'mere." You did as you were bid, your heart fluttering in your chest beneath his gaze. You slid on to him as casually as you could, your legs straddling his.

Barou was obviously bigger than Karasu, but you could feel the difference even just by being on his lap. His body was thick, forcing your legs open wider to accommodate his width. His muscles flexed beneath you as he shift on the bench to prepare for this lift. You bit down on your lip, hoping he wouldn't notice your blush.

Barou wrapped his hands around the bar, focus etched on his face as he lifted it off the rack. You weren't sure if you were surprised or not that it actually worked. It took some exertion on his end, muscles bulging, skin flushed, grunts that would sound very... suggestive out of context. But he was able to bench the weight for 3 reps, when he wasn't able to get a single one prior.

"Fuck, I can't believe that worked," he panted, setting the weight back down on the rack. When he sat up you were just inches apart.

"Knew you could do it," you said, innocently rolling your hips forward. "You're the strongest guy on the team by far." A little ego stroking never hurt.

"That why you were so eager to sit in my lap?" Barou replied shifting beneath you. You could swear you could feel his cock hardening beneath you. "Could feel you watching me all night." His eyes flickered down your body, taking in your barely covered body. "In this little outfit. Did you put this on for me?"

You batted your eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Barou tsked. "If you asked for what you want, you might get it y/n." His hands, rough and warm, were resting on your outer thighs, leaving no question of what he was suggesting.

"And if I want you?"

His fingers dug into you. "Be careful what you wish for." He pulled you into him, you chest flush against his. His kiss was possessive, dominating. He kneaded your ass as your tongues slid over each other. His skin was hot against yours with only the thinnest layers of material between your aching cunt and his growingly hard cock.

You went to reach between the two of you, to squeeze his length, but Barou gripped your wrist. "I'm in charge here."

"Oh yeah?" you challenged.

In a flash Barou had man handled you into being bent over the bend. "Yeah." He ground his cock against your ass. "That what you want?" You mewled but that wasn't good enough for Barou. He brought his hand against your ass with a sharp slap, making you gasp. "Answer me when I ask you something."

"Yes Barou I want it! Please-" your voice broke off as he pressed his thumb against your clit.

"Good girl." You could hear the smirk in his voice. "Gonna give you what you want." He pulled down your shorts, running his fingers through your wetness. "Soaked like a slut for me, huh?" He slid in two thick fingers inside you. "Gotta prep you for me."

Barou thrust his fingers hard and fast, but not unpleasantly. The pads of his fingers brushed against your gspot, making your cunt throb and spasm. Your ass wiggled back against him, wanting more, to feel him deeper. You were on precipice of an orgasm when Barou yanked his hand away.

You let out whine. "If you're gonna cum it's gonna be around my cock." You peaked back as you heard him shedding his shorts. His cock huge - long and thick, veins running up the sides. Your cunt throbbed with anticipation.

"Fuck." You couldn't contain yourself as his fat tip pressed into you. It ached, but in a sinfully pleasant way. Barou ran his hand down your spine, arching you for him while he gave a few shallow thrusts to adjust.

He quickly picked up his pace, the weight of him behind every thrust. It stole your breath, your cunt drooling.

"Making a fucking mess on me," Barou growled, watching the way you coating his length, dripping down on the bench. "Dirty girl." He gripped your hips, holding you just how he wanted. Your fingers dug into the bench, holding on for dear life as he fucked up.

"Barou I-" You choked out. You couldn't form a sentence with the way he took you.

"Go on and cum, y/n," Barou instructed. "Wanna feel you squeezing me." You wouldn't have been able to hold on much longer anyway at this pace. Pleasure exploded through your body, hot and heavy. Barou growled at your cunt throbbing around him. He fucked you through your orgasm, releasing only at the tail end of your high. The feeling of his hot cum shooting ropes into you prolonging you pleasure.

Barou slipped out of you with a grunt. "We need to clean up." Though he was amused by the mixture of yours releases coating his cock and spilled on the bench, his drive to clean was kicking in. He picked up the towel he brought with him while work out, gently wiping between your legs. It was oddly tender compared to his prior actions.

"Hey Barou, would you mind if we didn't tell anyone about this?" you asked. "I don't want to get in trouble with Ego. Plus, I can only imagine what the other guys would say."

Barou could feel a headache coming just by thinking of what stupid shit his teammates he would say. "I'm not telling them shit."

That was a good enough promise for you. 2 down.

****

The first few games of the season went well. Everyone was happy with the team's winning streak. Well, everyone but Isagi. He has yet to score a goal, which was bugging him incessantly.

"You just need to relax man," Bachira, who scored in today's game, told him. "You stress too much. It messes with your game." You eavesdropped on their conversation, pretending to take account of equipment as they packed their bags to head out.

"That's easy for you to say when you've already scored twice this season," Isagi grumbled.

"Just play better," Nagi yawned, not even bothering to look back at Isagi's disgruntled face.

"Or get laid, that ought to calm you down!" Reo snickered, jogging to catch up with Nagi. Not a bad idea Reo...

"Gee, thanks," Isagi snapped.

"Hey Isagi! Ego wants to talk to you," you called to him.

Isagi sighed. "I'll catch up with you later Bachira." He trudged over to you, looking defeated. "Am I about to get yelled at?"

"Well, I sorta lied." Isagi's brow quirked. "Ego didn't want to talk to you, I did."

"Oh? What's up?"

"Bachira's right," you replied, "I know I'm not a soccer expert, but I've learned a lot from watching. I can tell your game is off from the stress. You're playing stiff."

Isagi sighed. "I know, but the problem is I don't know how to not be. Everyone's scored this season except me. I don't wanna fall behind."

"Maybe Reo was right," you suggested.

Isagi let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure he is. But I don't exactly have any women who are willing to hook up for the sake of my game."

"I would, you know, for the sake of your game," you replied.

Isagi looked shocked. "Are you serious? But Ego's rules."

You shrugged. "He'd never find out, it's not like he’d be there during it." Isagi shuttered at the thought. "Look, as a friend and manager who wants to see the team do well, I'm offering to help. If we don't tell anybody else there's no way we'd get in trouble."

You could see the gears turning in Isagi's head. Best case scenario, he was thinking, he has sex with the hot manager and goes on a scoring streak. Worst case scenario, his play doesn't get any better, but he at least got to fuck the hot manager. He liked those odds.

"Okay, sure. If you really don't mind."

It was just too easy.

You agreed to meet at your place, as your roommate was spending the night at her boyfriend's. Isagi looked anxious as you led him to your room.

"This is supposed to be helping to relax," you commented with an amused smile. You laid on your bed, propped up on your elbows. Isagi eyed you hungrily, but his body was still tense.

"I'm still half expecting Ego to pop out and lecture me," Isagi replied.

You chuckled. "Gonna spend the whole night thinking about Ego or are you gonna come over here and let me take care of you?"

The latter sounded much more appealing, obviously so Isagi crawled on top of you on the bed. "If you change you min-"

"Shh," you pressed your finger to his lips. "Don't stress, just kiss me." You curled your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him into you. His kiss was tentative at first, but quickly melted into comfortable rhythm.

Isagi palmed your tits, lightly grinding against you. He was hard already, making you smirk. You slid down between your bodies, squeezing him through his sweats. He gasped into the kiss.

"So sensitive,"you noted. "It's been a minute, huh?

"Too long," Isagi replied, pulling his shirt off. You followed suit, stripping yourself from the waist up. He eyed you hungrily, body already relaxing at the sight of you.

"Let's not keep you waiting any longer, yeah?" You hooked your finger into his sweats, tugging them down. His size was average, but he was flushed a pretty shade of pink. He teased your entrance with his tip, nudging at your clit. You let out a pleasant hum.

Isagi pressed in sigh you with a satisfied size. "God, you feel good." His head fell back as he slowly dragged himself in and out of you. He felt like he had to warm up, afraid he would bust too soon after going so long without.

Eventually he picked up his pace. He cupped the back of one of your knees, pressing it up to your chest. The angle pressed him deeper inside you, hitting a spot that made you breathless. "Mmm, so good Isagi."

He cock twitched at his name on your tongue. It spurred him on, snapping his hips faster. The base of him brushed against your clit, building your pleasure with each thrust. You wrapped your arms around his muscular back, letting your nails rake down his skin. The sensation sent Isagi over the edge.

He let out a low curse as his hips stuttered and he spilled inside you. The sensation of warmth filling you, along with the throb of his cock set you over the edge. You sighed contently into his neck as he slowly rode out your highs.

"Thanks for that," Isagi said later as you both redressed.

"You can thank me once you start playing better," you teased.

Low and behold, Isagi scored twice the very next game. He shot a lopsided grin as the team celebrated the win, though no one knew how you were the key to the success. Another one crossed off the list.

****

A few weeks later, your next opportunity arose. The team was lamenting about upcoming midterms, which they have to pass in order to be eligible play on the team.

"I'm screwed for my economics test," Bachira groaned at the end of practice.

"Don't ask me for help, dude. I gotta focus on my stats test or I'm screwed," Karasu replied, leaving Bachira to groan in the grass.

"Are you taking economics with professor Johnson?" you asked.

Bachira perked up. "Yes, he's the worst."

You nodded sympathetically. "For real, I struggled in his class last semester. I could help you, if you want. I still have some old notes."

"Seriously? That would be awesome," Bachira replied.

You met up the following evening at the library. You found a quiet spot deep into the stacks so you and Bachira could focus. He was not kidding when he said he was bad, but slowly you got him up to speed.

You weren't sure if you were reading into things because you had an ulterior motive, but you swore you felt tension. Perhaps it was the setting, the way you had to lean into to each other and speak in hushed voices. Your thighs brushed each others, fingertips brushing the other's hands as you pointed out facts on the page. The scent of him filling your nose, fresh and a little sweet.

"y/n," Bachira said softly, amusement clear in his voice. "You're staring."

You blushed, but used the moment to your advantage. "You're a little distracting."

"Oh yeah?" His hand brushed against your leg. "What should we do about that?"

You leaned in closer, allowing him to brush higher up your thigh. "You wanna take a little break, Bachira?" Your voice was a sweet hum in his ear.

"Was just thinking I need to thank you for the help," Bachira replied. He ghosted over your center, cat-like eyes flicking to yours for any signs of discomfort. When you should none, he applied a little pressure. "I've got some ideas, but might be better somewhere more... private."

"I like the sound of that," you murmured, already feeling yourself growing slick. "But we have to be careful, if someone sees we could get in trouble with Ego."

"Well, Isagi's visting his family tonight, so I have the place to myself," Bachira replied, lazily rubbing light circles over you. "As you for everyone else, it's late now and I doubt we'll see the guys on campus. Plus, I can keep a secret."

You smiled wickedly. "Let's do it."

You both scrambled to pack up your books. You weaved through the stacks, occupied by only a few devout studiers. It was later than you thought, night fully set in. You were grateful for the cover of darkness as you snuck to Bachira's car, both giggling.

Bachira drove with his hand on your thigh, teasing you lightly. Something about the gleam in his eye when he looked at you made you squirm, like you knew he had something good in store. Mercifully, the apartment he shared with Isagi was not far from campus.

You were on each other once the door closed behind you. Bachira kissed you as he led you back to his bedroom. Both your shirts were already off by the time you hit the bed. Bachira climbed on top of you, kissing you playfully as he continued to tease you through your leggings.

Bachira pulled away from the kiss, breathless and pupils wide. "Are you okay with toys?"

"Hmm?" you couldn't comprehend his question through the fog of lust.

Bachira dug through his nightstand, pulling out a little vibrator. You instinctively rubbed your thighs together at the thought of Bachira using that on you. "Can I?"

"Please."

Bachira grinned, sliding your leggings off and returning to you kissing you. He ran his hands up and down your body, giving extra attention to your tits and thighs. Eventually, he flicked on the vibrator, lazily dragging it from the valley of your chest down to the apex of your thighs. He stopped just above your throbbing clit before dragging it back up to the top.

He chuckled into the kiss as you squirmed when the vibrator ran across your nipples. He slid his tongue into your mouth, kissing you damn near stupid as the little bullet went back down your body.

You let out a little sigh into his mouth as he lightly pressed the vibrator to your clothed clit. He teased you with it, giving just enough pressure for it to feel good, but not enough to do anything. Any time he suspected pleasure was building, he pulled it away. Your hips bucked, desperate for more.

"Bachira," he name a plea on your lips.

"I'm being mean huh? Teasing you like this?" he pressed the vibrator harder into you for emphasis, savoring your gasp. "I'm supposed to be thanking you."

Bachira slid your underwear off, licking his lips at the string of arousal. "Fuck, I think I might need a little taste." He settled between your legs, licking up your slit. Your back arched as he sucked at your clit, messy and eager. He flicked the vibrator back on, alternating between licking at your clit and letting the vibrator do the work.

It took only a few moments of Bachira between your legs to send a surge of pleasure through your body. You clawed at the sheets, gasping his name as the feeling consumed you.

"Tastes so sweet," Bachira mused, licking his lips. He wriggled out of his pants, cock heavy and leaking. "Ready for more?" You nodded, eagerly pulling him closer. Bachira ran his cock leisurely through your slick folds. He flicked the vibrator on, running in down the length of him. He let out a low moan as it brushed against his tip.

He slid the vibrator between the two of you. You jolted as the buzz hit your swollen clit. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he continued to rut himself through your slick. You could feel Bachira's cock twitching against you and all you wanted was to feel that inside.

"Need you, fuck-," you gasped. "Inside, please."

Bachira obliged with a grin. "Can't say no to that." He slid into you with ease, on account of how wet you were. He groaned at the feeling of your wrapped around him.

Bachira snapped his hips, gradually picking up the pace. He loved the little sounds you made, proof of how desperate and sensitive you were. He wanted to push it further, flicking the vibrator on and pressing it against your throbbing clit.

You gasped, feeling over stimulated already. The feeling building in you was white hot. "Bachira I'm gonna-" you choked out a sob as gushed all over him, soaking his lower half.

"Fuck that was hot," Bachira replied, fucking you harder through it. He couldn't hold out longer, seeing you soaked and wriggling beneath him. You felt his cock throb as he filled you with a satisfied sigh.

"Sorry about your sheets," you said when you both caught your breath.

Bachira scoffed. "I'm not even slightly upset about that."

You ended up staying the night at his place, but went to practice the next day separately, as if nothing happened. A few days later, Bachira happily announced he passed his test to the team, throwing a sly wink your way. 4 down, 6 to go.

****

It had been a few weeks since the Bachira hook up and, honestly, you had half a mind to just forget the whole plan and go back for seconds. However, the competitive part of you couldn't give up a bet. Not to mention, you were interested in what the other contenders had to offer.

The semester was winding down and you found yourself at a party at the soccer house. Everyone was celebrating finals ending and a season that was successful so far. You wanted to get in one more before break started to put you in a good place to complete the challenge by next year.

As you were scanning the crowd for prospects, Reo caught your eye. He was chatting with Nagi, of course, and you got a weird feeling that they had been looking at you first. Talking about you. You gave Reo an inviting smile, who whispered soemthing to Nagi before jogging over to you.

"Hey, y/n," Reo greeted.

"Did I catch you staring, Reo?" you teased lightly.

He grinned, throwing his hands up. "You caught me. Nagi and I were talking about you, not going to lie."

"Oh? What about?" you asked.

Reo shifted on his feet, a nervous tell. His eyes flickered back to Nagi, who was watching with a flicker of interest across his normally bored expression.

"It's kinda weird."

You shrugged. "I like weird."

"Well," he began, "Nagi and I... we've always wanted to share a girl. You know, a bucket list sorta thing."

"Reo, are you asking me to have a threesome with you and Nagi?" you couldn't keep the smirk out of your voice.

Reo chuckled, "Well, yeah. I know it's random and kinda weird. Don't feel obligated to say yes obviously. We just... think you're hot and cool and were wondering if you'd be down."

What a gift you'd just been given. You didn't wanna look too eager though.

"I'm down, but..." you feigned concern, "Ego's rules... If people found out, it be a disaster."

"Nagi and I won't tell a soul, we promise," Reo assured you. "We're not trying to get you in trouble - or ourselves for that matter."

That easily, you found yourself in Reo and Nagi's shared place off campus. Most of the guys either rented little apartments or shared a house with 4 other guys, but Reo and Nagi a whole house to themselves. Unsurprising, given Reo's wealth. He could easily have the place to himself, but, again, unsurprisingly, he'd rather share with Nagi.

"Wow," you couldn't prevent the word from slipping out as you saw the massive bed Nagi was currently lounging on. He wore grey sweats and a t shirt and looked good enough to already get you excited.

"Glad I went for the king size now," Reo said, ushering you into the room.

"I'm glad you went for it too," Nagi replied, stretching his long limbs. His shirt lifted up, a sliver of skin above his boxers peaking out. Good lord.

"So, how do you wanna..." you trailed of as you sat down on the bed.

"Kiss Nagi," Reo instructed you, authority trickling into his voice.

"Yeah, c'mere," Nagi smiled lazily. Didn't have to tell you twice. You crawled over to the white haired man, who grabbed you when you were in reach. You let out a surprised giggle as he pulled you on top of him, before his lips found yours.

His mouth moved against yours with ease, tongue slipping to brush yours. His large hands settled on your ass, giving little squeezes every now and then. You wiggled your hips in approval, loving the feel of him beneath you. You could feel Reo's on the two of you, watching hungrily as his best friend slid his hands up your shirt.

You sat up, allowing him to pull it off you. You rolled your hips against him, getting him hard beneath you. "Hot," he said, running his hands up your sides before cupping you tits.

You glanced over at Reo, who was obviously hard at the sight of you and Nagi. The way he looked at you two made you cunt throb. "Don't keep us waiting, Reo," you beckoned to him.

The purpled haired man was happy to have an excuse to join. The bed dipped at he crawled over to you. You cupped his face and kissed him while Nagi toyed with you tits. You let out a little gasp as he squeezed your nipples.

"You're hoggin her," Nagi huffed, pulling you back to kiss him again. Reo laid down next to him and you went between kissing both men. Then, when you pulled back for some air, they turned and kissed each other. And fuck it was hot.

You couldn't resist joining in. The three of you kissed, a tangle of lips and tongues. Clothes were shed, hands across bodies, until everyone was breathless.

"Want you on my face," Nagi drawled.

"Think you could give me head during?" Reo asked. He'd been palming himself since you and Nagi started kissing and was desperate for some relief

You nodded eagerly and everyone shifted into a position that would allow everyone to be satisfied. Nagi licked a stripe up your cunt, making you gasp. He attached his lips to neglected clit, sucking. You tried to focus on Reo as you leaned over to kiss down his body. You swirled your tongue over his flushed, dripping tip. You licked up his length before taking him in your mouth.

Reo let out a content sigh as your cheeks hollowed around him. He ran his fingers through your hair, holding it out of your face as your bobbed your head on him. Meanwhile, Nagi continued to devour you, fucking you with his tongue. The moan the escaped you vibrated down Reo's cock, making him groan.

The sound of both of you being pleasured egged Nagi on, his tongue moving faster across your slit and your clit. It only took a few moments more for your to fall apart, cunt clenching around his wriggling tongue. The sensation of you cumming while sucking him off pushed Reo over the edge. His head feel back as he released on your tongue with a satisfied groan.

"Ride me?" Nagi asked when you caught your breath. It wasn't lost on you that Nagi found away to be involved in this without physically exerting himself much, but with what he could do with his tongue, you weren't mad.

Reo slid his hand down your body, wanting a taste of you. He lazily fingered your cunt open. "Fuck, you got her soaked Nagi," he breathed. "Bet she's gonna feel amazing." He sucked your release off his fingers with a pleasant hum.

You were straddling Nagi's hips, holding the base of his cock to line him up to you. He had his hands behind his head, watch you with a lazi grin as you slid down on him. You breathed through your teeth as you stretched around the size of him. He was easily one of the biggest so far.

"Mmm, just like that," Nagi drawled as you rolled your hips. Reo slid behind you, wraps his arms around to play with your tits. He tweaked your nipples, making you yelp. "Oh she liked that, Reo. Can feel her squeezing me."

Reo chuckled against your skin, continuing to palm your breast while your rode his best friend. Nagi cock twitched at the side of Reo kissing and touching you. "I think she'll really like this," nearly purred. His hand slid down your body, finding your aching clit.

"Fuck," you cried as he rubbed quick circles over the bud. Your hips stuttered as you tried to keep pace despite the bubble of pleasure growing in your tummy. Nagi finally decided to help you out, gripping your hips to fuck up into you. The sensation of him deep inside you as Reo toyed with your clit burst that bubble, euphoria flooding your veins.

Nagi fucked you through the orgasm, chasing his own high. You were totally spent, but that didn't stop of the boys from playing with you. A familiar sensation built up, but you didn't even have the voice to warn them before gushing all over.

"Fucking hell," Nagi groaned at the sight of you squirting on his cock. His release hit him immediately, pressing deeply into you one last time to fill you.

"God that was hot," Reo said. He helped you off Nagi, as your legs were like jelly. He ran to get a towel, helping you both clean up.

"So, did that live up to your bucket list expectations?" you asked.

Both men grinned. "Definitely."

Little did they know, they helped you with a list of your own.

****

You let out a sigh as you checked your phone. Isagi lost his wallet. Again. Practice had ended about an hour ago, but he knew you'd be around organizing all the equipment, which is why you got a text begging you to check the locker room. Of course you would, but not without telling him he's an idiot in desperate need of some air tags.

Typically you didn't go in the locker rooms, since that is where the guys changed, but with practice long over, you felt it was safe. You swept through the few rows of lockers, spying no wallet. You were texting Isagi as much when someone stepped out from the shower area.

"Y/n?" Otoya questioned. He was clad in nothing but a towel, which was hanging dangerously low on his hips. His hair was wet and messy, water droplets were rolling down his toned body. You fought the urge to lick your lips.

"Shit, I'm sorry Otoya," you said, "I thought everyone left. Isagi asked for me to look for something."

He chuckled, seemingly unbothered he was practically naked in front of you. "Let me guess, he lost his wallet."

You nodded. "You'd be right. I'm really sorry, though, I didn't mean to intrude."

He shrugged. "No worries, it doesn't bother me. Hell, I may have asked you to join me if I knew you were here." He tossed it out like a joke, but you could sense a current of truth.

You knew Otoya was a bit of a flirt, so you felt like it was worth the risk to be bold back. "That's too bad, I would have absolutely taken you up on that."

Otoya's eyes widened, clearly surprised his stupid flirting was actually getting him somewhere. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," you nodded, "I mean, look at you. I can't say no to that."

"I mean... I'm thinking I actually need another shower," Otoya replied, "If you care to join."

"Only if you think we won't get caught... you know how Ego is," you replied. This would definitely be risky, even though everyone should be long gone. It was a thrilling thought, pushing the boundary of what you could get away with.

"I'm the last guy here," Otoya assured you, "And I won't tell. I don't Ego on my ass more than he already is."

"Guess I won't be needing these, then." You slipped out of your leggings. "Or this." You pulled off your shirt, leaving you in just your underwear.

"Shit, I think I might be dream." Otoya eyed you hungrily. You giggled as he took your hand, pulling you to the showers. Luckily, Ego put a lot of money into the team's facilities, so the showers were actually quite nice - nothing like the typical grimy locker room showers.

Otoya stepped inside the stall, turning the shower on to a nice, warm temperature. He turned to you, beckoning for you to join him. You closed the curtain behind you, pulling him into the small dry are for a kiss. Otoya happily wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his body. His muscles were warm and firm against you and you could already feel him growing hard through the towel.

He pulled away from you, dropping the towel with a confident grin. You could see why - he was well endowed. He stepped under the water, reaching out his hand to you. "C'mon, I wanna get you wet," he said with a teasing smirk.

You laughed coyly as you shed your bra and panties, Otoya's eyes on you the whole time. The warmth of the water pulled a sigh from you as you returned to kissing him. He pulled away, grinning wickedly as an idea hit him. He lathered up some soap in his hands, rubbing it across your tits.

"You look good like this," he mused at the bubbles coating your skin. The soap allowed his hands to guide over you easily, making it more fun to play with your tits as he kissing you.

He pressed you against the stall wall, his thigh sliding between your legs. You mewled at the feeling of his strong muscle against your needy cunt. He slipped his free hand between you two, toying with your clit. You hummed pleasantly when he slid tow fingers inside, working you open for him.

"God, you're soaked," he said, voice strained. "Can't wait any longer."

"Don't keep me waiting then." You nipped at his lips as he pumped his length, before pressing into you. You gripped his shoulders as he split you open. He gave long, slow strokes as you adjusted to the feel of each other. His pupils flared open as he watched himself slide in and out of out.

Before you knew it, he cupped his hand under your knee, holding it up so he could get deeper inside you. You moaned in satisfaction at the feeling. You knew you should be quiet - you were still in the team locker room even if they should be gone, but you couldn't help yourself.

Otoya loved it, pumping into you harder to pull more noises out of you. His eyes flickered to the detachable shower head, a wicked gleam shining in them. He took it from the wall, aiming the gush of water at your clit.

"Shit," you cried out at the sudden surge of stimulation. "S-so good." You were breathless as your nails dug into him, desperate to hold on.

"Don't hold back," he panted. "Wanna hear you cumming my name." Your leg wrapped around him in response, pulling him closer as you tipped over the edge. Your orgasm hit you hard, the added stimulation of the shower head making it intense. If it wasn't for Otoya holding you up, your knees would have given out.

The sound of his name on your lips as your squeezed him broke his stamina. Otoya slowed as he milked his orgasm, filling you with all he had.

You were both flushed and giddy as you cleaned each other up in the shower. Otoya tossed you a towel after, grinning. "Any time you need a shower buddy, give me a call."

"Will do," you smiled. 3 more to go.

****

The second semester was progressing and while you only had 3 men left to get through, you felt the pressure to get this bet completed. You were still concerned about Rin, and decided you would tackle him last. You were keeping your eyes and ears open for opportunities for the other two, which Yukimiya thankfully gave you.

You shared a favorite band, who were dropping a new album. Yukimiya invited you over to his place to listen to it. He had record player and a great set of speakers, making the music sound heavenly. You both sat on his bed, letting the songs wash over you.

"I think this is their best album yet," Yukimiya commented as it came to an end. You nodded in agreement as you both launched into a discussion about the music. All the while, you drifted closer to each other, thighs and hands brushing each other. Even if it wasn't for the bet you were working on, you would feel drawn Yukimiya. He was handsome, sweet, and fun to talk with.

"What?" you asked when you noticed him staring at you.

"Nothing," he said with a sheepish grin, "You're just pretty."

You didn't have to fake the blush or the smile that crept across your face. "Thanks, for what it's worth, you're cute."

"Cute enough to break some rules?" Yukimiya suggested playfully.

You feigned offense. "Did you invite me here just for that?"

"Not just for that," Yukimiya teased back, "But I would be lying if I didn't it's something I wanted."

"And I said I wanted it too?" you dropped your voice to a slightly more sultry tone. Yukimiya shifted closer to you at the sound.

"I would say if no one finds out, it doesn't matter if a rule is broken."

"Mmm, I like the way you think." He cupped your face a pulled you in for a kiss. He was slightly more reserved than the other men you'd kissed, but still confident and purposeful. Like he wanted to enjoy himself, but not rush through it. There was something about the slowness that drove you mad, desperate for more.

"Someone's eager," Yukimiya mused as your ground against him. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, swollen from kissing. "Guess I should get you out of these." He took your shirt in his hand, pulling it off, before peeling off your pants.

"This what you wanted?" He asked as he rubbed light circles over your clothed cunt. A bemused smile played at his lips as he felt your underwear growing damp.

"Want more," you breathed, kissing at his neck as he toyed with you.

"Look at yourself," Yukimiya said, turning your so your back was flush his front. You were facing the mirror across from his bed. Your skin was flushed, the wet spot on your panties glaringly obvious. Yukimiya was peering at you from over your shoulder, a mischievous grin on his face. "So pretty when you're needy."

He pulled your underwear to the side, sliding his fingers through your wetness. He let out a pleased sigh as he slide two digits in, lazily stroking. Once they were coated in your slick, pulled them out to toy with your clit.

"You're good at that," you huffed breathlessly as he worked you up with his fingers. Going back and forth between fingering your cunt and stimulating your clit. The slow, steady increase in his pace had your cunt drooling and desperate for release.

"Fuck you're soaked," Yukimiya groaned, his eyes were glued to the mirror, watching his fingers slide in and out of you. "Gonna cum for me? Make a mess?"

"P-please, want it Yuki," you babbled, so close to the high you wanted. Yukimiya guided you there easily, cursing as your cunt clenched around his fingers and your body shuddered. He licked his lips watching you drip on to his lap.

He was already shifting beneath you, slipping himself out of his pants and boxers. Now he was feeling desperate, wanting to know what it felt like to be buried inside you. "Not done with you yet."

"Good, because neither am I," you replied. You leaned forward and arched your back, making it easier for him to slide inside you. You both mewled with pleasure. You rocked your hips, feeling his cock slide through your walls. You throbbed at the sight of you fucking yourself on him in the mirror.

Yukimiya couldn't tear his eyes away either, though he was looking down directly at where he slid inside you. He wanted more, to make you cum harder on him. You heard him spit before you felt it drop on your ass, warm and wet. He gripped your ass with one hand, while a finger of the other circled the tight hole.

"Oh fuck-" you gasped as he pressed his finger in your ass. That addition alone sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making each grind of your hips more intense. Yuki was transfixed at the sight of him filling you, loving the sounds you made.

You didn't last long after that, his name spilling from your lips as you practically collapsed from the intensity of the climax that hit you. It was light and heavy at the same time, making your head swim.

"Shit y/n," Yukimiya groaned, his cock twitching inside you. "You're like heaven." His head feel back with a groan as he spilled inside you, a beautiful sight for you to watch in the mirror.

Yukimiya helped clean you up before you parted ways with promises to discuss the album more when you weren't so... distracted. A surge of excitement hit you when you realized how close you were to winning.

****

The Blue Lock team made the playoffs, so, naturally, a party was in order. The house rented by some of the team members was filled with players and their friends, yourself included. Everyone was a bit drunker than normal, celebrating a successful season and boasting about all the goals they would score in the championship game.

You chuckled as you observed the scene, practically tasting the testosterone from all the posturing. Normally, you would have thought the team house was way too risky, given all the other guys around that could be potential witnesses. But tonight, there was enough of a crowd - and more than enough alcohol - that you were certain, given the right circumstance, you could pull it off. Your body tingled with excitement as you considered your options.

"Hey, y/n," Karasu grinned. He loved to be a little flirty with you, even though it's been months since you hooked up with him. "Were playing spin the bottle in the basement. Wanna come?"

Well, that was certainly an opening. "Sure."

You followed him down to the basement, where a sizable circle was formed on the floor. Some of the faces your recognized, some you didn't. Your eyes flickered Chigiri, who smiled shyly at you. You gave him a coy smile as you settled into a spot.

It took awhile for the bottle to work its way around to you. It was an endless cycle of spinning glass, teasing and giggling as the match made their way to the closet, where they spent 5 minutes kissing. Though, with the flush and panting of a few that left you wondered if they were using their time for a bit more.

When it was your turn, you had to hold in the cheer you wanted to let out as the bottle settled on exactly who you wanted. "Guess it's my lucky day," Chigiri flirted. You grinned; if only he knew how true that was for you.

You both made for the closet, sliding into a heated darkness as the door shut behind you. You felt Chigiri's hands on your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His lips were soft and almost sweet. You wouldn't be surprised if he was wearing some sort of cherry chapstick.

Chigiri was a little shy and tentative as he kissed you, which somehow spurred you on more. You stepped forward, pressing him against the wall. He moaned into your mouth as your body rubbed against his. The sound of it - practically a whimper - unlocked something in you.

You pulled away, just barely able to see the needy look Chigiri gave you through the darkness. "Are you hard, Chigiri?" you purred, ghosting your hand across his jeans.

"S-shit, I'm sorry." he mumbled.

"No need to apologize." You traced circles over the bulge in his pants. "Makes me wish we had more time. I could take care of that for you."

"Really?" he perked up.

"Of course," you replied. You nuzzled against his neck, kissing him. "Wanna make you feel good." You could feel him gulp at your words.

"Maybe...maybe we could go to my room after?" he was struggled to keep his voice even with how your lips brushed against his skin.

"We'd have to be sneaky," you replied, "Don't want us getting in trouble, you know?" Chigiri, unsurprisingly, was on board with whatever you wanted. You a made to go back to the circle, where Chigiri would go back to his room after a round. You would wait 3 more rounds before joining him, as to not arouse suspicion.

That plan led you to Chigiri's room about 10 minutes later, where you found him waiting on the bed for you. You practically pounced on him, not holding back how deeply you wanted to kiss him. Chigiri settled on the bed beneath you, letting you take control.

You stripped him down to his boxers, peppering kissing along his exposed skin. You sat back, admiring how Chigiri looked: skin flushed, hair haloed around him, and a needy gleam in his eye.

"You're so pretty, Chigiri," you hummed, running your finger down his chest. You toyed with the waistband of his boxers, watching him squirm.

He blushed at your compliment. He's not used to being called pretty as a guy, but he liked how it sounded coming from you. He liked even more that you were dipping your hand into his boxers, running your finger down his hard length.

"Bet you'd look even prettier cumming for me," you mused, pulling his boxers off. His tip was flushed a pretty shade of pink and already leaking. "Would you like that?"

"Please," he urged, voice strained with anticipation. You obliged, spitting into your hand and pumping him. You paid extra attention to his tip, swirling your finger over the tip and spreading his pre. You leaned down to press a kiss to it, making him whimper. The sound, the desperation caused your own arousal to pool between your legs.

"So sensitive," you hummed. You pumped his faster, giving an extra squeeze to work him up. You pushed to the point of the edge, just to slow down and hear him whine. You could keep it up for hours, but the desperate way he looked at you wore through your patience.

"F-fuck y/n, 'm-m close," Chigiri stumbled over his words.

"Cum for me, Chigiri," you purred. You watched as his tummy dipped from the effort of his release. He whimpered loudly as he came all over you hand and his tummy. "Good boy."

Chigiri let out a little whine at your words. He already getting hard again as he watched you lick up his release. You made your way back to his lips. You finally started to remove your clothes, letting Chigiri catch his breath and feel your body. By the time you were bare, he was rock hard again.

****

The energy in practice was tense, despite the team having won the semi finals and punched their ticket to the championships the night prior. The game, however, had been way too close, entering over time. Blue Lock got won by the skin of their teeth, thanks to the tie breaking goal by Rin.

"You idiots better not play like that in the finals," Rin snapped at the end of practice.

Barou bristled. "I could win the whole damn championship myself."

"Oh yeah? We only won yesterday because of my two goals," Rin fired back. "If it wasn't for me you'd be watching the championship from the stands."

"We all contributed, Rin," Isagi intervened. "You acting like a pompous ass isn't going to win us the championship."

"Nobody asked you, Isagi," Rin practically spot.

"Don't waste your breath, Isagi," Karasu butted in, a mean glint in his eyes. "Rin's just miserable because the only place he can score is on the field."

The group snickered as Rin's scowl deepened. You were surprised at the insinuation - was Rin a virgin? It was somewhat hard to believe given his good looks as status as one of the best athletes in campus but that look on his face...

"Whatever," Rin grumbled, heading away from the group. "When you all have to watch me score a hat trick in the finals, you'll wish you trained more instead of acting like fools."

Everyone dispersed after that and you waited a few minutes before following Rin to where you knew he was heading - the yoga room. He was the only one on the team who used it, so you knew you'd find him alone. You joined him on occasion, which he tolerated because you were pretty good at it and didn't bother him.

You knew this was your only shot and, frankly, the only time you felt nervous in this whole ordeal. If anyone was going to say no to you and blow this whole thing it would be Rin. But it was now or never.

"Hey Rin," you greeted. He was already seated on a mat. He gave you a grunt in reply. "Sorry those guys were such assholes to you."

Rin shrugged. "They're idiots. I don't care." Something in his voice told you he might care despite his cool exterior, so you continued.

"They are," you nodded, "But if you wanted those idiots to be wrong, I could help."

His eyes slid to you. "What do you mean?"

"The whole not scoring off the field thing," you replied. "Maybe I'm overstepping, but if what they said it true and you don't want it to be, I would be down."

"Are you offering to sleep with me?" Rin asked. "I don't need pity, you know."

Shit. You had to stay calm. "It's not pity, you're a good looking guy and the best on the team. Why wouldn't I?" You could see the slightest shift in his eyes, so you continued. "Besides, these guys think they're so smart. It would make them look stupid if they were dogging you for something that wasn't even true."

Rin was silent, mulling your offer over. His gaze was intense, but you knew you couldn't look away, couldn't show weakness. Rin was a perfectionist, if he thought you weren't up to his level, he would certainly say no.

"Okay," he said finally. You bit back a cheer. "But I don't want them knowing it was you. I don't need them thinking I got pity sex."

You could have kissed him for making it so easy. "That's fine with me." You made arrangements to meet at his place later that night. He was not one for wasting any time, apparently. His apartment was just how you expected: neat and orderly.

He sat on his bed, looking up at you with a look in his eye you'd never seen before.

"Are you nervous, Rin?" you asked, incredulous.

His brow furrowed. "No." But he couldn't stop the tint from from rising in his cheek.

"We don't have to you, know you," you said. Sure, it would suck to lose, but you wouldn't want it at the cost of making him uncomfortable.

"I'm not nervous," Rin reiterated. "Let's just get it going, okay?"

You rolled your eyes, but sat on the bed next to him. "So romantic."

The kiss was a bit tentative and stiff at first, but Rin slowly warmed to your rhythm. You spent some time like that, just letting him get used to you and not forcing anything too soon. Eventually, Rin's hands ventured to your body, feeling you up. You took it as permission to put your hands on him, climbing into his lap.

This kiss became progressively heated as you explored each other. You ground against him lightly, pulling stifled groans from Rin. He grunted impatiently, pulling at your clothing. You obliged his silent demand, getting your top off. You leaned over him, forcing him to lay back on the bed. He kept his eyes cool and almost bored, but you didn't miss the bob in his throat as he took in the sight of your tits.

"How far have you gone?" you asked, sliding your hand up under his shirt.

"I've fingered a girl," he told you.

"Oh? So is the soccer guy good with his hands?" you teased.

"I guess you'll find out," he replied, pulling you into him. He was growing my sure of himself now, sliding his hand between your legs. He teased you through your leggings as your tongues tangled. Eventually, he found his way inside your pants.

He didn't disappoint by jamming his fingers into you, as you'd fear a virgin would. He took the time to work you wet, before slipping two fingers inside. He pumped them confidently, finding the spot that made your breath hitch.

"Sounds like the soccer guy is good with his hands," Rin mused. You didn't protest as you let him work you up to an orgasm. He rubbed your clit in circles as pleasure rushed your body, making you cry out.

"You know, I'm surprised you are virgin," you commented as you caught your breath. He was good at that.

Rin shrugged. "I was focused on soccer."

You couldn't help but laugh at that, which made Rin scowl. However, he didnt' seem to care anymore as your stripped both of you of the rest of your clothes. "I'm gonna need you to focus on me now," you flirted. "At least for a few minutes."

Rin scoffed. "I'll last more than a few minutes."

You grinned. "Well see about that."

You couldn't lie, it felt good to see the Rin Itoshi falter beneath you as you pressed him inside you. The warmth and wetness was like nothing he had ever felt before. As you moved your hips, there was a flare of panic in him that he would, in fact, spill in you immediately. However, he refused to give you the satisfaction, nor hurt his own pride.

"You feel good Rin," you moaned, putting a little extra emphasis on it just to tease him. Despite your teasing, Rin was holding together better than you expected. He quickly learned your rhythm, finding a way to match your thrusts and press deeper inside you. It shouldn't surprise you, given how Rin approaches soccer. He was never passive about anything, needing to be the best at any new skill he learned.

"Fuck," he huffed, a crack in his calm facade. The feeling of you squeezing him was quickly wearing down his restraint. You were egged on by this show of weakness, bouncing on him even faster. Rin, not to be bested, found your clit once against and circled the sensitive bud.

When your second release hit you, it broke Roin too. The feel of your already tight cunt clamping down on his aching length was too much. He cursed again, fingers digging into your skin as he spilled inside you.

"Honestly, I thought people were over hyping sex," Rin commented as you both redressed, "But now I kind of get why those guys are such idiots about it."

You snorted. "I'm just happy I could help." But even more happy that you just won yourself a bet.

****

"I have to know, who is the best!" Your friend demanded.

"I got a top five for you," you smiled wickedly, excited to share your findings.

In 5th place was Chigiri. You never thought you'd enjoy being the more dominant one, but you thoroughly enjoyed taking charge of Chigiri.

"Of course that pretty boy liked that," your friend grinned.

In 4th place Barou. A bit rough, but he knew how to make it good. Plus, he was by far the biggest on the team.

"Barou having the biggest dick is shocking to no one," you friend commented.

3rd place was a tie between Nagi and Reo. Because you had them together, it was too hard to place them individually. Despite how much you enjoyed yourself, it also felt unfair to rank them higher since they had partner. But fairness be damned they earned a spot on the list.

Your friend sighed wistfully, wishing that she too could find herself between Nagi and Reo.

2nd place went to Yukimiya, which did not shock your friend at all.

"He's so fine, I could have told he'd be up there. But, then who's number one?"

"The winner is..." you made a little drum roll. "Bachira." You had not been able to stop thinking about how he so easily he toyed your body. How easily he pulled out the best orgasm out of you.

"Damn, who knew he had it in him?" you friend commented. "Guess I'm not that surprised he's a freak, though."

"Definitely not surprising, but very appreciated." You smiled, not just because you were a couple hundred dollars richer from winning this bet, but because you were already plotting how you could get some seconds.

[vbecker10]

Omg, could you please do a Loki story where Jotuns are basically space penguins, so now Loki has a crush on you and is frantically and meticulously looking for the perfect pebble to give you while Thor just watches and laughs.

The Pebble and the Frost Giant

Pairing: Loki x female reader (y/n)

Summary: Loki is trying to deny his feelings for you so he doesn't ruin your friendship but when he passes an area filled with pebbles and small rocks, he's unable to resist the urge to bring one back for you and tell you he loves you.

A/N: OMG! This is the cutest ask ever, I literally had to write it the second I got it. Most of the time it takes a week or so for me to get an idea from an ask but this one was pretty instant. Thank you so much for sending this, I really hope you like it! 💚

Also, I absolutely love the movie The Pebble and the Penguin! If anyone hasn't seen it, you should! 🐧

"Come on brother," Thor pats Loki on the knee and the younger prince looks up from his book in annoyance.

"I'm not going," Loki resumes reading as if Thor isn't there.

The older Asgardian sighs, "We've got at least an hour until the jet takes off. Let's go down by the water."

"I'm perfectly fine here," he licks his finger before flipping the page. Thor grins and pulls the book from his brother's grasp. "Give it back you oaf!"

"Just twenty minutes," Thor holds the book over his head.

"This trick worked much better when we were children and you towered over me," the younger prince easily reaches up to grip the book.

Before Loki can pull it free from his brother's grasp, Thor yanks it back and tosses it to the ground at their feet. "This is uncalled for," Loki bends to pick up the book but suddenly falls back, landing hard on the jet floor with a grunt.

"Is there a problem?" Thor asks with a smirk.

"No," Loki looks down at Mjolnir as it rests on top of his book. He stands, flicking his hand to produce a second book from his pocket dimension in a haze of green smoke. "I'll just read this-"

Thor chuckles as he pulls the book free from Loki a second time.

"Seriously?" The God of Mischief asks with a defeated sigh.

"Twenty minutes on the beach and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night," Thor offers.

"For the rest of the week," Loki counters.

"Fine," the God of Thunder agrees and Loki's second book vanishes as the two brothers step out of the jet.

Thor and Loki walk down by the water in silence, the older Asgardian's eyes drift up towards the clouds floating by while Loki scans the beach in boredom. He looks down to check his watch when he's suddenly distracted by a small pile of tide polished stones ahead of him. Without thinking, he leaves his brother's side and begins walking towards them.

"Where are you going?" Thor asks but Loki doesn't answer. He's too focused on the scattered rocks in front of him.

He kneels down, picking up a stone from the top of the pile, looking at it closely then tossing it to the side. "No," Loki mumbles to himself as he picks up a second then a third rock. "No," he shakes his head as he examines each for a few seconds.

"Loki," Thor comes closer, standing over his younger brother as he discards a handful of stones. Without a word, Loki gets up and moves to a nearby pile. "Okay seriously, what are you doing?"

"None of these are good," Loki answers, dusting his sand covered hands on his pants.

"They're rocks," Thor chuckles, amused by his brother's sudden obsession.

"Yes but there has to be one here that's good enough," Loki says. "Not just good, no, it needs to be perfect," he adds in a quieter tone.

"You're not making any sense," he follows the younger prince to yet another pile. "Perfect for what?"

"For who," Loki responds vaguely.

Thor thinks as he follows his brother along the beach, trying figure out who Loki is referring to. To say he has few friends is an understatement, there's really only one person who even comes to mind. "Do you mean Y/N?" Thor asks.

Loki nods, his attention stolen away by an almost perfect stone. Almost isn't good enough though, he thinks as he tosses it towards the water in frustration.

"Why do you need to find one for Y/N?" Thor asks as Loki sits on the sand and picks up a handful of rocks, throwing each away one at a time. "Does she collect rocks? I've heard some Midgardians do that. I wonder if that's more interesting than collecting stamps like Jane does?"

Loki doesn't answer this time, too lost in what he's doing, what he needs to do. I have to find it, he thinks. I don't have time for Thor and his ridiculous line of questions. It doesn't matter if he understands why, Norns I don't even understand why but that doesn't matter now. All that matters is finding Y/N the perfect stone. It can't be too big or too small, the size of her palm should work. It can't be broken, no cracked edges or holes, that won't do either. It needs to be perfect because- his frantic thoughts are cut off by his brother shouting.

"Norns! I know what you're doing," he stands over his brother who shifts to stay out of his shadow.

"I doubt that," Loki says without looking up from the stones in his hand. Because I don't know what I'm doing, he thinks.

"You're in love with Y/N," the older god announces when Loki gets up again to continue down the beach.

"Don't be absurd," Loki denies the truth he hides from everyone including you as he kneels down and begins the process of picking up each stone in the new pile one at a time.

"You are!" Thor laughs excitedly. "This is a Jotun thing."

"What Jotun thing?" Loki looks up at his brother.

"I know this! I read about it when we were younger," Thor says then sighs as he thinks. "I can't remember the technical term for it but when Jotun men are in love, they bring their potential partner a stone as like a proposal."

"What?" Loki asks as he sits in the sand and looks up at his brother. He had never heard of this tradition before now but he also knows very little about his Jotun heritage. When he was a child, frost giants scared him terribly so he never studied them. Now that he knows the truth, he is almost too afraid to learn what horrid tales about them were accurate and which were only made up stories.

"Penguins on Midgard do it too," Thor continues excitedly as he remembers what he read centuries ago. "Ahh! Pebbling, that's what they call it. You're pebbling, you can't help it, it's like an instinct Jotun's have."

"That's ridiculous Thor. I'm not pebbling, or whatever you want to call it, because I'm not in love with-" Loki tries to argue with his brother but the words die as he finally finds it. The perfect stone for the most perfect woman on Midgard, Loki thinks as he turns it over in his hand. Norns help me, my brother is right and I'm not sure I'll be able to hide my feelings for her any longer.

Loki opens your office door after knocking and you get up from your desk as soon as he steps inside. "Hi," you greet him happily, meeting him in the middle of the room. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," he smiles when you wrap your arms around him. "I'm glad to be back," Loki says but what he really means is that he's glad to be back with you.

You rest your head on his chest and his hands settle on your back, holding you tightly to him. You could stay in his arms forever and sometimes you think Loki might let you. He doesn't let go first, he never does.

"You know you spoil me with these hugs," you tell him and he chuckles. "You're going to make me think I'm special cause I'm the only person that gets them."

He rubs your back lightly with one hand, "You are special."

You blush and slowly drop your arms, taking a step away from him. You don't want to let go but if he keeps talking like that, you're afraid you'll do something stupid like kiss him.

Loki's heart pounds in his chest when he catches a glimpse of your blush despite your best efforts to hide it. "I have something for you," he says, clearing his throat.

"You do? You didn't have to do that," you tell him as a smile spreads across your face. You can't help but feel excited by the idea that Loki thought of you while he was away. He never brought anything back for you before.

"It's nothing big," he says with a shrug, "It's actually probably stupid." This was a bad idea, he thinks. How could I possibly think she would accept a silly rock and suddenly be mine? I never should have listened to my idiot brother. Loki puts his hand in his coat pocket, running his thumb over the flat edge anxiously.

"I'm sure it's not stupid," you tell him, putting your hand on his arm. "What is it?"

He sighs and you can tell he's nervous which you find both adorable and interesting. You've never seen him act so unsure of himself and it really makes you want to hug him again.

He pulls a palm sized flat stone out of his pocket. It's perfectly circular and a pale gray with a hint of a blue when it catches the light. "I found it on the beach while we were waiting for the jet," he tries to steady his hand when you take it. He knows it's just a simple rock but the Jotun part of him is truly desperate for you to accept it, to accept him.

You smile and take it from him, bringing it close so you can study the smooth stone, "Loki it's so pretty."

"Really?" he asks in disbelief.

"Yeah," you nod quickly, your eyes still on the gift as you walk over to the window and turn it on the light. "Oh, look! it sparkles in the sun," you giggle.

He breaths a sigh of relief and walks over to you. "You like it?"

"I love it," you reach up and kiss the god's cheek lightly without thinking. "I'm sorry," you apologize quickly but when you look up at Loki you're completely surprised by his reaction.

His cheeks redden and he smiles. "It's quite alright," he tells you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You giggle, suddenly feeling even more nervous than you would have if Loki had seemed uncomfortable with the kiss and take a step away from him. Turning your back to him, you move to your desk but you can feel him following you, "I'm gonna keep it right here so I can see it when I miss you." You place the stone in between a photo of your friends and a mug your nephew made you.

"You miss me?" he asks.

"Yeah... when you're away on missions," you suddenly worry this conversation is going to lead to you accidentally telling your friend you love him if you don't figure out how to keep your mouth shut.

"I miss you when I'm gone too," Loki moves a bit closer to you until he's right behind you.

You turn to face him again, "Really?" You can't help but not believe him. For months you've been hoping he might care for you the way you care for him but its been so difficult to get past all of his walls.

He nods, "Always Y/N. The second the jet takes off, I start counting down the minutes until I can see you again."

Now it's your turn to blush deeply when he reaches out to take your hand. When you feel his fingers intertwine with yours, you suddenly get enough to courage to open up a bit more. "I try to plan my meetings around when I know you'll be back," you tell him. "This way I'm free to see you as soon as your home."

He chuckles and cups your cheek, "I would storm in here even if you were in a meeting with Fury just for one of your hugs."

You giggle knowing he's not lying.

"Y/N," he says, "Since we're being honest, I need to tell you one more thing." You bite your lip but the way he smiles relaxes you instantly. "I want to be more than just your friend, I want to take you on a date." I want you to be mine because I love you, he almost adds but he doesn't want to scare you away.

You're unable to form any words at first, looking up at Loki nodding which causes him to laugh a little nervously. "I'm not sure if that's a yes," he says.

"Yes!" you finally find your words but then they flow a little too freely. "I love y-" you stop and correct yourself hoping he won't notice your slip. "I would love to go out with you."

He strokes your cheek gently, moving closer to you as he puts his other hand on your lower back. "That's not what you were going to say," he smirks, the confident Loki you know returning swiftly.

You shake your head and bite your lip, suddenly losing your nerve.

"Fine, I'll go first," his lips are inches from yours. "I am hopelessly in love with you darling."

As soon as the words leave Loki's lips, you press your lips to his, closing your eyes and gripping the fabric on the back of his jacket. He kisses you back and when you finally break the kiss and chuckles, kissing your nose lightly. "Go on, say it," he smiles, holding you close.

You giggle, "I love you too, Loki."

A few weeks later, you walk with Natasha and Wanda through Central Park on the way back from lunch. You nod as you listen to Wanda complain about Tony, agreeing with her when you accidentally kick a rock on the path in front of you. You stop to take a look at it and smile.

"What are you doing?" Nat asks as you bend down for a closer look.

"I don't know, I just thought this one looked cool," you tell them.

"The rock?" Wanda asks.

"Yeah," you pick it up and turn it over in your hand. It's not very large but the rough stone is heart shaped and such a deep gray it's almost black. "I think Loki might like it."

"You two are so weird," Nat laughs.

You smile and put it in your pocket, "That's why we're such a cute couple."

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[randomshyperson]

darling, can I be your favorite? - wanda maximoff x reader

summary: A game night at Agatha’s takes a chaotic turn when an old truth surfaces - one that Wanda didn’t expect, and one you thought had been buried by time. Sometimes, even the deepest love begs to be reassured.

warnings: jealousy; mentions of past sexual relationships; possessive behavior; magic-fueled argument; emotionally charged sex; explicit smut; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); praise kink; possessive!Wanda; soft aftermath; emotional vulnerability; affectionate teasing; pillow talk; mild angst with comfort; canon divergence. | words: 4.730k

a/n-> I wrote this as a draft, a couple of weeks ago, when I was going through a very intense Agatha's obsession period, and I totally forgot about it. I was not sure I would use it in a bigger fic because I do want to write immortal, vampire, etc y/n's, but since I didn't, you guys can read it while I work on the upcoming series.

General Masterlist | AO3 |

-&-

"Have you ever slept with my wife?"

The question fell like a thunderclap in the middle of a warm evening.

Silence followed it - dense, choking. Even the soft creak of the porch swing seemed to hold its breath.

You froze, arm still slung casually behind Wanda’s chair, the other hand mid-motion with the wine bottle tilted at a precarious angle. Agatha, across from you, mirrored your stillness, eyes wide, glass of red paused just shy of her lips.

Oh, you should’ve known. This was a terrible idea.

Go out with the witches, they said. Catch up. Share a drink. Invite the literal embodiment of Death, what could possibly go wrong?

It was supposed to be a pleasant night. Drinks on the porch, old stories, the comfort of familiar magic humming softly in the twilight air. But among the four of you, it was always hard to tell who had the sharpest claws - or the most fragile ego.

Your gaze flicked briefly to Wanda, who hadn’t moved. Her hand rested lightly on her thigh, but the tension in her knuckles betrayed her. Her eyes were locked onto Agatha with a heat that could’ve ignited the vineyard around you.

Of course, Agatha was the first to recover. That self-satisfied chuckle of hers was the sound of a match striking.

“What?” she said, tossing her curls over one shoulder like this was just another girls’ night and not a potential crime scene in the making. “Sweetheart, what kind of question is that?”

But Wanda didn’t blink. Her tone was even, and that was far more dangerous.

“A simple one, Aggie.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers on her stomach with rehearsed calm. “Did you two ever sleep together?”

You sucked in a slow breath and, with a tight-lipped smile, retracted your arm from behind Wanda’s chair. The bottle met the table with a soft clink as you moved the wine glass slightly out of reach. Your laugh - dry and brittle - escaped before you could stop it.

“Maybe we’ve had enough to drink for tonight. We should probably - ”

“We’re not leaving,” Wanda interrupted sharply, still staring at Agatha, “until she answers.”

You shifted in your seat, mouth already forming another protest when Rio spoke. Her voice was deceptively calm, but the gleam in her eyes was anything but.

“She?” she asked slowly, arms folding on the table, one brow arching. “What, Y/N can’t answer for herself? Or are you implying Agatha would… what? Force something? Be the only one to blame?”

“I didn’t say that,” Wanda replied coldly.

The atmosphere cracked - subtle, like a shift in the wind before a storm. You could feel it, static in your blood.

And then, Wanda turned her head toward you.

"So?" she asked, voice softer now, velvet over steel. “Tell us, darling - did you and Agatha ever sleep together?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked, maybe a little desperately, at Agatha, who, naturally, had decided to abandon ship entirely. That traitorous witch was lounging back, a slow grin tugging at her lips. She didn’t even bother to hide it. Especially not when Rio’s left hand slid beneath the table and gave her thigh a slow, possessive squeeze.

You watched it happen. You felt it happen. And still, you were the one on the spot.

“Go on,” Rio said, her voice like dark honey. “Tell us if you fucked my wife.”

Your chair scraped loudly against the wood as you stood up, hands raised, gesturing wildly.

“Okay, no - this is a goddamn trap. I’m not stupid. I’m not answering that.”

“Oh, why so jumpy?” Wanda asked, a chuckle breaking through - but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just a silly little question. We’re all friends here.”

“Debatable,” Agatha muttered under her breath. No one acknowledged it.

You laughed again. Hollow. “Nice try.”

“Darling,” Wanda said again, the smile falling away now. Her voice was raw silk. Dangerous. “Answer. My. Question.”

You sighed deeply, raking your hands through your hair. “I’m three hundred years old, Wanda.”

She arched an unimpressed brow. “That’s not what I asked.”

You groaned. Crossed your arms.

“You know I’ve been with other people before I met you.”

Her voice dropped. “Yes. Other people. But that’s not what I asked, either.”

You turned your eyes to Rio, who hadn’t blinked once since the start of this witch trial. She looked positively serene in her menace.

“I…” your throat tightened. “I want to go home.”

Wanda sighed, low and tight. “Darling, I swear - ”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Agatha snapped, standing abruptly, chair legs screeching against the wood. “Yes, Maximoff! Yes, we slept together. A hundred times. For fun. Out of boredom. Just because we could.”

The air trembled as her voice rose, the kind of voice that could split spells in two.

“You have no idea what eternity feels like, alright? We were friends and - what's the word the young ones use now… fuckbuddies, yes? That. We were that. Long before she decided to cross the ocean and play superhero. Then she met you. It's all good. It never meant anything like what I have with Rio. Or what she has with you. So, really, what are you even doing?”

The explosion was literal.

It happened fast. Magic burst like shrapnel. Spells lit the porch in violent flickers. Furniture launched into the air - an end table shattered against the railing, and you ducked just in time to avoid a cursed candlestick flying past your head.

You weren’t even sure who was fighting whom. At one point, you’re almost certain Wanda and Rio turned on each other, until Agatha yanked her wife out of the chaos with a flash of smoke and a hissed incantation. In the confusion, Rio still managed to catch your arm with a glancing slice - a clean little souvenir.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye properly. Just a muttered curse, a strained wave, and the metallic scent of blood on your sleeve as you guided your very pissed-off wife back to the car.

Wanda didn’t speak the whole drive home. Arms folded tight across her chest, lips pressed in a silent pout, gaze locked out the window. You just shook your head the whole way, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, trying to remind yourself that this was fine. That this wasn’t the first magical brawl you’d had to walk away from, and probably wouldn’t be the last.

The boys texted, cheerful and blissfully unaware. Billy, ever the optimist, had been the one to suggest the “moms’ night out.” A bonding experience. Something soft. Easy. He hadn’t accounted for jealousy spells and poorly buried history.

You replied simply:

“All good at Agatha’s. Hope your night was fun too. Love you.”

The house welcomed you with silence. The kind that echoes in corners and stretches across old wooden floors. You locked the door behind you, Wanda already halfway up the stairs without so much as a glance back. Her coat slipped off her shoulders and vanished midair with a lazy flick of magic.

You sighed.

Dropped your keys in the bowl by the door. Followed.

Neither of you spoke as you peeled off your clothes - the remnants of what was supposed to be a cute little night: soft slacks, silky blouses, the faint smell of wine and sandalwood still clinging to the fabric.

It was only once you were both half-undressed in the bedroom, the moonlight casting gentle patterns across the bedspread, that you couldn’t take her silence anymore.

“Wanda,” you said, voice low but sharp. “Can we talk about tonight?”

She stood with her back to you, fingers slowly working the buttons of her blouse. Her voice came clipped. “There’s nothing to say.”

You huffed a dry laugh, arms crossed loosely as you leaned against the edge of the dresser. “For you, maybe. You’ve been ignoring me since we left.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” she replied flatly. But she avoided your eyes.

You shot her a look that said really? And she sighed again, softer this time.

“I was thinking.”

You shifted your weight, still watching her. “I don’t like the silent treatment.”

She chuckled bitterly. “And I don’t like that you slept with our friend. But, you know, that’s life.”

“Oh my god.” You groaned, tugging your shirt off in one fluid motion and starting to work on your zipper. “This is absurd. You know that, right?”

“I quite agree,” she said dryly, snapping her gaze away from your exposed skin the second your shirt hit the floor. She turned, flustered, fingers unhooking her bra with brisk determination.

“I’m talking about you, Wanda,” you muttered, voice rising a little. “Getting worked up over something that happened a century ago.”

She barked out a sharp laugh and opened the closet, pulling a nightgown with far more force than necessary. “Worse,” you added, “over something that meant nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, eyes narrowed. “It meant nothing. Yet you did it. Hundreds of times, apparently. Just for fun. Like she said.”

“I didn’t even know you back then!” you snapped, incredulous.

The room pulsed with heat - part frustration, part something else, quieter and more tender. You hadn’t wanted to yell. But there was something under her sarcasm that stung. A crack in the armor.

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightened, and she turned slightly, clutching the fabric of her gown as if it might shield her from this conversation entirely.

But she just gives a short, breathy laugh - a sound too bitter to be real - and shakes her head as she steps out of her pants.

For a fleeting second, the weight of the fight evaporates. There she is. Your wife. Bare but for her dark panties, her body bathed in the soft light coming through the curtains.

And you forget how to be mad. You forget the argument.

Until she turns back toward you, and her eyes, glassy and red at the edges, stop you cold.

The frustration in your chest vanishes instantly. You straighten, step forward, and your voice softens like instinct.

“Darling,” you say, barely above a whisper, your hands cradling her cheeks, “why are you crying?”

She sniffs, lashes fluttering as she tries to blink the tears away. Her gaze avoids yours, but she leans into your touch like her skin remembers you better than her pride does.

“If you don’t talk to me,” you murmur, brushing your thumbs along her cheekbones, “how am I supposed to make it better?”

Her hands rise to your forearms, light and hesitant, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed this comfort. Her cheeks are flushed, and for a long moment, all she does is breathe unevenly.

Then, finally, her voice cracks through the quiet.

“Three centuries is a long time, Y/N,” she begins, barely audible. “I’ve only known you for seven years.”

You don’t interrupt. You just listen.

“I know it’s silly, I know,” she continues, voice wavering, “but… you and Agatha have this thing. This rhythm. This history. She’s always throwing it in my face - how well she knows you, how she can predict you, finish your thoughts. And she’s so - so aggravating about it.”

She laughs weakly, then sniffles again, eyes still not quite meeting yours. “And I just… I’m afraid I’m never going to get there. That I’ll always be this late chapter in your life. That I’ll never matter as much.”

Your heart aches at her honesty.

“Oh, Wanda,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to hers. “That’s not true. That’s not true at all.”

She closes her eyes when you kiss her temple - soft, slow, reverent. Then you pull her close, wrapping your arms around her, grounding her in your warmth.

“I love you so much,” you whisper against her hair. “You know that, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, just barely, and your hands gently guide her face back to yours.

“I do, Wanda. I love you a terrifying amount. And yes, Agatha and I have history. But she’s not more important than you. Just like I’m not more important than Rio.”

Your fingers trace calming circles along her waist as her breathing begins to even out.

“We do love each other - Agatha and I - but it’s a different love. Yes, we had sex. But we never made love. We never broke the laws of nature and brought life into the world like she did with Rio. And I’ve never loved someone like I love you.”

Her eyes search yours now, uncertain and wet. You hold her face again, more firmly this time.

“I’ve lived for centuries, Wanda. But it’s only with you that I’ve felt truly alive. Happy. Like I belong somewhere.”

You kiss the corner of her lips, soft and slow.

“I don’t know where these insecurities came from,” you murmur, brushing her tears away with your thumbs, “but I’ll spend every day proving you wrong. Every single day, I’ll remind you how loved you are. What do you say to that?”

Your attempt at lightness breaks the tension just enough. She lets out a teary little laugh and bumps her forehead gently against yours.

“I say…” she whispers, voice trembling, “you better start now.”

She leans in first, lips brushing yours without urgency, just breath and warmth and something far too tender to rush. You both stay like that for a while - nose to nose, hands resting lightly on bare skin, letting the quiet carry all the weight words couldn’t.

When your hands begin to move, it’s with a slowness that almost feels sacred. You know exactly where to touch - where her skin burns hotter, where she arches, where she melts. Your fingers trail down her back, pausing just long enough to tease, before pressing into her hips and lifting her effortlessly into your lap.

She doesn’t stop kissing you - deep and unhurried, her tongue moving against yours with the kind of longing that makes your bones ache. She moans softly when you break the kiss just long enough to ask:

“Shower or bed?”

But the way she clutches your jaw and kisses you harder is answer enough. You're lucky you made it as far as the bed.

She falls back against the mattress with a gasp, her hair fanned out like a halo in disarray. You move to follow, but she tugs you down with her, mouth never leaving yours, legs wrapping tightly around your waist.

The friction when your bodies align makes both of you shudder. Clothes half-on, half-off, hearts racing, and breath hitching.

You look down at her - cheeks flushed, pupils blown, lips kiss-bruised - and think this is what eternity was always meant to feel like.

Your lips trail down Wanda’s throat, lingering at the base where her pulse jumps under your mouth. Her fingers tangle in your hair, her legs tightening around you with a quiet urgency she hasn’t put into words yet.

She’s warm, flushed, her skin humming under your palms. Every breath she takes is just a little shakier, a little more desperate - and it draws something low and primal from inside you.

You kiss along her collarbone, slow and reverent, until her breath hitches and she arches up to meet you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper against her skin, your voice already rough with want. “So, so beautiful, Wanda…”

She exhales shakily, but instead of softening, something sharper slips into her expression. Her hand cradles your cheek for just a second, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, and then she says - quiet but certain - “I want you to forget her.”

You blink, breath catching.

She leans up to kiss you - not gently, this time, but deep, wet, almost possessive. Her fingers clutch at your sides, pulling you tighter against her until there’s no air left between your bodies.

“I want to be the only one you remember,” she whispers into your mouth. “The only one who ever made you feel like this.”

Her hips roll up against yours, grinding with slow, aching precision, and the friction makes you gasp.

You answer with your hands, gripping her thighs, pushing them apart just a little further. Her panties are soaked, clinging to her, and the heat of her against you makes your whole body throb.

“You are,” you breathe, your voice uneven. “You already are, Wanda - fuck - there’s never been anyone like you.”

But it’s not enough. Not for her.

“Then prove it,” she says.

Her fingers curl into the waistband of your underwear and tug - insistent, wordless. She strips you down without hesitation and pushes her own panties off in a single, impatient motion. The moment you’re bare, she pulls you into her again, gasping at the skin-to-skin contact, her legs locking around you like she needs to keep you there, tethered, owned.

“Say it again,” she whispers, her mouth at your ear now, her nails dragging lightly down your back. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” you murmur into her hair. “God, I love you.”

Your hand slips between you, fingers finding her soaked and aching. She shudders as you circle her clit, your strokes slow and deliberate. Her hips stutter, trying to chase more, but you keep the rhythm steady.

She whines in frustration and grabs your wrist.

“Inside,” she pants. “Now. I want you inside me.”

You oblige - because how could you not? You push in slowly, letting her stretch around you, savoring the way her breath trembles and her eyes flutter closed.

She gasps when you're fully inside her, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as if anchoring herself to this moment, this feeling.

“You feel so good,” she moans, her voice breaking into a breathless laugh. “So good - better than anyone else, right?”

You thrust slowly, deliberately deep. “Wanda…”

“Say it,” she demands again, her voice strained. “I want to hear you say I’m better than her.”

Your breath catches as you rock your hips into her again, and she tightens around you at the praise in your voice.

“You are,” you groan. “You’re better. The best. No one’s ever made me feel like this.”

She moans, high and desperate, nails digging into your back now, and you love the way she falls apart when she feels worshipped.

You keep the pace slow but deep, driving into her with just enough power to make her eyes roll back. She keeps clinging, gasping, her legs wrapped tight and her lips seeking yours over and over like she’s scared you’ll disappear.

“You're mine,” she says through gritted teeth, her voice raw. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, thrusting harder now. “Only yours, Wanda. Always.”

Something breaks in her then. She pulls you down into a messy, desperate kiss, hips jerking against your hand in time with your rhythm. You can feel her building - her walls fluttering, breath hitching, thighs trembling.

“Don’t stop,” she cries. “Don’t stop, don’t stop - ”

You don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

Her release crashes over her like a wave - her whole body arching, a broken moan leaving her throat as she clings to you like she’ll drown without your touch.

You groan against her neck, the world blurring around you both.

After, when you’re breathless and tangled and coated in sweat, she still refuses to let you go. Her fingers rest lightly on your spine, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, and her voice - softer now - fills the silence.

“I meant it,” she murmurs. “I want to be your best. Your only.”

You press a kiss to her temple, still catching your breath, and answer simply:

“You are.”

Wanda doesn’t wait this time.

The moment you’re fingers move out, she shifts you both on the bed, her thighs straddle your hips, and her fingers grip your wrists, pushing them into the mattress above your head. Her eyes - glassy, burning - search yours with something between a challenge and a plea.

“Let me,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Let me use you. I need to feel it.”

Your heart stutters. You nod. You’d give her anything.

Wanda kisses you - fierce, almost bruising - and she grinds down against your stomach, soaking and needy, desperate for friction. Her breath hitches, and she breaks the kiss just long enough to sit up on your lap. The sight is devastating - her flushed chest rising and falling, her thighs tight around you, her fingers trembling as she reaches between her legs to line herself up with your thigh.

She doesn’t ride your fingers. She doesn’t ask for your mouth.

She rides your body.

The slick heat of her folds drags along your skin as she rocks forward, her hands planted firmly on your chest. She sets the rhythm, grinding her clit against your hip bone like she’s chasing something she’s been denied for years.

You moan under her, completely helpless to do anything but watch her fall apart.

“I want to hear you,” she breathes, her voice already breaking. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” you manage to ask, breathless, utterly entranced by the way she moves - by the way her wetness smears across your skin, by the needy roll of her hips.

“That I’m better,” she pants, leaning down again, her mouth hovering over yours. “That I’m better than her. That you’ve never felt this way with anyone else.”

You blink up at her, stunned by the sharp ache in her voice.

Then you speak - raw and reverent.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had, Wanda. No one’s even close. No one’s ever touched me like this, made me feel like this. It’s you. Only you.”

A sound leaves her throat - half gasp, half sob - and her pace falters for just a moment before picking up again, faster now. She leans into your shoulder, moaning as she grinds against you, desperate, frantic, like she’s trying to brand the memory into both your skins.

Her walls flutter around nothing, her clit dragging over the line of your hip, and you can feel how close she is - how badly she wants to come from this alone.

You free your hands from hers gently and cup her face, guiding her to look at you again. “Let me touch you,” you whisper.

She nods, dazed, panting. “Yes - God, yes - please - ”

You flip her with ease - just enough to roll her under you - and immediately settle between her thighs. She moans at the shift, at the sudden emptiness, but then you’re there - mouth warm, hands steady, tongue pressed flat and slow against her soaked folds.

Wanda cries out, her back arching off the bed.

You hold her hips still as you suck her clit into your mouth, slow and deep, and you swear she’s trembling already.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” you murmur, lips brushing her as you speak. “This is mine, Wanda. No one else’s. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.”

She’s already shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to answer - but you don’t stop.

You fuck her with your mouth until she’s begging. Until her fingers clutch at the sheets, then at your hair, and her thighs start to close around your head.

“I’m gonna - oh God, Y/N - fuck, I’m - ”

She comes with a choked moan, clit pulsing against your tongue. But you don’t stop.

You moan softly as you keep licking her through it - slower, deeper, dragging it out until her legs tremble violently under your grip.

“Too much - ” she whines, trying to squirm away, but you pin her hips down, unrelenting, drunk on the taste of her.

“You said you wanted me to never forget,” you murmur, tongue still working her oversensitive flesh. “I’m making sure of it.”

Her next orgasm builds too fast. It rips through her with a sob, her fingers tangled in your hair like she’s holding on for dear life. Her voice breaks open as she moans your name, high and hoarse and wrecked.

When you finally pull away, her chest is heaving, her thighs soaked and twitching, her body flushed all over like she’s burning from the inside.

You crawl back up to her, kiss her slowly, and wipe her tears with your thumbs again.

And when her trembling fingers cup your cheek, she whispers, raw and hoarse:

“Mine.”

You kiss the corner of her lips. “Yours,” you promise. “Always yours.”

The air is thick with heat and the scent of sex, but it’s the quiet that lingers most.

Wanda lies boneless against you, one leg thrown over your hip, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, lips parted against your skin as she catches her breath. You hold her close, tracing lazy shapes along her spine, the softness of her skin still slightly damp beneath your fingertips.

Neither of you rushes to speak. It’s a sacred kind of silence. The kind that feels earned.

Eventually, you feel Wanda shift - just enough to rest her chin on your chest and glance up at you with glassy, blissed-out eyes. She’s flushed and glowing, her hair a wild mess over her face, and you grin as you tuck a strand behind her ear.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice husky but gentle.

She nods slowly. “Better than okay.” Her smile is sleepy, but a little shy, too. “Did I… go too far?”

You blink, then laugh softly, lifting your hand to cup her cheek. “Wanda. That was hot as fuck. If that’s what jealous and possessive feels like, I might have to make Agatha say something smug more often.”

Wanda gasps and hides her face in your chest, groaning. “Y/N!”

You laugh louder this time, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

She mumbles something against your skin, clearly flustered, and you kiss the top of her head.

“But seriously,” you say, quieter now, “we didn’t cross any lines. You didn’t hurt me. I didn’t push too much?”

Wanda shakes her head, nuzzling against you with a soft sigh. “You were perfect. You always are.”

“Debatable,” you whisper with a crooked grin, earning a small swat to your side.

You let the moment settle again before you shift just slightly, enough to look into her eyes.

“I get it, you know,” you murmur. “I really do.”

Wanda frowns softly. “Get what?”

“The feeling,” you admit, your voice dipping into something more vulnerable. “Of wondering if someone else meant more. If you’ll ever measure up to something you weren’t part of.”

You pause. Breathe. Let the words come slowly.

“Sometimes I think about Vision. The Mind Stone. That… connection you two had. And the twins - before they were mine, before I got to call them ours. I wonder if I’ll ever compare to what you had with him. If you’ll ever look at me the way you looked at him.”

Her breath hitches, and you almost regret saying it. Almost.

But then she cups your face and kisses you - slow, deep, and full of something so real it nearly brings tears to your eyes.

When she pulls back, she presses her forehead to yours and whispers, “I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. Never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You blink hard. Your throat tightens.

“He wasn’t my soulmate, Y/N,” she says. “He was comfort. He was safety. He gave me something when I was lost. But you… you found me. You brought me back to life. You’re the one who made me feel again.”

You don’t say anything at first. You just wrap your arms around her, tighter than before, and bury your face in her hair.

“I don’t care what fate or magic or some glowing rock decided,” she murmurs. “I choose you. Every time.”

Your voice is a little wrecked when you speak. “God, I love you.”

She smiles against your cheek. “I know.”

You pull back just enough to look at her again. “And just so we’re clear,” you add, grinning as you lean in close, your voice dipping with playful warmth, “you’re also definitely the best I’ve ever had.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, blushing to her ears. “Stop.”

“Never.”

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, tangled up in each other like vines, warm and safe and endlessly close. And even with everything unsaid still lingering in the shadows, what remains between you feels stronger than ever.

There’s no need to rush. Tonight, you’ve got time.

And tomorrow, too.

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely. I just had the scariest night last night and it ended with me in the ER for almost 7 hours. Basically I let a UTI go on too long and it traveled to my kidneys. But I was in the bathroom about to shower and I got super sick and dizzy and lightheaded, my hands and feet were tingling to the point of pain, I was DRENCHED in sweat. It was so so scary. I ended up passing out on the toilet (so embarrassing). I had to get my mom to come in and she took me to the ER and it was very rough there too because I was so dehydrated they couldn’t get a vein to give me fluids. So 6 times they tried, digging in my arm and all that before they finally got one. Later it ended up bursting which hurt a fuck ton. But all in all I feel like absolute shit.

If you can, could you write an EMT!marauders fic where something like that happens? Just the scary stuff in the beginning or whatever tickles your fancy. If not, no worries. I will just be reading and rereading all my faves of yours for the next few days while I try to get better 🥲

That sounds so awful, I'm sorry that happened to you!! Hope you're feeling much better by now lovely <3

cw: nonsexual nudity, dizziness, nausea, one sexual joke at the end

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 966 words

A knock on the bathroom door rouses you. Steam heavies the air, the porcelain of the bathtub slippery underneath your backside. You feel sick. 

“Hey.” It’s James’ voice, light as though he’s not really concerned. “Alright in there?” 

You look down blearily. A bottle of shampoo rests against your hip. You must have knocked it from the lip of the tub when you passed out, and James must have heard the sound. When did you pass out? For how long?

“James?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I need…can you come in here?” 

You hear the door open. Half the steam seems sucked from the room, cool air coming in. “Everything okay?” James asks. 

He tries to open the shower curtain, but you’re lying half on top of it and it doesn’t make it far. You lift up on one side to free it. Your entire body trembles with the effort. 

“Hey.” James definitely sounds concerned now, kneeling at your side. He puts a hand under your neck. “What happened? Did you fall?” 

“I don’t feel well.” 

“I can see that, sweetheart.” He shouts for the other boys. “Does anything hurt? Did you fall over?” 

“No,” you say. Footsteps sound outside, nearing you. “No, I sat down. But I think I passed out.” 

James frowns, taking your wrist to get your pulse. “What do you mean when you say you aren’t feeling well?” 

You don’t get a chance to answer before Sirius is pulling the curtain open further. “Baby, what the fuck?” He crouches beside James. It’s now that you realize how painfully naked you are, lying limply on the floor of the tub with hot water from the showerhead beating down on your lower half. “Did you slip?” 

“She passed out,” James answers for you, brows set in concentration as he feels your pulse. “But she sat down first.” 

“Oh, good girl.” 

Remus shuts off the water. You feel its absence immediately, your body at once lighter and colder. 

“Can I have a towel?” you ask. 

Sirius blinks as though he’s only just realizing your nakedness as well. He stands. “Right, I’ve got it.” 

“Why do you think you passed out?” Remus asks you. 

“I don’t know.” You want to give him a better answer, but it’s all you have. “I just got really lightheaded. I still feel sick.” 

“Sick like you’re going to throw up?” James presses. He lets go of your wrist, giving Remus a look you can’t interpret. 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius tsks, returning with a stack of towels and a fluffy robe. “Okay, well don’t worry too much about that. If you throw up you throw up, we just want to know what’s made you sick in the first place.” 

Between all three of them, they haul you out of the tub. The option of you trying to climb out on your own doesn’t seem to cross anyone’s mind. You land in Sirius’ lap, where you’re hastily wrapped in one towel and your hair in another, James drying your arms and legs with a third. 

“What else are you feeling?” Remus asks you. When you hesitate, “Anything at all, it could help us to know.” 

You try to take stock of yourself, shivering a bit as you do. 

“Cold?” Sirius deduces.

You hum. “And my stomach hurts.” 

He frowns. His hand covers your stomach over the towel protectively. “Yeah? Where does it hurt?” 

“Sort of…” You shift a bit, trying to show him. “On the side.” 

Sirius finds the spot like he knows just where you mean. “Around here?” 

“Yeah.” Panic makes your voice tight. “Don’t touch it, please.” 

“Okay. I won’t, sweetheart.” He moves hand away from your side, kissing your temple. “Have you noticed yourself feeling like you need to pee more often lately?” 

You give him a funny look. “I have a UTI, but this doesn’t feel like the same thing.” 

Remus groans. “Dove, really? You knew?” 

“I knew I had a UTI,” you say, confused. Wary, without really knowing why. “It’s not…this feels different.” 

“Why wouldn’t you treat it?” 

“I was going to.” 

“But when you wait like this and don’t tell us, you—” 

“Alright, alright,” James says in a peacemaking tone. He rubs the towel down your calf. “I think she’s got it, love. She’s clearly not enjoying this.” 

Remus closes his eyes, sighing. When he looks at you again, it’s with a softer gaze. “If you don’t treat a UTI,” he says patiently, “it can cause a kidney infection. I think that’s what you’re dealing with now, love.” 

“Oh.” Your voice smalls. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, that’s okay.” Sirius kisses your face again, his hold tightening when another shiver passes through you. “What’re you apologizing to us for, hm? You’re the one dealing with it. Passing out in showers and the like.” 

“I know you didn’t want this,” Remus promises you, his expression gentler now. James begins encouraging your arm into your robe. “We’ll get you to A&E, and they’ll give you antibiotics to take care of this, alright?” 

“Okay,” you say meekly. 

Slowly, they get you dried up, clothed, and upright. Sirius teases you about the dangers of not peeing after sex. Remus makes worried faces whenever your expression changes and offers to bring a bag along on the drive in case you’re sick. When you try to walk out of the bathroom and wobble, James is quick with an arm around your back. 

“C’mere, lovie.” He lifts you up into his arms. Clearly he’s trying to be gentle, but you moan anyway, pressing your forehead to his shoulder against a bout of dizziness. 

“Oh, I know,” Sirius coos. “You’re alright, baby. We’ll get you feeling better soon.” 

“I’m never letting any of you put it in me again,” you joke weakly. 

To your surprise, it’s Remus who laughs the loudest.

[macabrebatz]

SOMETHING THERE (Caged Warcraft Orc/Reader)

Summary: Orcs have invaded your world and you're tasked with taking care of a very angry, very injured imprisoned orc. But he's not the only one that's going to be taken care of.

Author’s Note: Hello, lovelies! A little while ago I got sent an ask here about the captured orc in the movie Warcraft (you can read the post here). I love the concept so much that I just had to write about him. He's unnamed in the movie so I just refer to him as an orc throughout this. This can be read as a generic orc x human story but just know this was written specifically with this big drooling guy in mind. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, fem! reader, orc x human, canon divergent, smut with some plot, teratophillia/monsterfucking, injured character, conversation about mates, teasing, size difference (this orc is bigger than you no matter your size), let's pretend that Warcraft orcs would actually fit for a moment, fingering, standing sex, rough sex, unprotected p in v, some degradation, possessiveness, he's mean I don't know what else to tell you, choking, hair pulling, semi public sex (?), Lothar makes an appearance, no aftercare, NOT beta read

Word count: 4.7k

Your job had been straightforward for the most part. You were a handmaiden often tasked with cleaning and maintaining the kingdom's dungeons. There had never been many prisoners kept in the lower parts of the castle, not while you had been of service there at least. Most of the time the cells were empty and you were often tasked with taking care of other parts of the castle instead, places frequently overlooked by the other maids.

But all of a sudden you found yourself busier than usual when a handful of knights dragged in a nearly dead creature of the likes you had never seen before. It took multiple men to pull him down the steps of the dungeons and into a barred cell.

Lothar, a man you had become friends with, followed behind his fellow knights, watching as they hovered around the prisoner.

“What exactly is he?” you asked quietly.

You had met all types of denizens of Azeroth. Elves, dwarves, worgen….but never anyone like the large, tusked man that laid before you.

Lothar shrugged, not knowing the answer to the question.

“If I knew I would tell you. They just…showed up. I don’t know where they came from. Or how many there are. We took the other one to the king for questioning. She’s tiny compared to the rest of them,” he mumbled.

You looked down at the floor, staring at the smeared trail of blood leading from the stairs to the cell.

“He’s wounded?” you questioned, looking back at the cell.

“Yes, he was going to attack the other one we captured. Can you keep him alive?” Lothar asked.

You nodded. You had cared for injured and sick prisoners before. Some of them probably wouldn’t have lived if it wasn’t for you.

“I’ll need supplies though.”

“I’ll get you everything you need. Just be careful and try to keep your distance as much as possible. He doesn’t seem to be the friendliest,” he said.

Lothar left you with the other knights, disappearing up the stairs. After a few minutes, he returned with a box of supplies, far more than enough to heal any wounds. He ushered the other knights out and wished you luck as he sauntered away.

You had unlocked the cell and spent a considerable amount of time trying to remove the rugged bone armor and leather from the sleeping creature's chest. You then began cleaning and stitching the stab wound, silently cursing Lothar for creating such a nasty wound to begin with. Never once did the being move or wake. His breathing was weak and a part of you thought he might die right then and there from the amount of blood he had lost.

But his chest continued to rise and fall as you snipped the end of the stitches with your shears. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you sat there for a moment, watching the sleeping creature.

He was large, bigger than any human you had ever seen. He had long greying hair and an untamed beard. Although his eyes were closed you could tell that one had been previously injured, the skin around it scarred and almost red. On the opposite side of his face, a deep scar ran from his lip up the side of his face. There were pieces of metal embedded in the skin where the wound had been closed and healed over the metal.

There was a part of you, deep inside your mind that found the rugged stranger quite attractive. But you ignored that part of your mind, pushing those thoughts aside. You knew nothing about the being that laid before you and you weren’t going to let curiosity get the better of you.

You wrapped a bandage around his shoulder and chest, something that proved to be quite difficult with how large he was. But you managed to do it regardless, securing the bandage so it wouldn’t move.

You stood up and walked out of the cell, closing the door behind you.

There was still blood all over the floor and you quickly turned your attention to that, scrubbing the floors by hand, something you had done time and time again.

About an hour passed and as you found yourself on your knees, scrubbing the last bit of blood off the floor you heard shuffling. You glanced over your shoulder to see the creature waking up, slowly sitting up, reaching for his chest and grimacing in pain.

He shook his head and looked around, growling as he slowly became more conscious. His head turned, stopping when his eyes laid on you. For a moment neither of you moved, staring at each other, but then the creature lurched forward toward the bars and let out a roar. You jumped back in surprise, almost knocking over the bucket of water sitting beside you.

The roar ceased as he grabbed his chest once again, falling onto his knees in pain. Your fear was quickly replaced with worry, standing up quickly and walking closer to the cell.

“You can’t do that. You’ll make the wound open back up,” you said.

He snarled and said something in a language you had never heard before. He sat back against the wall, glaring at you.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” you said.

He didn’t say anything else. He just sat there, grumbling and holding his chest.

And that’s how almost every day had gone for weeks. He would over-exert himself out of anger, trying to break through the bars of his cell. You would scold him, telling him he needed to rest, which he would ignore. He would yell at you in his native tongue and you would ignore him, setting down food and water in front of the bars, just enough for him to reach the plate but not you.

Some days the yelling and banging on the bars would get so loud that the knights that stood guard at the entrance of the dungeon came rushing in, scared for your safety. You would shoo them away, assuring the worried knights that you were fine. They were honestly happy to leave, not wanting to be so close to the creature behind the bars.

Not all days were like that though. Sometimes he was quiet, too tired to do his usual routine of raging. On those days you would talk to him while you cleaned or while he sat and ate, filling the void of silence with your voice.

You would just talk about things on your mind, gossip from the other handmaidens, stories you had heard from the knights that would try to flirt with you and impress you with their war stories. The table and chair that had been set out for you slowly inched closer every day as you sat and talked to him during lunch.

You rarely ever had anyone to talk to throughout the day. Sometimes one of the knights would join you for lunch or Lothar would talk with you as you cleaned when he wasn’t busy, but it was a rare occasion. So now you found yourself droning on to the prisoner during your time spent cleaning and your breaks. He didn’t seem to mind but you honestly couldn’t tell. His face often had some form of a grimace on it, a snarl always daring to creep up.

You weren’t sure if he could understand you either until one day, while the two of you ate, you finally asked him a question that had been on your mind.

“What exactly are you? Lothar hasn’t answered the question yet. You’re not human…not an elf. Your teeth are kind of like a troll’s teeth. A bit smaller than theirs though,” you rambled.

You didn’t expect him to say anything. On days like this, he never said anything. After a moment, he broke the silence with one word.

“Orc.”

You looked up from where you sat, glancing through the bars of the cell. He was looking back at you, his working eye staring at you.

“An orc? That’s what you are?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“So you’ve been able to understand me this entire time?”

“Yes.”

He leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. He didn’t say anything for the rest of the day.

A couple more weeks passed and the caged orc had seemingly calmed down. He no longer yelled and raged on, often sitting in silence.

But sometimes he would speak, occasionally answering questions you had about orcs and his culture. He was often cold, even mean when it came to replying, but you simply shook it off.

You asked him about his cloudy eye and the large scar running up his face. That seemed to perk him up. For the first time in almost a month, his cold demeanor dropped. He told you about the fights he won, boasting about how many times he had come close to death. It was the first time he had ever been talkative. Usually, he would give short responses to your questions but now he was painting vivid pictures for you as he told a story for every scar.

“And this,” he brought his hand up to the healing stab wound on his chest, “is nothing. A scratch.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You laugh, but it’s true. Your tiny knights couldn’t kill me if they tried,” he said.

“Lothar came pretty close,” you chuckled.

He frowned, a growl escaping his lips as he stood up and slowly walked towards you. You sat just out of reach from him, you had moved your table even closer to the cell over the past few days. Despite his gruff attitude he had begun to grow on you. You enjoyed talking to him and maybe even staring at him a little.

You took a sip from your water as he stepped closer, gripping his hand around one of the metal bars.

“You talk about that one a lot. Is he your mate?” he questioned, his voice low.

The question took you by surprise, causing you to choke on your water.

“No…no. He’s not. We’re not…no,” you said in between coughs.

The orc hummed, sounding almost amused by your answer and frantic coughing.

“No? One of the other knights then? Or one of those handmaidens you’re always talking about?” the orc asked.

You shook your head as you sat your glass down.

“I don’t have a…mate.” The word felt foreign to your lips. You could feel your face heat up as you frowned, averting your eyes from the orc.

There was a small moment of silence before you heard him chuckle, the sound of his voice echoing off the stone walls.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m sure you’ll find a puny little knight one of these days. Although I doubt they could keep you satisfied,” he said.

Your jaw dropped a bit, shocked by the sudden forwardness of the orc.

“I think I’ll be satisfied,” you said, scoffing.

“I highly doubt it. The men of your species seem…inadequate,” he said, sitting back down.

You couldn’t help but stare at him. Why was he talking about this? What was he getting at?

You shook your head, deciding to change the subject.

“How is your wound?” you asked.

“I told you. It’s just a scratch,” he mumbled.

“You were stabbed with a sword. You’re lucky you’re even alive,” you sighed.

He scoffed, sounding offended that you would even suggest that he could’ve died.

“May I please check it? To make sure it’s not infected?” you asked.

“I guess,” he grumbled.

You stood up, walking closer to the cell. You swore you could hear Lothar in your mind scolding you for doing exactly what he said not to do. But you couldn’t exactly keep your distance if you wanted to do your job properly.

The orc leaned towards the metal bars as your hands snaked through, untucking the bandages and slowly pulling them off of his chest. The orc grimaced at the sensation, traces of dried blood had caused the bandages to stick to his skin. You hadn’t had the opportunity to clean it. It was the first time since he had first arrived that you felt comfortable enough to get close enough to examine him.

“It looks…fine. It could use a little cleaning though. Wish I had a healing potion to give you but I don’t know any alchemists,” you said in a quiet voice.

“I don’t need any of that,” he grumbled, looking down at you.

“At least let me clean it. Surely dying from infection isn’t the way you want to go,” you joked.

“Fine,” he chuckled.

You smiled. It was odd hearing the orc laugh but you found it slightly endearing.

You turned, grabbing your supplies from the table and turning back around to the orc. You hummed to yourself as you cleaned his skin with a washcloth, wiping away all of the traces of dried blood.

“No mate,” the orc said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You looked up at him, confused.

“What?”

“You have no mate,” he said.

Really, this subject again?

“Yes, I thought we established this?” you asked.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why are you so interested in this subject?” you mumbled.

“You ask stupid questions all the time. Why can I not ask you a question?” he said.

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him, focusing your attention back on his wound.

“I don’t know. Just haven’t found the right person. Why do you care anyway? It’s not like we could be mates,” you huffed.

“And why is that?”

He was looking down at you. You felt your face heat up a bit as you averted your gaze.

“You’re too…mean. And grumpy. And I’m ninety percent sure you were going to try to kill me for the first few weeks you were here,” you said.

You turned away from him, grabbing a new roll of gauze.

“I’m not trying to kill you now,” he said.

You unrolled the gauze and started wrapping it around his chest.

“Yeah…I know. Can we please drop this subject? It’s not like I would be your type anyway.”

“Type?” he questioned, not understanding the phrase.

“Your type. It’s what you’re attracted to. Now shush and let me finish,” you said.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. All of a sudden it was becoming very hard to think clearly. Something about being so close to the orc while he was watching your every movement was managing to make your head foggy. Sure, you found him attractive. Something about his ruggedness and size was alluring. But you never expected him to make your knees weak. And he hadn’t even done anything to you.

You did your best to ignore whatever feelings were brewing inside of you as you finished bandaging his chest.

“There,” you said, “all better.”

“Thank you,” the orc grumbled.

The rest of the day came and went quietly, all without a word about the previous conversation. You found yourself staring at him. Your stomach felt fluttery and it was becoming more and more difficult to suppress what you had felt all along.

When you went to bed that night you couldn’t help but repeat the conversation in your head, completely puzzled by the orcs’ fascination with the fact that you were ‘unmated’.

Such an odd thing to be hung up on.

What was worse was that your own fascination with the orc seemed to be getting stronger.

So much so that you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned all night, your mind racing just at the thought of the imprisoned orc.

So much so that when you finally did fall asleep, you dreamed about him. You were being held by him in your dream, the same way you had hoped to one day be held by a knight or maybe even a skillful mage. But for some odd reason, the thought of being held by the orc brought you more comfort than every silly knight fantasy you ever had.

So much so that the next day you found yourself scooting your table and chair closer to his cell. Something you had already done but now you were repeating the process every day for a week, slowly inching it closer and closer.

So much so that you started to purposely loosen the laces at the top of your dress. At this point, you weren’t sure what was overtaking your mind. You found yourself wanting to tease him, something you never thought you’d do.

So much so that you had been lingering in the dungeon well past the curfew given to the maids. You wanted to be in his presence. To say he was growing on you was an understatement.

So much so that about a week later when you bent down to pick up his plate, something you had done every day since he arrived, you didn’t walk away from the cell.

This time the orc gripped you by your hair, yanking you back hard against the bars of the cell. You yelped as the plate dropped to the floor. He let go of your hair and his hand snaked through the bars, wrapping it around your throat. His other hand rested on your stomach, holding you in place.

“Are you done teasing?” he asked as his grip tightened around your throat.

“Teasing?” you squeaked.

“Do you really think I’m clueless? Every day you get closer and closer to this cage. You’ve been staying in here late at night. And your breasts have practically been falling out of your dress. It’s almost like you’re begging me to rip it off you,” he growled.

He was absolutely right. You had been caught red-handed.

“Are you going to explain yourself, human?”

He had you pressed against him so tightly that it was almost hard to breathe. You could feel something hardening against your backside and that fluttery feeling started building in your stomach.

“I just…”

“You just what?” he said.

“I just want you to touch me,” you said just above a whisper.

“Say that again. I didn’t quite hear you.”

You couldn’t see his face but you just knew there was a smirk plastered across it.

“Touch me. I want you to touch me,” you repeated.

“Just a few days ago I was ‘too mean’ for you but now look at you. All needy. Maybe if you ask nicely. Maybe if you beg,” he hummed.

Now he was the one teasing. He didn’t move, his hands didn’t even flinch. He just held you tight, pressing you against his erection.

“Please. May you please touch me?”

You were almost whining, pushing back against him. He chuckled, finding your neediness amusing.

He let go of your throat and turned you around so you were facing him. Sticking his hand through the cell, he brought it up to your bust and gripped your dress, ripping the fabric down the front like it was a piece of parchment. You gasped as it fell to the ground, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

“I liked that dress,” you pouted.

Not to mention the fact that it was technically your work uniform. A problem you would deal with later you supposed.

“You look better without it. Now take those off unless you want them ripped as well,” he said, looking down at you.

You nodded as you slipped off your undergarments, tossing them to the side.

He pulled you closer to the bars until you were almost pressed against them, lifting up one of your legs with his hand, cupping underneath your knee. His free hand snaked down and one of his large fingers found its way to your cunt, spreading apart your folds.

“You might as well be dripping. Already so wet and I haven’t even got started yet,” he said.

The orc didn’t give you time to respond as he slowly began pushing his finger inside of you, stretching you out as your walls wrapped around his massive digit. A moan escaped your lips and it echoed throughout the room.

“Sshhh, be quiet,” he shushed you, as he began to pump his finger inside of you.

His thumb rubbed against your clit, drawing little circles around it as his other fingers thrust in and out of your pussy.

You mindlessly ground into his hand, adding to the friction and causing ripples of pleasure to shoot through your body. You had never felt this full before. The size of one of his fingers was almost triple the size of a human’s.

Soon he was adding a second finger, gathering your wetness and pushing into your entrance, curling with every thrust of his hand.

“Gotta stretch you out if you want to take me,” he mumbled, fucking his hand into you at a quicker pace.

Your legs were trembling and you could feel yourself clenching around his fingers. His thumb rolled over your clit faster, pressing down on the sensitive bud.

You did your best to stifle your moan as your orgasm hit you.

“There you go. Cum on my hand,” he said.

One of your hands gripped onto a cell bar while the other reached through, reaching up and pressing against his shoulder for support.

He didn’t give you time to recover before his fingers slipped out of you and his other hand let go of your leg. His hands unfastened his pelt, revealing his hardened cock underneath. It felt like there was a lump in your throat as you swallowed, looking down at it. You could see why he insisted on stretching you out beforehand. You were a bit worried about it fitting inside of you.

“Don’t worry, it’ll fit,” he said as if he could read your mind, “Now turn around and bend over.”

You did as he said, turning your back towards him and leaning down. His hand grazed over your ass for a moment, giving it a light squeeze before he reached forward and grabbed your arms. He held your wrists behind your back, his large hands covering them completely. His other hand held his cock, sliding it against your clit, teasing you with the head.

You groaned, wanting to push back on him, but he held you firmly in place.

He slid his cock towards your entrance and began slowly pushing into the hole. You stretched around him, the feeling felt so new to you that it sent shivers up your spine. Although his fingers had done a good job stretching you out, it was still nowhere enough to accommodate the size of the orcs’ cock.

You felt him tug ever so slightly on your wrists, pulling your entire body closer to him, sliding into you at an agonizing pace.

Another moan began to slip from your mouth, unintentionally loud. Before it could come all the way out, his hand moved from your wrists to your mouth, muffling your moan as he continued slowly pushing his cock into you. He growled, a low rumble coming from his chest.

“Shush, you don’t want your little knights to come running in here, do you? You want them to see you like this?”

You shook your head, slightly horrified at the thought of a knight walking in, especially if that knight happened to be Lothar. You hadn’t even given that possibility a thought.

“Then be quiet for once,” the orc said.

You nodded, and his hand slipped away from your mouth. This time it settled on your shoulder, his other hand slipping off his cock and gripping onto your hip.

He held onto you as he began to slowly rock into you, thrusting the rest of his length into you. Your back arched as pain and pleasure crept up inside of you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked in a patronizing tone.

His hips were slamming against you, he was giving you no amount of time to adjust to his size. His balls slapped against your cunt with every thrust. That and the sound of you squelching around him radiated through the dungeon.

He reached forward, gripping your hair once more, pulling you all the way to the bars. You hissed as he yanked your head back.

“I asked you a question. Is this what you wanted?” he questioned.

“Yes. Ah-yes, this is what I wanted,” you said.

He let go of your hair, pushing you back down with his hand as he continued to pound into you through the cell bars.

“Look at you. Pathetic human. Taking my cock like a greedy slut,” he chuckled.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold back your moans. Every thrust was unrelenting. You could feel him sliding against that spongy spot inside of you and it was slowly pushing you closer to the edge.

You were getting louder and louder, whimpering as the orc fucked you.

His thrusts suddenly halted and you whined.

“No, why’d you stop?” you asked, near tears.

“I thought I told you to be quiet?”

“You did but-“

“But what?” he said.

“Please keep fucking me. I don’t care if they hear us. I only care about you,” you pleaded.

You weren’t sure what had overcome you but it was true. In that moment all you cared about was the orc behind you.

There was a brief pause before the orcs’ hands were wrapping around you, pulling you as close as he possibly could despite the cell bars between you. It was like something snapped in him as he began rutting into you, burying his cock deep inside of you with every roll of his hips.

You moaned, not caring if anyone heard you. You were so wrapped up in the pleasure that you weren’t even sure if you cared anymore if someone walked in.

“You’re mine, do you understand? I’ve ruined you. None of those pathetic knights can have this,” the orc growled behind you.

You were at a loss for words as ecstasy washed over you, too in a daze to answer.

“You don’t want them anyway, huh? I’ve stretched you out so much that only I’ll be able to satisfy you.”

You didn’t say anything but your body answered for you, clenching around his cock as he fucked you. And he noticed, grip tightening around you almost immediately like he was afraid you’d somehow slip away.

“Oh, you like that? You like that I’ve ruined you for everyone else? You want me to make you my mate, don’t you?” he said.

You found yourself nodding your head, not even thinking about it. Maybe it was just the pleasure or maybe there was truly something else. Something there deep in the back of your mind that wanted more of him.

“All mine,” he groaned.

Your body shook as you reached your second climax, moaning as you tightened around him.

“That’s it. That’s it. Cum on my cock. Just like that,” he grunted, still thrusting into you.

You were whimpering underneath him, slowly becoming overstimulated as he chased his own high, bucking into you. His cock twitched as he moaned, cumming deep inside of you. His hands were still wrapped around you, holding you through the bars as he filled you up.

Before you could pull away there were sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs.

Your mind was too foggy to even react when you looked up, seeing the all too familiar face of Lothar stopping at the dungeon entrance.

“Oh my….what are you two…put some clothes on!”

Lothar had covered his eyes with his hand, completely in shock.

The orc chuckled, letting go of you completely. Your legs buckled underneath you and you stumbled forward, slipping off his cock and falling to the ground.

You heard the jingle of keys before they were tossed near you, sliding on the stone floor.

“I was coming to let him out. He can thank his chieftain. I’m just…I’m going to go,” Lothar said, rushing out of the room.

You laid on the floor for a moment. Too exhausted to move, too embarrassed as well. You could feel the orc’s cum leaking out of you onto the stone. You would’ve fallen asleep right there if it wasn’t for the voice of the orc pulling you back to reality.

“Are you going to lay there all day or are you going to let me out, my sweet mate?”