#instead of just replacing them with the notes

[foxy-eva]

Silly Socks

Summary: Spencer never takes his mismatched socks off. Not even in bed. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) penetrative sex, reverse cowgirl position

Author’s Note: Just a fun little drabble because sex sometimes can be a little goofy (:

Word count: 500

Masterlist

Spencer was deep inside you as you rocked your hips against his, trying to adjust the angle to reach your climax. He was lying on his back, staring up at you with the utmost adoration in his eyes as you rode him with motions so precise it almost drove him insane. 

Leaning back, you tried but failed to get the right amount of pressure against your sweet spot. 

“You okay?” Spencer breathed as his palms brushed over your hips. 

Your movements came to halt as you softly spoke, “Is it okay if I turn around? I think that angle would feel better for me.”

“Of course,” he cooed.

You smirked at him as you noticed how much he had to hold back from infodumping about the advantages of the reverse cowgirl position. Silently you thanked him for not taking you out of your current headspace. Leaning down, you placed one last soft kiss on his lips before you lifted your hips to turn around on top of him. 

“I hope you enjoy the view,” you snickered as you felt his hands caressing the curve of your backside. 

“God, you’re absolutely perfect,” he sighed as he squeezed your soft flesh. 

With closed eyes you sank down on him again, slightly leaning back until you finally had the angle you were longing for. Slowly, you rocked your hips against his as the pressure inside you built in the best way possible. 

Then, you opened your eyes just long enough to realize you didn’t have the same kind of view your boyfriend currently enjoyed. 

Seeing Spencer’s mismatched socks, one purple with colorful dinosaur shapes on them and the other blue with dark anchors, let a genuine laugh escape your throat. Your own giggles took you out of the moment, so you stopped moving. 

“What is it?” Spencer asked with a breathy voice. 

You turned your head until you could see his face from the corner of your eyes. “Sorry, I forgot that you never take your socks off. They are so silly.” 

Spencer wiggled his toes for a moment. “Why would I take them off? They bring me good luck!”

“You’re already inside of me, how much more luck do you need?” You snickered. 

You felt his cock twitch inside you. “That only proves my point,” he chuckled. 

After a moment of silence, he said, “I can take them off if it bothers you.”

“No it’s fine. I just usually don’t directly look at them during sex.” 

“Maybe I should get socks that are sexy instead of silly,” Spencer joked. 

His words made you laugh again. “You’ll definitely need luck with that.” 

Slowly, you started moving again. It only took a few more moments until your bantering was replaced by sighs and moans falling from your lips as you chased that delicious high. When you finally fell over the edge, Spencer followed you into the sensation of pure bliss - proving yet again how lucky he was (even though his socks probably had nothing to do with that). 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment if you want me to keep writing more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb @thegoodwitchs-blog @yourvenusyour-love

[existence-is-a-pain87]

Without Eyes I'm Blind

Part 2 to With Eyes I See. Please read Part 1 for the necessary context regarding the story. Thank you

Yandere!Forsaken x Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors; darker themes; death; blood; murder; violence; cults; and more. Please read with caution, and to minors please read with EXTRA caution

Note: After I finish this mini-series, I'm gonna write more Dandy's World stuff with some Forsaken tossed in there. I'm also preparing to write a Block Tales thingy for a friend, so keep an eye out.

Also, futher note, when I was writing this Tumblr FUCKING CRASHED on me and I lost a ton of writing so I'm sorry this took awhile to come out. When it happened to me, I nearly tried to jump through a wall.

Also also, Guest 1337 wasn't included in this Part or Part 1 because in canon he's from a whole ahh different universe. Same with Jason. Don't worry, MC meets him in Part 3.

---

I almost forgot someone asked me to add a tag list to my main works. So here it is. If anyone else wants to be on it, just lemme know.

@amistakehadhappened

--☆☆☆☆☆--

You can't see anymore.

Your eyes are gone.

All you can do is feel. There isn't even darkness or pure light as people think blind people have.

Their is nothing. And you can perceive nothing via sight.

It's hell. You're in hell.

You just sit in a room, surrounded by soft and precious items as the cultists of the Spawn cult treat you with a holy reverence you don't deserve.

You are no angel.

But they like to think you are.

The chain around your neck is heavy. You can't move out of this room.

And god knows you can't find the key. You know your freedom is as good as dead.

That your life is good as dead.

You got a second chance, even replacing someone else's life. And this is what happened.

You hear the door to your prison cell open. They claim it's a room. It's a prison cell to you.

"Little bird, it's time to change your bandages." Two Time's voice rings in your ears. Too chipper. Too happy. They're too gleeful you're here. That you can't go.

"...fuck off." You whisper to them, and Two Time merely hums in response.

...

Two Time and Azure were the ones who took care of you as you were so helpless. You believed it was out of spite. They claimed it was out of love.

You hated them. You feared them. You wanted them gone forever.

You feel their hands gently undo the bandages around your eyes. They place their hands on your face, examining what remains.

You hear them click their tongue.

"Ah, you're healing so well," They muse, "Everyone will be happy to hear this. Soon enough, you may need no bandages at all."

You sit there in silence as they keep talking, redoing their bandages and leaving fleeting touches on their body.

But as you hear them get up to leave, you ask one question.

"Do you regret what you've done?"

There's silence for a moment.

"No." Two Time replies, "Because doing what I've done means never losing you. And I'd die before I lose you."

You hope their death is painful.

--☆☆☆--

You sit in the tub as Azure gently cleans you.

You despise moments like this. When you're alone with the ones responsible for this.

You don't move. You don't speak. You just exist there like a human doll as Azure keeps murmuring to you.

He pauses when you flinch when his hands touch your face.

You only move to pull his hands away from the bandages on your head.

"...you know I'm not going to do anything like that again, right?" Azure told you, "You can let others instead of Two Time change your bandages."

"You shouldn't have hurt me then." You bluntly replied, "Maybe then I wouldn't actively despise you."

Azure is silent, but you feel him press a kiss to your neck.

"I know you'll never forgive me, but I regret nothing." He tells you, "I just hope there is a day where you'll let me touch your face again."

You'll make sure there isn't.

--☆☆☆--

Time blurred together. But now, with no sight, it was actively hell to tell what time it was.

Perhaps it had been days since you lost your eyes. Maybe weeks. Or perhaps months.

You had no clue.

It could've even been years.

You hated this.

I have an offer to you.

At the voice that appears in your head, you naturally flinch and panic.

Calm down. Listen to what I have to say.

You have no idea who this is.

Then suddenly you see again. But it's purely red.

I have no name. I have no body. But I have power.

What did it want? You didn't know.

I want you. I know what you are. I can give you your sight back. I can give you more power. It will all have a cost, but you will have your freedom again.

You hesitate.

Only for a moment.

"You have a deal." You whisper aloud.

Don't you wish to hear what will offer.

"Tell me then. It won't change my answer."

...

...

...

You listened to all it had to offer.

Your body would change, and you'd need to consume flesh, blood, and the very life force of others to keep the sight it would give you.

It didn't have to be human. It could be animal, and plant in emergancy.

And it would always be able to keep tabs on you and take something from you sometime in the future.

You agreed immediately.

You held back your screams as your bones snapped and shifted, and as your very form transformed with uncomfortable pain.

You even blacked out for a bit.

But when you woke up, you could see again. Even if your eyes weren't back.

You just saw everything around you. Even through walls.

Your hair was longer now, and thicker. You knew why after you realized you could stretch out your hair into giant wings, four in total, with eyes along the tips.

Your ears were larger now, and almost goat-like despite being feathered. And short, horn-like antennae sticked out of your forehead. And you had three long tails that resembled a mix of ribbons and feathers that you could move as you pleased. And across your body were patterns of short feathers and your feet and hands resembled bird talons.

The entity apparently turned you into a bird. Or at least a human-like bird.

You knew there was more, but you wanted out before deciding to try out everything else you can do now.

You snapped the chain on your neck, it clattering to the floor as it held no use anymore.

You stood up and prowled to the door, peering out. When the coast was clear, you ran.

But now you were faster, and saw more.

It wasn't hard to find the way out now, even if you did get spotted.

You screeched as a knife flew into your arm as you were halfway out the door. Your head snapped to stare at who did it, and you saw...

The same woman who stabbed Gubby.

...

You decided to give yourself more time to see.

You charged, wrapping your hands around her neck as you threw her to the floor. You loomed over her as you felt your mouth stretch more wide than it ever could before. You felt the sharp teeth in your mouth almost grow.

And the last sound she made was a scream before your torn into her body.

There was practically nothing left of her after you feasted.

You stood over her, mind both buzzing with glee and regret.

But she hurt Gubby. She stabbed an innocent rabbit.

She deserved this.

She deserved it all.

As the others kept coming, you immediately ran again.

You didn't want to kill another human anymore.

However, if it was Two Time or Azure... or any of the cultists responsible for trapping you...

...yeah, you could make an excuse to do it.

But not now. Now you just want freedom.

So you ran. Ran as you were hunted down.

You ran and didn't stop.

--☆☆☆--

...just your luck you somehow ended up in a net trap like this was a cartoon, eh?

Your wings were out, pressing on the net as you couldn't get in a good position to rip the net without falling into the pit of spikes below you.

You weren't even sure how you got in the situation. Or why you were making bird sounds now.

You barely could think. You were just panicking. You were scared.

What if you were still being followed? You're trapped. They could get you again.

You didn't want to kill. You hated everyone in that damn cult and wished them death, but god, you felt worse committing murder.

Except on a select few, you'd gladly kill.

The sounds of footsteps fills your ears, and you freeze.

Oh god, is it the cultists?

You panic.

But it's not.

No.

You stay still as he approaches you, and you stare at his faceless head, his hood pulled down slightly.

You two stare silently at each other. Then he pulls out a knife.

You panic again, knowing enough of Taph's lore that he's probably going to end you to keep himself safe.

"Please, you have to help me-!" You blurt out, "Please, they're after me. Please! If they get me, I- I- I'm as good as dead."

Taph stares at you as you continue begging, desperate to not die again.

He doesn't put down the knife. Hell, he even raises it and you let out a small, almost-chirp-like sound in panic.

You flinch as he cuts you lose and catches you so you aren't impaled upon the spikes.

He beckons you to follow him, and you do. You'd rather not be captured by cultists again anyway.

Maybe you could trust Taph.

You hoped you could.

--☆☆☆--

Taph was very skeptical of you, so he kept his guard up around you.

You were just amazed he was willing to let you stay in his house. Even if he tended to avoid any interaction with you.

Though, you wanted to at least be on good terms with Taph. So you made him things like meals and helped clean up when needed.

Eventually, he started to warm up to you. You thought. At the very least he didn't leave the room when you walked in and taught you how to make a bomb.

It was a slow friendship that grew between you two. One of no judgment, and no hate. He couldn't speak and constantly lived in fear for his life, and you needed to hurt things just to see.

You both suffered together, and found bliss in it.

You were constantly terrified to lose this bliss, though. For Taph to witness you as a monster.

But you weren't fortunate enough to have him never catch you.

When he saw you for the first time, you were terrified.

---

You immediately dropped the deer corpse you were feasting on. You stared at the ex-demolitionist in horror, your mouth snapping shut like a bear trap as you couldn't stop having terrified trills and whines escaping from your mouth.

Oh god no- NO NO NO-

He saw you. He saw you eating. He saw you in your most monstrous state.

What if he hated you? What if he'd kill you?

You couldn't hurt him, not matter what he did.

Oh god- oh GOD-

You shake, your mind a mix of anxiety and animalistic terror.

As Taph crouches down, you bury you head in your hands and used your wings as a shield.

They gently nudge you, and you shake violently as you look up and see Taph offering you a chunk of the deer you were in the middle of eating.

You hesitate before taking it and feasting again, Taph gently petting your head in an attempt to comfort you.

---

It was that moment you realized he didn't hate you. He didn't even blame you for what you needed to do.

He was just kind. After that, he helped you catch your prey so it'd be easier for you to eat when you needed to, too.

You just helped pay him back more, and even started to go out of your way to deal with certain angry protesters when they found and got too close to his home.

You didn't want to hurt anyone. You didn't like killing people. But you didn't regret it if you did it to protect Taph.

You just tried to hide what you did from him.

You didn't know that he knew the whole time. And he didn't care.

The ex-demolitionist had his own secrets after all.

--☆☆☆--

Time blurred together while you lived at Taph's house. You lost track of the days since you got here, but it was fine. It was better than the cult ever was.

But you still confided in Taph about how you yearned to see more of the world, to never be a caged bird. To meet new people, to experience more, and to be more.

But you were scared. Scared to be caught by the Spawn cult again. You never wanted that again.

And Taph listened.

You didn't expect him to take action like how he did, though.

Waking up one morning, exiting your room, only to find fucking Builderman sitting on the couch while casually talking to Taph made you tweak out, naturally.

But you managed to compose yourself and talk to him, questioning so many things while desperately trying to stay polite.

You didn't expect him to take you being a... cannibal bird person super well.

You were surprised when he already knew. Even more so when he didn't hate you for it.

He wasn't at Taph's house for long, but it became kinda common for him to come over.

Eventually, one day, Builderman told you that you were going to be staying with the Admins at Taph's request and for your safety from the Spawn cult.

And because, earlier, you'd confessed to your otherworldly origins.

It astounded you that he did this, but you agreed.

At least you'd still be able to visit Taph.

--☆☆☆--

Much to your surprise, you weren't going to be staying with Builderman.

It was quite awkward when you went to Dusekkar's house and learned you'd be staying with him. You were just glad you understood his rhyming thing very well.

But Dusekkar was surprisingly nice and was more than willing to help you get settled into his house and didn't rush you when you hid away a good bit.

But he was patient and didn't mind your curse. Eventually, you warmed up to him, too.

He went out of his way to figure out how to make it so you'd have to kill and eat living creatures less to keep your sight by using his magic. It was by no means a cure, but it was a blessing.

He even taught you magic. Though yours is much more tech-oriented, to say the least.

You created yourself a magical screen of sorts that hovered over your face, black in color, that could display any image you willed in black and white. The screen could also transform into large fangs that hovered in front of your mouth to help you feast when you needed to.

You loved this screen. It hid the bandages you wore and how your face could make you horrifying to look at without the bandages. It helped you feel more human, more normal. Like your eyes weren't gone, and you were still kind of a human.

But it wasn't just Dusekkar, or Dusey as you started to call him after you two grew close, who was your friends among the Admins. There was Builderman, who you somehow got on a first-name basis with, and Shedletsky.

You became such great friends with this man it got to the point he literally gave you some of his fried chicken if you asked.

You were honestly astounded. Then again, he was really nice. And this was before 1x1x1x1 existed, which said a ton about him.

Becoming friends with the Roblox admins (or at least their versions in this world) was never something you expected. But here you are.

Good thing this wasn't Block Tales.

...

Even if being Forsaken was technically more of a hell.

--☆☆☆--

You had no idea how your disappearance effected everyone from before.

How could you?

It wasn't your fault you were gone anyways.

It just meant everything that happened in the past of Forsaken happened, even if you left an impact on all of them.

Noob and Guest 666 were the reason you moved back to your apartment in the first place due to a vicious argument about Chance which ended with you leaving. They came over the next morning to talk it out only to find your apartment trash, blood on the floor, and you gone.

Noob blamed himself while 666 blamed everyone else, especially Chance for getting involved in your life.

It led to their friendship collapsing, 666's ban, and eventually them both being Forsaken.

007n7 was devestated you were apparently murdered or kidnapped. c00lkidd took it even worse and lashed out. It led to him getting the c00lGUI and burning down Builder Brother's pizza as revenge for when you mentioned how your friendship with Elliot was crumbled over what seemed like nothing.

c00lkidd just blamed Elliot for making you sad and thought that was a part of why you were gone.

And when c00lkidd disappeared? When most of the best things in his life were gone?

007n7 couldn't handle it and ended it all, being Forsaken.

Elliot was Forsaken around this time too.

And John Doe was corrupted by the old code, and eventually both he and Jane were Forsaken as well.

Then ITrapped happened with Chance and he wasn't safe either.

And Two Time sacrificed Azure, and eventually he too was Forsaken.

--☆☆☆--

It happened eventually. You knew it would.

When all three admins you grew close with disappeared, you knew they were Forsaken.

You missed them dearly, but you just decided to move on and live your life.

It's what they would've wanted.

Not so fast.

You froze at the Entity's voice back in your head. For the first time in years since the deal.

You and I had a deal. I come for what I promised I would take.

"And what do you wish to take?" You questioned, already having lost so, so much. "You took my life. You took my humanity. You took my innocence. What's next?"

I want you.

...

...

...

Not even you could escape being Forsaken.

Ironic, is it not?

Because as you sit up on the dock you were transported to. As you take in your surroundings.

As you process every plan, every hope, every dream being crushed.

You scream.

You scream and scream and scream and scream

AND SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM

AND SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM AND SCREAM

And as you scream.

As you process it all was taken from you.

You realize just how blind you were to it all.

You may have gotten your sight back, but in the end it was worthless.

In the end, you still ended up in Hell.

In the end, you were a monster.

In the end, you died a monster.

[backwardshatnick]

in which bloom finds the photo strip in a book at the hotel room.

notes: ugh i love those pictures of emma watson and rupert grint so so much </333

series masterlist here

The morning after the fashion show, Matt had left the hotel early to use the hotel’s gym facilities. The self-help book that he had planned on reading for his trip not enough to keep his mind off of things, rather choosing to shift his pent-up frustrations onto a punching bag, adrenaline all shifting to his closed fists.

Forgetting that he had not flipped the Please Makeup Room sign at the door, Matt finally went back to a clean room, pillows fluffed and bedsheet crisp and taut with the worn-out thick book displayed in between the rolls of face towels on the bed.

The book was a paperback, its cover a bright shade of yellow with an equally vibrant red title. Something that catches the eye pretty easily as it had a cracked spine and few pages folded into a dog’s ear.

While Matt had been gone, spending his morning wearing off his knuckles as he continued to go for hits on the punching bag, Bloom was assigned to tidy his room, not remembering that it was the very same room that she had walked into to solve Matt’s necktie issue.

She noticed the flashy book by the nightstand when she went to replace the pencil and notepad that the room had, but that was not the only thing that had caught her attention. When the book fell from being accidentally pushed by her elbow, something nestled inside finally came out.

Something that was folded gently, faded slightly but still maintained the monochrome four tiny frames of laughter, glance, lean and fervency.

But that was not what had caused Bloom’s breath to hitch.

Instead, a handwritten scrawl, crooked and rushed had fascinated her as she ducked down to pick it up from the plush carpeted floor.

I don’t know what we are yet, but I think this is the part that I’ll miss the most. - prom night, 05.15.2021

Bloom stared at it for a long time, hands trembling just slightly, like the photo strip is something that she still had held onto— all creased, quiet and utterly unfinished.

She sat at the freshly made bed, not a care if it goes wrinkly by the time she stood up as she allowed her past to wash over her.

First it was the tie, now it was the photo strip.

The silence was too much for Bloom, her ears now ringing as she left the photo strip on the first few pages of the book, the very first image of them with their innocent grins slightly peeking out from the corner, waiting for Matt to notice later that night.

And notice he did.

ꫂ❁ @oopsiedaisydeer @bbgirlmatt @courta13 @mattspillowprincess

[mxtxfanatic]

The more I get into this translation and am able to read other works, the more I fear that the “plain language” of cnovels are actually a manmade problem and a self-fulfilling prophecy. Some translators, for whatever reason, flattened out the metaphors and imagery in the works they translated, those translations became popular and widely spread, people began to acclimate to this way of writing as “just the way cnovels are,” other translators internalizing this idea pick up other cnovels to work on, rinse and repeat. Cause there’s no way tgcf is this colorful and yet only a trickle of that shines through into English.

[hershelwidget]

something really funny happened

[engagemythrusters]

Here's some angst, because sometimes bodies just feel like a mess. plus a bad background xoxo

[danielnelsen]

anon who asked about chasind headcanons, i am not ignoring you, that is actually step 3 of my current project:

gather all chasind lore in existence

organise it into something coherent

fill in the gaps

unfortunately i have been on step 1 for about 2 weeks and it is currently a 130 page document and will still take a while to finish

but i am getting there!!! and i have formed many headcanons in the process about all kinds of things

[oneofthosecrazycatladies]

Okay so we have this huge problem with forgetting about everything that’s happened by the time the next election rolls around so I’d like to keep a running list of things as they’re happening to help remind us when the 2026 midterms roll around. And please add to this if I’ve missed anything.

January 2025:

Donald Trump pardoned 1500 people who participated in the insurrection of January 6th, including those who violently assaulted and nearly killed police officers.

Donald Trump has declared that trans and non-binary people don’t exist.

Donald Trump is working towards firing everyone in the government who isn’t loyal to him.

Donald Trump has effectively fired everyone who he claims is an “illegal DEI hire” …whatever that means

Donald Trump pulled out of the Paris Climate Agreement and the World Health Organization

Congress are trying to pass the Laken Riley Act to, effectively, round up every immigrant in the country, including LEGAL immigrants

Donald Trump removed caps on prescription drug prices.

Donald Trump wants to withhold federal aid to help combat the LA wildfires and help the thousands of people who have been displaced and lost their homes.

The Department of Justice has put a hold on all civil rights cases.

Donald Trump has cut off aid to Ukraine.

Laken Riley Act has been passed by Congress and is awaiting being signed into law by the President. Here’s the breakdown of the votes: House Senate

Donald Trump purged a dozen inspectors general from the federal government and intends to replace them all with people loyal to him.

Pete Hegseth has been confirmed as Secretary of Defense. Here’s the breakdown of how the Senate voted. Note, it was a 50-50 tie that JD Vance had to break.

Donald Trump imposed a 25% tariff on Colombia after the Colombian government turned away two airplanes carrying migrants. Columbia has retaliated by imposing a 25% tariff of its own on US goods.

Donald Trump has also issued a travel ban for Colombian citizens and revoked visas from Colombian migrants coming to the US.

Donald Trump has now backed off the tariffs and other threats against Colombia. Note for future reference: this comes just hours after Trump made the threat in the first place and he and the Colombian president got into a big fight on social media.

Nearly 1,000 migrants were arrested mostly in Chicago on January 26th by ICE and ICE has been told to meet a quota of 75 migrant arrests every day.

Donald Trump rescinded an anti-discrimination executive order from Lyndon B. Johnson

Donald Trump signed an executive order banning trans people from serving in the military and also ordered that people who were discharged for refusing to get mandatory vaccines be reinstated.

Donald Trump has frozen all federal grants to institutions.

After pressure from state governments, activist groups, and the general public, the White House has rolled back some of the freezes on federal funding.

Representative Andy Ogles (R-TN) has proposed a change to the 22nd Amendment to allow Donald Trump, specifically, to serve a third term.

Donald Trump is trying to fire all federal employees who don’t want to return to the office (work-from-home saves the federal government millions of taxpayer dollars in overhead). He also sent an email to federal employees saying that if they’re not loyal to him, they’ll be investigated.

Donald Trump has signed the Laken Riley Act into law.

Donald Trump has said he doesn’t think Palestinians should be allowed to return to Gaza but instead should be sent to Egypt and Jordan.

Native Americans have been targeted by ICE raids.

Donald Trump has ordered undocumented immigrants to be sent to Guantanamo Bay

Donald Trump signed an executive order to expand federal funding for school choice programs. [x]

Donald Trump signed an executive order saying that he will deport visa-holding students who protest against Israel. [x]

Donald Trump has blamed DEI for the plane crash that killed 67 people in Washington D. C. [x]

Donald Trump signed an executive order that schools should no longer teach about racism and discrimination. And that schools should only teach history that is “patriotic” [x]

Florida Representative Anna Paulina Luna wants to add Donald Trump’s face to Mount Rushmore. [x]

Trump’s Department of Education has called book bans a hoax. [x]

The Department of Justice has barred certain news outlets from receiving information from the Pentagon. [x]

The Trump administration has fired multiple FBI officials who investigated the January 6th insurrection. [x]

February-June 2025

I’ll keep adding to this list as new things come up and, again, please feel free to add anything I’ve missed. I know that in this world of constant news it’s easy to forget, so let’s give our future selves a little help!

[time-teller]

vent again, just.. UGHG I'M GOING TO WRING HIS FUCKING NECK WHEN I FIND HIM

[thegoldencontracts]

Culture Shock

—ꨄ︎ “Courting ritual? What are you talking about?”

Characters: Leona, Ruggie, Floyd, Azul

Notes: courting ritual misunderstanding brainrotttt drabbles LESGOO i live for the idea of the non-human students doing what they think is obvious flirting but you blatantly misunderstanding them lmao

Leona:

—Lions show courtship by following around their intended mate, biting, and pawing. Male lions will roar to make clear their intent. Lion courtship is fairly extended

He roared, pawing at your neck. You’ve noticed this pattern in behavior for a while now. He’s been following you around, asking if you’ll be talking to anyone else any time soon.

“Good,” he’d replied when you gave him a resounding ‘no’. “I’ll have you all to myself then.

What did he want? With no verbal answers from him you’d only been left with baseless speculation.

He bit your arm. He- he bit your arm.

And he seemed proud.

“Huh?”

Rather than apologize, or declare his intentions, or whatever, Leona stuck out his own arm, staring at your with darkened, narrowed eyes.

“I think it’s time we finally stopped playin’ around,” he said, leaning his face towards your own. “Seal the deal. Say what we’re both thinking.”

You blinked at him, owlish and trying quite desperately to figure out his intentions.

“…What are we both thinking, Leona-san?”

And suddenly, the coy sort of demeanor vanished, replaced by a mixture of surprise and irritation.

After a while, he spoke up.

“You seriously didn’t know this entire time?” He grumbled. What was he talking about.

“That’s why I’m asking,” you replied. “Please explain.”

But instead of explaining, he just huffed, pouting ever so slightly as he tossed your phone onto the bed.

“Tch. Figure it out yourself,” he said.

You just stood there, absolutely dumbfounded.

What the fuck.

Ruggie:

—Male hyenas are known to repeatedly step towards and step away from their intended mate. They then present their side to be smelled. They may also cross their legs.

“I can’t believe I of all people have to tell you to take a break!” He said, pouting. But he didn’t seem too bothered, content to lounge around in your room.

Ruggie stepped towards you, arm extended.

And then he stepped forward again.

And then, again, he stepped back.

And forward again.

“What are you doing?”

“Forward, Kantokusei-Kun,” he huffed, grabbing your arm.

And then he stepped back onto the bed, crossing his legs as he sat.

“Don’t leave me hangin’ now! Join me,” he said, voice slightly breathy.

…Was this his way of getting you to rest! How considerate! Ruggie really was nicer than he let on.

You sat, and then he-

Stuck out his arm.

“Well?” He said, looking at you expectantly. “Are you gonna do it, or—?”

…

“What are you talking about?”

”What.” All of a sudden, Ruggie was beet red, half angry, half embarrassed. “You never told me you weren’t interested- don’t-“

And then he stood up, plastering a smile on his face.

“Sorry, but I got a bunch of errands to run and- ohlookit’sLeona-sanbye!”

“Wait-“

He bolted out of your room, leaving you far more confused than before.

Floyd:

—Morays often open their mouths wide to signal intent to court. They also partake in a sort of mating dance, wrapping their bodies around one another.

Floyd yawned. Again. He must’ve been getting awfully bored now, huh?

“Sorry, Floyd,” you said. “I know you don’t like hearing me talk, but-“

He yawned again, mouth opened wide to reveal both his sets of jaws.

“What gave you that idea, Koebi-Chan?” He said, giggling. “I love hearin’ you talk! Your ideas are way more interesting than anything all those stupid guppies have to offer.”

But once again, he yawned. Actions spoke louder than words, you concluded.

Seeing you look at him with uncertainty, he grinned.

“I really am serious about this, y’know,” he said. “You’ll stay interestin’ for a long time.”

And suddenly-

“Dance with me, Koebi-Chan.”

He circled around you, grabbing your arms and gracefully moving around you as if he were trying to wrap himself around your body. When you failed to react, he paused, staring at you.

“Well?” He asked.

You just sighed. He must’ve been trying really hard to stop you from rambling.

“If you’re bored, you can just say so.”

Immediately, Floyd recoiled, like he’d been doused in a bucket of water. Or maybe oil. He’d probably like being covered in water since he was a moray, after all.

“What kinda go-good small fry do you take me for?” He huffed, looking downright offended. “This is laaame. I’m leaving.”

And without an explanation, he stormed out, leaving you staring blankly from within the confines of your room, absolutely dumbfounded.

Azul:

—Octopodes often cause appearance and body language to display intent to court, changing color, showing vibrant patterns, and standing tall with their suckers extended. Males will often latch on from behind.

“You have my attention now. You’d best not waste it,” Azul murmured lowly, showing you-

His arm. It was purple. Why was it purple.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You asked. Azul stood tall, leaning in towards you. You were worried for his health by now. His arms kept changing color, and you were wondering if he was being repeatedly beat up or something.

“You know exactly what’s wrong,” he said. “I intended to wait for you to approach, but you’ve been wearing my patience terribly thin.”

What. Was he talking about. Did he want you to offer to take him to the doctor, or—?

“You’ve done your research, I’m certain,” he said. His arm turned another shade, this time a bright blue.

Suddenly, his arm wrapped around your back.

“Tell me how you feel, Kantokusei-San.”

You just stared.

“Do you want me to take you to the doctor’s office, oooor—“

“No need.” For a brief second, Azul looked disappointed, before he covered it up with a smile. “I apologize for acting so foolishly. Goodness, I don’t know what’s gotten into me!”

“What were you-“

“I’ll be going now. Please, think nothing of my sudden behavior! I’ve just been feeling a little under the weather, you see. What I did says nothing about my feelings, I assure you.”

And with that, he was gone.

…

Okay, but seriously, what was up with his arm?

[falesten-iw]

Yoav Gallant wanted for crimes against humanity is warmly welcomed in Washington, while Gaza suffers through genocide. The same leaders who host war criminals dare to lecture the world on justice and human rights. This hypocrisy isn’t just staggering, it’s deadly.

My family in Gaza is enduring a nightmare no one should ever have to face: genocide, freezing nights without shelter, hunger, and prices so high that survival itself feels like a constant fight.

This campaign is for 26 lives hanging by a thread including two orphaned children and a family member who, after being struck by shrapnel, now suffers from hemiplegia. She urgently needs surgery to replace infected plates in her body. Every hour that passes brings her closer to death. The video showing the injured family member was shared earlier in this post: Link.

The world’s silence deepens our suffering, but you can be the change. Your donations will provide food, medicine, and the care they desperately need to survive. Every single act of kindness counts. Every donation helps keep them alive.

Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

[i-like-loserz]

apt for two

pairing: san x reader

cw: smut (18+), drunk!san with needy-desperate vibes (as always), afab!reader, friends-to-lovers, praise kink, mommy kink, handjob, nipple play (m!recieving), breeding kink, unprotected piv, eternal boner (you'll find out), mention of asian glow, san's fancam, not beta-read, etc.

wc: 4k (wow)

note: I WAS SUPPOSED TO FINISH LIKE THREE 1/4 DONE FICS BUT INSTEAD IM DOING THIS :) also i get asian glow too, so i love the representation i'm getting with drunk-teez!

1 shot

tonight was supposed to involve a pregame at your place before bar-hopping, but somebody decided to ditch you and turn in early (wooyoung). of course, it wasn't until 9:30 that you got the text.

you'd been waiting so patiently, only having one drink. you were saving the rest to share with your friends once he arrived. it was supposed to be the three of you, but now it's just--

2 shots

"maybe he's just tired because of work or something?"

san is sweet, trying to lighten your disappointment.

he just took his second shot, barely wincing as he swallows it quickly before gently setting the glass back on the counter -- you can tell he's trying to hide his distaste for the liquor.

"he's just hungover because he decided to go out without us last night, sannie..." you drone, "he's probably sleeping off the club."

"hm, you're probably right. but if he were here, it probably wouldn't be that fun if he's hungover."

"that's true..."

you pour another round of shots.

3 shots

"hey, let's play a game." san looks at you with bright eyes.

you can see it already -- the flush spreading across his cheeks. for such a big guy, he sure get tipsy easily.

"what kind of game? there's only the two of us."

"how about...apateu?"

"with two people?" he nods with a cute little smile. how could you deny him? "sure, if you want"

5 shots (for san)

you bite back an adoring smile as you watch san down a second shot. his expressions are a lot freer now, letting himself wince just from the smell of tequila, followed by a grossed-out groan after he takes it.

"okay, maybe we should stop. you've lost twice already." he's not very good at this game -- even when you let him pick the number for each turn.

"no, no, let's go again!" his eyes are glazed over, lids heavy from the liquor as he tries to convince you to continue.

you let a smile crack as you watch him sway prettily in front of you, "...you seem a lot more drunk than me though."

"hm?" he smiles back, "that's okay? right?"

you can't help but laugh at his adorableness. he picks up your shot glass and nudges it closer to you.

"just take one, so we're even."

it might just be the liquor, or that pretty blush on his face, but you're feeling bold.

"mm, but you had two, baby."

you say it so casually, yet he reacts to that word immediately. his expression is quickly replaced with something needy.

oh, so he liked that....

"t-then take two." he suggests with a stutter.

you pour yourself one more, right to the brim, and he watches on in awe. you drink it easily, enjoying the way san's eyes stare at your lips as you lick them clean.

"i don't think we're gonna make it to the bars tonight." you tease.

his small shy smile returns, "just stay here...with me, then."

5 shots + a glass of water (for san)

you guide san to the couch with a glass of water in your hand.

barely a few steps from the kitchen counter, he makes you stop for a moment so he can clumsily lace his fingers with yours.

"it's more secure" he murmurs shyly.

you don't say anything as you continue to lead him into the living room, but when you turn away you're biting your lip to stop yourself from pouncing on him.

you're afraid that your cuteness aggression will scare him away.

he immediately picks up a pillow to snuggle against his chest as he sits down. always needing something in his lap...

he looks up at you, all pink cheeks and smiles, as you set the glass of water down on the coffee table in front of him.

you sit down next to him and settle against the plush seat with a sigh.

"what now?" he asks eager and curious.

eager for what?

"well, first, drink some water," san obediently takes a few sips of water as you continue to speak, "do you want to watch a movie or something?"

you were planning on letting him crash on the couch, but how could you leave him when he's looking at you like that?

"hm..." he puts the glass down before looking back at you with a shy expression, "can we watch something else?"

"like what?"

"can i show you some of my fancams?"

"...fancams...?"

"yeah, i want to show you how i look in concert."

you almost giggle from how shy he's being. isn't tequila supposed to make you bolder?

"sannie, i've been to your concerts."

he pouts -- actually pouts, "but you haven't seen them like this!"

how could you deny him?

"ok, ok, let's have a look then."

you try to give him the remote to look it up, but he immediately struggles to type with it -- even turning off the tv at some point -- so you have to take over.

"so it's...'san fancam--'" you press in each letter individually.

"'--ice on my teeth 241115'" he finishes for you.

"...1...5..."

you finally type it all in and click on the video. you see woo (the ditcher of the night, you remind yourself) crouching in front of a sleekly dressed san, who looks very different from the soft and cuddly man next to you.

"how do you remember all of the numbers for the title?" you question as you finally relax back onto the couch.

he shrugs, "i dunno, i just do -- wait, start it over, we were talking during the start!"

"san, it's been like, two seconds."

"please??"

you start it over to placate him.

as you watch the video, you notice how quiet he is next to you.

he must be really into his own fancams...

you get it though. you've never watched his fancams before (you've only seen woo's because he forces you to binge them with him whenever you facetime), but he looks really good in that long coat, glasses, and with his hair slicked back like that, hitting every note with that stupidly handsome look on his face.

he looks so serious...so domineering. delectable.

so...not how you usually see him.

you turn to look at him, wondering if he's just as entranced by himself as you are -- but he's already looking at you.

you feel your cheeks heat up as you're caught ogling your friend, right in front of him.

"so...? do you like it?"

"yeah, it was a good performance, san."

"sannie." he corrects, "do you really like it, or are you just saying that?"

"no, i really like it--"

"which part? do you like the outfit? a lot of people say they like that outfit on me the most. but there's also one where i have on a see-through top..." he starts to ramble.

oh, now you know what he's looking for.

your voice is soft as you coo to him, "you looked great up there, sannie. so talented...and handsome." he smiles sheepishly as you compliment him, "did you show this to me because you wanted to show off? show me how good you are in front of a crowd?"

now he's shy.

"just wanted to know if you liked what you see."

you cradle his face with your hand, "you're so cute, baby," he melts against your touch, nuzzling his warm cheek against you, "just want some praise, hm?"

it's crazy that you have this man falling apart for you with a few words and a bare touch of your hand.

on stage, he looks so regal and put together.

right here? he looks undeniably soft and malleable.

"do you like me?"

"of course, i do." you caress his cheek with your thumb, enjoying the heat that radiates off his skin, "you're a sweetheart."

"no, like, do you like-like me?" his eyes meet yours, wide with hope and yearning.

"what, are we in middle school?" you tease.

he whines softly, "im serious"

you ignore his question and throw it back at him.

"do you like me?"

he's hesitant, timid, but eventually --

"mhm."

"oh really? since when?"

"since forever."

"why didn't you tell me?"

"because..." san briefly looks away, "because i don't know if you like me"

your hand drifts from his jaw to his chin. you can't help but admire his perfect features -- his fluffy hair, dark brows, intense eyes, cute nose, and...his lips.

you carefully glide your thumb over his pretty bottom lip, enamored by how pretty and pink it is.

he stutters out a breath.

"and if i do?"

"c-can you kiss me?" he sounds so sweet and timid when he asks. his eyes eagerly glance down at your lips as you drag his bottom lip down, revealing his pearly white teeth.

you're mesmerized by his mouth. you press against his perfect teeth and he opens up immediately, letting you drag your thumb against his soft tongue. he sucks it in, laving sweetly against the sensitive pad of your finger as he stares up at you, eager to please.

"such a good boy~"

he whines, brows furrowing in desperate need. what a sweet sound.

you move your hand from his mouth so you can get in a better position. you shift from the couch to his lap, wanting to feel his body against yours. his arms immediately loop around your body, finding your waist so he can press you closer.

you dip in, hand at the base of his neck to control him, and nudge your nose against his -- just to tease him. he tries to push up and press his lips to yours, but you stop him, hand firmly holding him back.

"what am i gonna do with you?" you shake your head, "silly boy..."

he looks confused, brows tighten together endearingly, an expression that's slightly embarrassed.

"i-i thought you wanted to kiss."

"did i say that?"

"n-no, but--"

"you think you're so pretty that anyone would let you hit?" your hand moves up to the center of his neck. you press gently on the sides of his throat, pulling a groan from his lips. "mm...maybe you are pretty..."

he shivers from the praise. you can tell he's trying to hold back, but he's still subtly trying to move his hips under you, desperate for any type of friction.

"please? just one kiss?"

"just one?" you ghost your lips on his.

he whimpers at the feeling. you guess his lips are especially sensitive.

"please"

you give in, leaning against his silky pink lips. you feel him melt against you, sighing into it like it's the sweet relief of water in a barren desert. he desperately attempts to pull you closer by your waist, but you're already firmly pressed against him.

he deepens the kiss, delicately licking against the seam of lips before diving in and dragging his tongue against yours. you taste the tequila and lust -- it makes you hungry for more. he moans prettily when you nip at his lips, sucking on the sweet, sensitive skin until it gets all puffy and plump.

when you break the kiss, he attempts to chase your lips for more, not ready to separate. you dodge his advances with an amused smile, loving how needy he is already.

"you said one kiss"

"mmm, i think i messed up on that one..." he swipes his tongue over his swollen lips as he stares hungrily at yours, eyelids heavy but gaze wanting, "can we try again?"

“maybe if you earn it again…”

he groans, “fuck,” he presses his hips against yours, making you feel how hard he is under his pants, “but i need you so bad, mommy.”

hearing that word slip from his beautiful lips almost makes you melt into a puddle, right on his lap. if it weren’t for the way you were straddling him, your thighs would’ve immediately pressed together from the amount of need you were feeling. 

you press down on him just as eagerly, panting from the pressure of his hard cock against your aching clit. 

"yeah? you gonna be a good boy and fill me up?"

"mhmm~" his deep voice drones, vibrating from his chest against yours, "please let me -- i need to be inside of you."

you roll your hips against him, coaxing cute whimpers from him with every press.

"think you deserve it?" you taunt. san can't even answer you, merely nodding with his eyes squeezed shut, reveling in the feeling of your body grinding against his.

your hands move down from his neck, over his chest and stomach before settling right against his covered cock. you can feel the way he twitches under his pants, desperately begging for attention.

he groans when you press against him, the minimal pressure is already too much for him to handle.

"you're already so hard for me." you stroke him over his pants, feeling the perfect contours of his erection even when separated by the fabric.

"m'always hard for you" he slurs, hips subtly flexed upwards in an attempt to feel more of you.

"let me see." you unbutton his pants with ease and use a bit of force to pull them off just far enough to reveal his pretty cock and the top of his legs. his blushing tip weeps delicately with beads of cum, already spilling against his shaft -- evidence of how close he already is to the edge.

when you wrap your hand around him, his body stiffens and his hands instantly grip over the top of your thighs to ground himself.

"w-wait...not yet--" he begs, head thrown back in ecstasy.

you haven't even done anything yet.

"sannie," you can feel him throbbing against your fingers, "baby, are you okay?"

"d-don't move." he shudders, "i m-might--"

you watch his facial expressions closely as you squeeze your fist around him, nearly drooling from the way his eyebrows scrunch together with intensity.

"oops..." you fail to hide your smile but it doesn't matter, he can't see it anyway. you swipe your thumb against the edge of his tip, massaging that sweet spot as his legs begin to shake.

you slip your other hand under his shirt, feeling up his muscled torso to his heaving chest. his skin is warm and smooth against your fingers and it makes you want to leave pretty marks all over him.

his back arches when you lazily drag your index finger against his nipple. you circle your finger around it experimentally and the needy bud hardens from your teasing touch.

"sensitive boy..." you hum.

he whimpers sweetly, "t-too much--"

you ignore his words and pinch his nipple. his mouth opens and he's barely able to take a handful of breaths before he's crying out in broken moans and thrusting against your hand. you work him through it with hushed praises, letting him fuck your fist until he's too weak to continue.

you take your other hand and run your fingers through his hair lovingly as his climax moves through him before caressing the back of his flushed neck. his overstimulated body shivers against your gentle touch, but he still leans into it.

he made a mess.

his cum spurted all over -- spilling over your hand and dripping on your lap -- so now, your pants (and his) are ruined. when san finally calms down a bit, he peeks down at the mess as well.

"i-i'm sorry, i tried to hold it in..." he stares at you with rounded eyes, sparkling with shame and embarrassment.

you tilt your head as you regard the flushed man before you, "if you're gonna be so messy, clean it up." he cowers slightly at your taunting words.

"h-how..."

you lift the hem of his shirt wordlessly and -- after a moment of confusion -- he obediently raises his arms to let you take it off. he watches on with a surprised expression as you bundle it up and use it to wipe your hands and lap.

"what? you thought i'd make you lick it up?" you tease, "didn't know you were that much of a pervert."

"i-no, i d-don't know." he stammers.

you accidentally brush against him as you're cleaning up and his body jolts harshly from the feeling. you gently move the shirt away and notice that he's still hard.

how the fuck--

he can feel your stare.

"u-um...it's..." he attempts to cover himself up with his hands, "this is normal." you throw his shirt to the side and take him by the wrists. you move his hands away and his cock twitches from your attention.

"is it?" when you look up at his face he's blushing, thoroughly embarrassed by his needy body.

"only...when i think of you." he says quietly, "y-you can just ignore it though." he stares at the way your smaller hands wrap around his wrists.

cute.

just to see what he'd do, you put his hands on your body, leading them up from your hips to your chest. he immediately gropes your tits in his large hands, letting out a pathetic noise.

"didn't know you were so insatiable..." you push him away and get off of his lap. he whines from the loss of contact but as soon as he sees you start to strip for him, he's silent, watching on in awe.

you pull off your shirt but leave your bra on -- just another way to tease and deprive him of what he wants. next, you shimmy off your pants before throwing them in his lap.

"look at the stains you left on them," you pout, "those were new." (no they weren't) "you're gonna have to buy me a new pair."

"yeah, o-ok, i'll buy you anything you want..." san ignores the pants and continues to stare at you with a cute spaced-out expression, refusing to miss even a second of you nearly naked in front of him.

he looks so good sitting there, waiting so patiently for you. his broad shoulders -- that stretch every shirt he owns -- lift every so often with the deep breaths he's taking.

his bare body is tan and fucking chiseled, you swear you could get off just grinding on his stupidly perfect abs. and the way he's keeping his hands to himself, despite how eager his cock stands for you.

when you start to approach him again, he shoves the stained clothing away to make room for you. you caress his face as you settle on top of him again.

"don't worry, baby, i'll help you."

"fuck, please."

back on top of him, you roll your hips so your covered cunt just barely grazes his hard cock. he lets out a helpless groan from the bare touch.

"oops, i forgot to take these off..." you snap the waistband of your panties against your hips, "is it okay if we just shove them to the side?" you ask, guiding his hand to feel the lace that decorates the edges.

he tugs at the fabric with thinly veiled frustration. you're surprised he hasn't lost it already. you loop your arms around his neck, letting him touch as much of you as he wants.

his hand travels under your thighs to press right over your clothed center.

"just don't mess these up too, okay?"

"i'll try my best" he presses the pads of his fingers against your cunt, feeling your wet slick soak through the thin fabric of your underwear. "f-fuck, you're already dripping."

"i'm all ready for you, sannie..." you press your hips against his hand, "you could probably just slip it right in" you whisper.

that's all the convincing it takes for him to push his hand under the fabric and run his finger against the soft lips of your cunt.

"feels good, baby~" you shove your face against the crook of his neck, mouthing and nipping against his skin. he hums gratefully at the praise -- it almost sounds like he's purring.

your slick coats his fingers as he rubs them against your sopping hole, gently pressing into you until you stretch around him. you bite your lip as he thrusts into you shallowly, barely able to finger-fuck you correctly because of how far his arm is stretched around your body.

you swear you're making a mess of his hand, dripping everywhere because of how much you want him inside of you. you pull your face away from his neck, eyes locking with his, "sannie, just fuck me."

you lift your hips up enough to press his weeping cock against you.

"b-but what about--"

you pull him in for a kiss and he immediately leans into it, melting against you once again. if you weren't so horny, you'd gush over how easy he is for you.

"don't worry, baby, i can take it."

san listens, pulling your panties to the side so he can position himself against you. he runs his cock against the seam of your cunt a few times to lubricate himself enough before slowly pushing against you. you press down at the same time, legs shaking slightly as your body stretches to accommodate his size.

"o-oh, fuck!" he chokes out, overwhelmed by the feeling of your soaking cunt sucking him in. you both moan when you sit all the way down, letting him fill you to the brim.

"mm...you fill me up so good, baby." you sigh, starting to roll your hips against him. he's so big that he presses against all the special spots inside of you with every move you make.

his hips involuntarily jerk upwards every time you lift your hips away from him, desperately needing to feel you all around him. he'd probably like cockwarming, you think -- or you would think if he wasn't fucking the thoughts from your mind.

"m-mommy, it's -- too much--" his hands wrap around your waist, squeezing faint bruises into your skin as he grapples with the feeling of your tightness fluttering around him.

your head tilts back as you speed up against him, "be good, sannie..." your breaths come out short and labored, "let mommy use your cock -- mm...fuck, yes." your mind is hazy as he hits all the right places inside of you.

he whines, pressing his face against your chest as you move against him, "i don't think i'm going to last." he twitches inside of you, already worked up to the edge.

"then go ahead," you breathe, "cum in me."

you feel the way his hips flex at the thought of filling you up, of making a mess out of you.

"i-i shouldn't..." he says -- but he's fucking up against you harder.

"why not, sannie?" you taunt, "don't want to get me pregnant?"

he lifts his head from your chest to look at you, "p-pregnant?"

"mhm," you smile down at him, "give me your babies so i can't go anywhere."

you're suddenly pressed against his hips, hard, his cock stretching you to your limit. you can feel him everywhere. you moan loudly, cunt fluttering uncontrollably from the intense pleasure he's pressing into you.

"you'd be mine?" he questions with an eager tone, almost innocently so. you can feel the way he throbs inside of you, just a touch away from tipping over the edge.

he refuses to move until you answer him.

so you try to. at least with the 1% of brain power he leaves you with.

"a-and you'd be mine." you can barely focus on the words you want to say.

san starts to shallowly thrust into you, "i'm already yours..."

"then i'm yours too."

his hands cradle your face as you continue to move against each other more desperately. he guides your face to his, pressing his lips against yours messily, teeth dragging and tongues mingling.

it's like he's only doing it to taste you. to feel you because he can't believe you're real. to claim your whole body because he can't take being away from you, even by a few centimeters.

you reach your highs together, moving perfectly in sync until you're both shaking in pleasure. you feel his hot cum fill you up, spurt after spurt -- so much in fact, you can feel it start to drip out of you, down his cock, and onto his lap.

"fuck, i might actually get pregnant from this." you say to yourself.

you feel him twitch inside of you again.

well, shit.

[classyrbf]

masseur!geto who had to replace your usual masseuse on their vacation week. You were quite surprised to walk in and find a handsome man in the room, greeting you in the most softest voice you’ve ever heard. You were getting your usual full body massage which of course included getting completely naked. You felt quite nervous when his hands started working their way into your skin, digging deep into the tense muscle, but it’s what you needed after a long work week. You noted how warm and big his hands were, groping at your skin so easily and rubbing the oil in. You also noted how close his hands would get when massaging your thighs, letting his fingers ghost near your bare cunt. He couldn’t see it, right? Wrong. The towel you had covered up with was just slightly too up high, giving him just a peek.

“You have such soft skin already,” he says, nearly whispering in your ear as his runs his hand along your back. “Do you moisturize often?” He asks.

“Y-yeah, every other day—ah!” A small moan erupted from your chest as his hands worked into your back. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s fine. It happens more often than you think,” he chuckled. “Is it this spot here that felt good?” He pressed into your back again, another small moan of relief escaping. He smirked to himself, continuously massaging the spot. “You’re so tense,” he sighed. “Can I try something new for you? I swear it’ll help.” His hands moved back down to your legs, fingers pressing into the fat of your thighs.

“Go ahead.” You gulped, keeping as still as possible. His oiled hands met the crease where your ass and thighs met, moving slightly inward. You hoped he didn’t notice it, how turned on you were. Was it even noticeable? Either way it was embarrassing, but it’s probably happened a lot, right? No, he’s going to think you’re an absolute pervert. You took a deep breath in, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Take a deep breath for me, yeah?” His voice was so gentle but so deep at the same time. You tried to shake those lustful thoughts out of your head, imagining him whispering in your ear and praising you every step of the way. God, have you really been this pent up that now you’re imagining sexual interactions with complete strangers? Eventually, you took in a breath, preparing for something life changing.

Your body slightly jolted, eyes wide open when you felt his fingers brush against your bare cunt, his fingers grazing over the skin ever so slightly, enough to make your heart race. But, you didn’t stop him, no, no. Instead, you let him continue, your breath hitching when he took his thumbs and spread your pussy open like he owned it. “Mmm,” he hummed, “I see where your issue is.” You felt him press him body weight against you, his breath fanning over your skin. Goosebumps quickly littered your skin, shivers sending down your spine.

“A-ah, oooh!” His fingers slowly stretched you open, a blissful sigh leaving your lips. His free hands caressed your thigh, moving higher up to remove the towel that was barely covering you. He slowly pumped his fingers, making sure every inch of them were coated with your slick. It felt like your whole body was burning up, both from embarrassment and excitement. You bit down on your bottom in attempts to muffle your moans, afraid that other clients would hear you. It was hard, especially when such an attractive man had his fingers stuffed deep inside you.

“Turn over for me.” He smirked, slowing his movements while he helped you turn over on your back, getting a full view of your body from the front. Your skin glistening from the oil, your nipples perky, begging to be sucked on. Oh, and that face of yours, those eyes that held all your desires and pleasures. He could see just how badly you wanted his fingers. “Remember to relax.” His eyes raked over your body, his hands moving down between your legs again. Without him even having to ask, you parted your legs for him, his thumb pressing down on your throbbing clit. He slowly began rubbing in circles, your breathy whimpers filling his ears. “What a good girl.” He hummed, running his hand up your chest, taking your nipple between his fingers and pinching it slightly.

“D-do you do this with all your clients?” You jokingly ask, sucking in a breath. You prop yourself up on your elbows, wanting to watching the way his pretty hands work you so well. He is an expert after all. He puts more pressure on your clit, your hips bucking forward.

You hear him let out a soft laugh. “Does it matter? As long as I do my job, right? Making sure you’re as relaxed as possible? Just enjoy it.” His fingers move from your clit back down to your sopping entrance, two of his fingers pushing their way past your folds. You let out a gasp, your body shuddering underneath his touch. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I got you. Just allow yourself to feel all of it.” He curls his finger up, pressing against your g-spot each time his fingers drag along your gummy walls.

Your heart beat grows louder, pounding in your ears like a drum. You don’t know how he’s doing this, making your entire body feel hot, your pussy so wet, you’re so unbelievably turned on you can’t even feel embarrassed about it anymore. “Faster, please,” you beg, brows burrowing in pleasure as you continue to watch his movements. He doesn’t say a word but listens to your request, your pussy squelching around his fingers as he picks up the pace. “Oh, fuck.” Your toes curl at the sensation.

His other hand comes down to press on your lower stomach, taking enjoyment in watching the way your eyes roll back and your pussy tightening around his fingers the closer you get. “Does that feel good, baby? Am I hitting all the right spots?” He looks down at you with lustful eyes, bringing his hand up to meet your throat, a firm grip on it but not exactly choking you. You look at him with teary eyes, nodding at him, unable to control your porn star like moans. “Yeah? Yeah?” He coos, staring directly at you while he obliterates your pussy with just his fingers. “I can feel you’re about to cum, aren’t you? You’re right on that edge, baby.”

“Please, please,” is all you manage to say, staring at him with the most desperate look of your life. You can feel that pressure building up quickly, just hint of what’s about to be the strongest orgasm you’ve had in a while. “I’m so close,” you say barely above a whisper. You pussy grows wetter and wetter with each passing second, and it takes everything in you not to completely let go right this second.

His eyes never leave yours, his arms flexing as he goes faster and harder, obsessed with how fucked out you look. “Can’t be too loud, baby, okay? You can cum for me, but keep that pretty mouth quiet.” You quickly nod in agreement, biting so hard on your bottom lip you’re afraid you might draw blood. “Go ahead, let it out for me. Let it—oh fuck, good girl. Keep fucking going.” Clear liquid gushes from your pussy and all over fingers, your squirt coating your thighs and the table below you. Your moans grow too loud, your entire body quivering in pleasure. “Shh, shh” His lips quickly land on yours, kissing you. “It’s a lot baby, but you can take it,” he says in between kisses. He’s greedy, wanting to drain you of every lost drop and drag out your orgasm as long as possible.

“Oh my god,” you pant, finally overcoming your orgasm, your body feeling like jelly. “Holy shit.” You gulp, sitting there trying to gather your thoughts. He presses one last kiss to your lips, slowly removing his fingers.

“Feel better?” He asks with a sly look on his face, grabbing a clean towel to wipe you off with.

“Y-yeah,” your voice is still shaky, “thank you.”

“Of course.” He wipes off your thighs. “Here, let me help you up.” He grabs your hand, guiding you off the table that soaked in your juices. You cover your face in embarrassment, uttering an apology. “Nothing to be sorry for. Let’s me know that you actually enjoyed it.” He knows he’ll quickly have to clean and disinfect it before the other person comes in. He smiles, grabbing another extra towel for you to wrap in. “I’ll let you get dressed and you can pay at the front. I had a nice time with you.”

“Me too, a really nice time.” He laughs at your words before walking to the door to give you privacy. You turned away as well to grab your clothes but then turned back, quickly stopping him. “Wait! Do you accept tips?”

taglist:

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just a little something while I revise classmate!gojo part 4😼

[verstappenverse]

Everything He Doesn’t Say

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max has never been good with words, but you’ve never once had to doubt how he feels.

Authors Note: Inspired by this amazing piece from @jungwnies 💕

1.3k words / Masterlist

You find the first one in your glove compartment.

It’s early. The sun is barely up and the pit of your stomach still churns with the anxiety of the meeting you’ve been rehearsing for in your head since 4 a.m. You get in your car, toss your bag onto the passenger seat and open the glovebox to grab the parking permit...

A folded square of paper slips out and lands on your lap.

You recognise his handwriting immediately, messy, slanted a little to the left, almost illegible to anyone else. The edges of the note are frayed like it had been sitting in his jeans for a day or two.

You’re going to kill it today. Like always. Proud of you. –M.

You stare at the note for a long moment. He didn’t say anything this morning when he hugged you at the door. Just pulled you in, kissed your forehead, murmured, “Don’t stress, baby,” and then disappeared back into the bedroom.

But this, this is different, like a whisper he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. You place it gently into the centre console, fingers grazing it one last time before you shift into reverse.

The second one is inside your gym bag.

You find it after a long day, half-asleep and grumpy and rummaging for your water bottle. You nearly miss it, folded between the towel and your sports bra.

It’s short.

Stop forgetting how hot you are. –M.

You snort. A laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Max has never been great with words. Not when it comes to you. Not in the I-love-you-so-much-my-soul-aches kind of way. He says you’re cute, or you smell nice, or stay close tonight, instead, but you’ve come to realise he says a lot more than he lets on.

You tuck the note into your purse beside your ID, where he’ll never know you kept it.

Max is in the kitchen when you get home that night, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up. There’s soup on the stove. A half-burnt piece of bread in the toaster.

“Hey,” he says, glancing up.

“Hey,” you reply, quietly.

You stop when you see what’s sitting on the counter.

Your old phone charger. The one that frayed weeks ago and sparks when you plug it in, the one you keep saying you’ll replace but never have. It’s not just been replaced but upgraded. A newer, longer cable. Still pink. Still tucked into the exact same cable holder you’d been using.

Next to it is your favourite chocolate bar. The one that's hard to find. The one you mentioned in passing weeks ago, "God, I miss those. Haven’t seen them in ages."

You blink. “Where’d you find that?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Petrol station outside of town. You don’t need to thank me.”

You pause, because you were about to. He always says that ‘You don’t need to thank me’ whether it's setting your alarm when you forget, running you a bath without asking, or quietly re-parking your car after you leave it crooked. He doesn’t say it to be dismissive. It’s almost shy, like he doesn’t know what to do when you look at him with full-blown gratitude.

He sets your mug down beside you, your favourite tea with just the right amount of honey.

You look at the counter again pink charger coiled neatly, wrapper waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching for the tea. “Thanks.”

Max doesn’t reply just shakes his head, chuckles and brushes his hand across your lower back. He hands you a bowl and waits for you to sit beside him on the couch, gently tugging the blanket over both your legs.

“I found the note,” you say after a few minutes, voice soft.

He doesn’t look at you. Just spoons soup into his mouth and shrugs. “What note?”

You smile. “The one in my gym bag.”

“Oh.” He blinks like he genuinely forgot. “That was meant for Monday.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, heart stupidly full. “Still worked.”

He never posts about you on Instagram.

It used to sting a little, in the beginning before you understood him, before you stopped comparing him to other people.

Because Max doesn’t care about optics, doesn’t feel the need to declare his love in public or share photos from every date night. He barely remembers to post anything at all unless someone reminds him.

But he does change his lockscreen.

You notice it one night while he’s asleep, phone buzzing softly on the nightstand with some notification he’ll ignore until morning. You pick it up to silence it and catch a glimpse of the photo.

It’s from your trip to Lake Como last summer.

You’re not even looking at the camera, head turned, eyes bright, smiling at something stupid he said. It’s not posed, it’s not perfect, but you look happy.

And he chose that version of you, the soft, unfiltered one.

You place the phone back down without a word and curl closer to his chest, whispering a quiet I love you into the dark.

Sometimes he sends you videos. Random ones.

A goose chasing a guy down a beach. A cat flipping off a countertop. A golden retriever refusing to drop the stick that’s three times its size.

No caption. No context.

It always comes when you’ve been apart too long both of you swamped with work. You’ve learned to read between the lines. It’s never just a meme.

It’s I miss you. It’s Can we talk? It’s I just want to hear your laugh.

You send one back. He replies immediately.

And just like that you’re texting again, heart full.

You walk in on him reading one night.

It’s the same book you’ve been talking about for months, the one you rambled about over dinner, quoting passages like a hopeless romantic.

Max is not a reader. He struggles to sit still unless he’s in a simulator or watching race footage, but there he is, lying on his back, squinting at the tiny print, brow furrowed like he’s concentrating harder than he does in qualifying.

“Max?”

He looks up, startled.

“Are you seriously reading that?”

He shifts awkwardly. “Just wanted to see what it’s about.”

You move toward him slowly, cautiously.

“And?”

“It’s... alright.”

“You hate it.”

“No,” he says too quickly. “It’s just... kinda dramatic... but the girl talks like you. Like, the way she explains stuff. I get it now. Why you like it.”

He flushes and looks back at the page, mumbling. You lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth and hope he understands that this means more than a thousand grand gestures.

Max doesn’t say “I love you” very often.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel it, he just doesn’t know what to do with big, consuming emotions, but he shows it.

In the way he tucks your hair behind your ear when you're too sleepy to do it yourself. In the way he places his hand on your back when you're walking through a crowd. In how he notices when your hands are cold before you do and slips his into yours without a word.

And especially when he drives.

You notice it every single time, how he buckles your seatbelt before his own. Leans over and makes sure it clicks. Tugs it gently to test the tension. Only then does he fasten his own and start the engine.

It’s so automatic now, so ingrained, you don't think he even realises he’s doing it, but you do.

You always do.

One night, months into this quiet, gentle love you’ve built, you find another note.

Tucked into your left sneaker. The old pair you rarely ever wear.

You unfold it and feel your chest tighten.

You make everyday better. –M.

You press the note to your lips, overwhelmed, and decide then and there that maybe he doesn’t need to say “I love you” often, because he’s always saying it in his own way.

In every little thing.

[mephisto-reporting]

The Engineer's Gravity - Yandere! Caleb

Plot: You're a biomechanical engineer in Caleb's fleet, incharge of repairs of prosthetic parts. What happens when you become the subject of the Colonel's obsession? Based on this request. Pairing: Non MC Mechanic! Reader x Yandere! Caleb Note: This story is with slightly darker themes. I do not want people to come at me saying Caleb isn't like this. Yes, I know. This is a Yandere! version of Caleb. Please keep that in mind. If you want to be a part of my taglist, please let me know in the comments, DMs or inbox. Content warning: Yandere male, implied deaths, mutilation, mentions of blood, possessiveness, gaslighting, voilence

CALEB'S POV

The faint hum of the Farspace fleet’s engines was a constant background noise, a rhythm that Caleb had grown accustomed to. It filled the silence as he walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the engineering bay, his gloved left hand flexing instinctively while his right hand remained eerily still. It wasn’t the arm itself that unnerved him anymore. No, he’d gotten used to the weight, the cool touch of the synthetic skin against his chest when he rested his hand there. What grated on him was the maintenance—the vulnerability of needing someone else to keep it functional.

The first time he’d come to the mechanic for maintenance, he had been indifferent, as he was to most things in his life. The arm was a tool, no more. Just another part of the machine that was Caleb, the Colonel. She was just another cog in the vast machine of the fleet, a means to an end. He barely remembered their first meeting beyond her clinical efficiency and soft voice, far removed from the barked commands of his officers or the detached drone of his superiors. She’d introduced herself simply, a name he didn’t bother committing to memory at the time, and had begun her work without wasting a second.

He’d sat in silence, his arm stretched out on the diagnostic table, his gaze fixed on the wall as she meticulously checked the connections and replaced worn components. She’d asked him questions—about the arm’s performance, any discomfort he’d noticed—but he’d only answered in monosyllables. He wasn’t trying to be rude; he just didn’t see the point.

She had been… different.

No. She spoke with compassion, with a voice that held an undercurrent of something human. When she’d first touched his arm to inspect it, there was no clinical detachment in her touch—no cold professionalism. Instead, there was a softness, a care.

But she kept showing up, week after week, her presence a constant thread in his routine. She didn’t just maintain his arm; she paid attention. She noticed when he was tense and adjusted her tone accordingly. When she worked, she hummed under her breath—a tune he couldn’t place but found oddly soothing. And unlike the professor who saw him as little more than a prototype for their next experiment, she treated him like a person.

Caleb first noticed it when she spoke to the other fleet members. The soldiers and officers with Toring chips embedded in their bodies, their minds augmented for efficiency but stripped of their individuality, were often treated as tools. Most of the crew barely acknowledged them, but she… she smiled at them. Asked about their day. Made sure they were comfortable during her examinations and modifications.

It wasn’t long before Caleb began to see her differently.

Their interactions changed subtly over time. He found himself lingering in the engineering bay longer than necessary, watching her work under the sharp white lights. She was focused, hands deft as they manipulated wires and micro-tools, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re due for recalibration next week, Colonel.” she said during one session, not looking up from the neural interface she was fine-tuning.

“I’ll be here,” he replied. Then, after a pause, “You’re good at this.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I’ve had a lot of practice.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not just the work. The way you… treat people. You’re good at that, too.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he thought she might dismiss the comment. But instead, she smiled—a soft, genuine thing that made something unfamiliar stir in his chest. “Everyone deserves to be treated like they matter.” she said simply, turning back to his arm.

He didn’t respond, but those words stayed with him long after he left the bay. Caleb watched her closely, taking note of every smile, every laugh, every time she showed kindness to someone else. It made something dark curl in his chest.

The first time Caleb intervened on her behalf, it was almost instinctual.

He was passing through the mess hall when he heard the sharp edge of Lieutenant Varro’s voice. “You know, for all your compassion, you take forever with repairs. Maybe stop coddling the freaks and do your job faster.”

Caleb froze, his blood turning cold. He rounded the corner to see Varro towering over her, his expression smug. She was holding a tray of food, her shoulders tense but her expression calm as she replied, “I do my job thoroughly, Lieutenant. If you’re unhappy with my work, you can file a complaint.”

Caleb’s steps faltered, his jaw tightening. A cold, simmering rage filled him as he turned to look at the man. He wanted to snap his neck right then and there, but he couldn’t let her see this side of him. Not yet.

So he smiled instead. A cold, calculating smile that sent a chill down Varro’s spine.

“Lieutenant,” Caleb said, his tone deceptively calm. “A word.”

Later that night, Varro didn’t return to his quarters. Whispers spread through the fleet about an "incident" during a routine maintenance check. Caleb made sure it looked like an accident—a malfunction in Varro's own bionic enhancements. No one questioned it, least of all her.

She remained blissfully unaware of the lengths Caleb went to for her.

As the days turned into weeks, Caleb’s obsession deepened. He found himself lingering in her workshop longer than necessary, watching her every move. She would smile at him, her eyes warm and kind, and Caleb would feel something he hadn’t felt since he left home for the DAA. A strange, aching need to keep her close.

“You know,” she said one day, her voice light, “you don’t always have to come here for repairs. You can just... visit, if you want.”

Caleb froze, his gaze locking onto hers. Did she know? Had she figured out how much he craved her presence? But her smile was so genuine, so innocent, that he realized she didn’t suspect a thing.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his voice steady.

He told her about his family one evening, when the workshop was quiet and the rest of the fleet was asleep. He spoke of the girl he had grown up with, her fiery spirit, and the way she had  carved a place for herself in Linkon.

“She is strong…” Caleb said, his voice low. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

She listened intently, her expression soft. “You must miss her.” she said gently.

Caleb hesitated. Did he? The memory of that girl felt distant, overshadowed by the woman sitting in front of him.

“I don’t think about her much anymore.” he admitted. “There are... other things on my mind.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press.

But Caleb couldn’t stop thinking about her. He thought about the way her hands moved over his arm, the way her laughter echoed in the workshop, the way she seemed to light up the cold, sterile corridors of the fleet.

And when he saw other officers talking to her, laughing with her, something in him snapped. He didn’t like the way they looked at her. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting close to her.

Caleb began to manipulate things behind the scenes, ensuring that no one spent too much time with her. He assigned officers to tasks that kept them far away from her workshop. He spread subtle rumors, casting doubt on the intentions of anyone who showed too much interest in her.

She never noticed. She never questioned why the workshop seemed quieter, why fewer people came to her for help.

And Caleb made sure it stayed that way. In the privacy of his quarters, Caleb would sit in the dim light, his bionic hand flexing involuntarily as he thought about her. She was his. She didn’t know it yet, but she belonged to him.

And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. To keep her close.

Even if it meant destroying anyone who stood in his way.

YOUR POV

Lately, you’d noticed something strange.

The crew didn’t treat you the way they used to. At first, it was subtle—an officer averting his gaze when you greeted him in the corridor, a technician hurriedly ending a conversation when you approached. Then it became more blatant. People gave you a wide berth in the cafeteria, whispers died the moment you entered a room, and the occasional sidelong glances you caught were laced with something unspoken.

Fear.

It didn’t make sense. You’d always prided yourself on being approachable, on treating everyone with the respect they deserved. Sure, your work was demanding, and your position as the fleet’s biomechanical engineer meant you often had to be firm when it came to protocols, but you weren’t cruel. Far from it. You treated the crew like people, not machines.

But now? It was as though you carried some invisible aura that screamed danger.

And then there were the... incidents.

The first time, you brushed it off as coincidence. Lieutenant Gregor had been reassigned to another fleet without warning, just days after he’d mocked you during a team briefing. You’d chalked it up to bad luck or his own poor behavior catching up to him.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Officers and fleet members who dismissed your concerns, who snapped at you during high-stress missions, who made snide comments about your methods—they all disappeared. Some were reassigned to far-off posts, others were suddenly discharged for disciplinary reasons, and a few even suffered freak accidents that left them unfit for duty.

The pattern was impossible to ignore.

The only constant in all of this was the Colonel.

Or just Caleb, as he’d asked you to call him when it was just the two of you.

“Colonel” felt too formal, too distant, he’d said one evening as you adjusted the fine motor controls on his bionic hand. He’d leaned back in the chair, watching you with an intensity that made you feel both self-conscious and oddly comforted.

“Just Caleb,” he’d said, his voice softer than usual. “When we’re alone.”

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Over the past few months, he’d become a steady presence in your life, someone you found yourself looking forward to seeing.

And lately, he seemed to be around you more than ever.

It wasn’t just during maintenance sessions anymore. He’d stop by your workshop for no apparent reason, lingering by your workbench as you tinkered with your tools. He’d accompany you on supply runs, his tall frame a protective shadow at your side. When the fleet docked at Skyhaven for shore leave, he invited you to join him for coffee or walks through the market district. He’d cook for you and bring you meals to your residence in Skyhaven, unprompted.

It felt... nice.

You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed his company. Caleb had a dry sense of humor that never failed to catch you off guard, and there was a steadiness to him that you found grounding. Still, there was something about him—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The way he always seemed to know when someone had upset you. The way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long, as if he were memorizing every detail. The way his voice dropped when he said your name, like it was a secret only he was allowed to keep.

You tried to push the thoughts aside. Caleb was your superior, your colonel. He’d never given you any reason to distrust him. And yet...

One evening, as you recalibrated the sensory feedback in his arm, you decided to bring it up.

“Have you noticed how people have been acting lately?” you asked, keeping your tone light as you adjusted a tiny screw. “It’s like they think I’m some kind of... I don’t know, threat or something.”

You glanced up at Caleb, expecting him to shrug it off with one of his usual dry remarks. Instead, his body tensed, just for a moment. If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you might have missed it.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“It’s just a feeling.” you said, turning back to his arm. “People avoiding me, whispering when they think I can’t hear. And then there are the reassignment orders. It’s like anyone who crosses me is... gone.”

There was a long pause.

“It’s nothing.” Caleb said finally. “Tensions have been high since the last Deepspace tunnel exploration. People are on edge.”

You frowned but didn’t press the issue. Maybe he was right. The fleet had been through a lot recently, and stress had a way of making people act strangely. Still, something about his explanation didn’t sit right with you.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “That makes sense.”

But it didn’t. Not entirely.

Still, you knew better than to poke your nose where it didn’t belong. You’d learned long ago that asking too many questions could lead to trouble, and trouble was the last thing you needed.

So you stayed in your lane, focusing on your work and pretending not to notice the way Caleb’s presence seemed to permeate every aspect of your life. You told yourself it was fine, that his increased attention was nothing to worry about. After all, you trusted Caleb. He’d always been kind to you, always treated you with respect. And if his gaze lingered a little too long, if his touch was a little too gentle when he handed you a tool, if his smile held a hint of something darker—you ignored it.

Because Caleb was the only person who hadn’t changed. The only person who still treated you like... you.

The ship was silent at night, the hum of its engines a low, constant thrum beneath your feet as you walked through the dimly lit corridors. You’d been restless, the bitter taste of Lieutenant Reese’s words still fresh in your mind. The new Lieutenant had been transferred to Caleb’s fleet three weeks ago and was already causing tensions within the hierarchy of how things ran in the fleet.

“Guess even engineers need quotas filled, huh? They really let anyone take up space on this ship these days,” he had sneered during a systems check earlier. “Bet you’ve only kept this position because someone up high likes the way you look.”

His smirk had twisted into something crueler as he leaned closer. “Face it. You’re not here because you’re good—you’re here because you’re convenient.”

The humiliation burned as much now as it had then. You clenched your fists at the memory, your footsteps echoing softly against the metal floor. You’d worked too hard, poured too much of yourself into your work, to have it dismissed so callously. And yet, his words lingered like a stain, refusing to be scrubbed away.

You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t hear the sound.

A muffled grunt. A crash.

And then—a sickening crunch.

You froze. Every instinct screamed at you to turn back, to return to your quarters and pretend you hadn’t heard anything. But your curiosity—or perhaps some misplaced sense of duty—compelled you forward. Quietly, you padded down the corridor, following the noise until you reached a maintenance bay.

What you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

Caleb stood over Lieutenant Reese, who was slumped against the wall, blood smeared across his face. The lieutenant’s arm hung at an unnatural angle, his body trembling as he let out a pained whimper. Caleb’s hand was clamped tightly around Reese’s throat, his grip firm but not enough to choke.

Not yet.

“You thought you could get away with it?” Caleb said, his voice low and steady, each word laced with venom. “Insulting her. Undermining her. Disrespecting her.”

Reese tried to stammer out a response, but Caleb’s hand tightened, silencing him.

“You signed your life away the moment you opened your mouth.” Caleb continued, his tone almost conversational, as if he were discussing something as mundane as a supply requisition. “She’s worth more than you’ll ever be. Do you even understand that?”

Reese’s legs kicked weakly, his breaths ragged. Caleb tilted his head, his expression shifting from cold fury to mild disappointment.

“Pathetic!” he muttered, releasing the lieutenant’s throat. Reese crumpled to the ground, wheezing and coughing. Caleb watched him for a moment, then raised his foot and brought it down sharply on Reese’s hand. The sound of bones breaking echoed in the bay.

The lieutenant went limp, his body a lifeless heap. Caleb crouched beside him, his expression one of disdain. “Weak,” he said, his voice barely audible.

And then he turned his head, his gaze locking onto you.

The moment seemed to stretch, the air thick with tension. Caleb’s expression shifted from cold to shocked in the blink of an eye, but his eyes—the ones that had always been so warm towards you—now seemed empty, calculating.

He stood still for a moment, then took a step toward you, his movements slow, deliberate. His voice was a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

“Don’t be scared,” Caleb said softly, though there was an edge to his words. “I’m just protecting you. I would never let anyone hurt you, never.”

Your mind raced, your pulse quickening. You’d seen this side of Caleb before—quiet, intense, protective—but this? This was something else. He was different.

“Protected me?” you repeated, your heart pounding. “From what?”

“From him,” Caleb replied, gesturing to Reese’s motionless form. “He disrespected you. He questioned your worth. He hurt you.”

His gaze softened, and he took another step closer. “I won’t allow that. Not from him. Not from anyone.”

“This—this isn’t right,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Caleb interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “And I will. You may not see it now, but this is what’s necessary.”

You stared at him, searching for any hint of remorse, but there was none. Only conviction.

“I’ll always protect you.” he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Even when you think you don’t need it. Even when you don’t understand why.”

You took a step back, your mind racing. But even as you tried to process what you’d seen and heard, a cold realization settled over you.

He closed the distance between you, his steps soft but purposeful, until he was standing right in front of you. His face was close, too close, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been through so much,” he continued, his voice soothing, almost affectionate. “You don’t need to worry about the people who don’t understand you. I’ll always protect you.” He repeats. “Even when you don’t ask for it.”

You swallowed; your throat dry. You should have been afraid, terrified even. But you weren’t. A part of you was frozen, caught in the web of his words, of his gaze. He was so sure of himself, so confident, and it was hard not to believe him when he looked at you like that.

His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re mine,” Caleb whispered, his words not a command but a promise. “No one will ever take you from me. Not ever.”

You should have questioned it, should have asked him what he meant, why he was doing this. But you didn’t. Because in that moment, you realized you couldn’t escape.

Not really.

You knew who Caleb was. You knew what he was capable of. And you knew that the resources of the Farspace Fleet, the professor, and Caleb’s power meant there was no running, no hiding from him. You’d seen what happened to those who crossed you. And now, you didn’t doubt for a second that Caleb was behind it.

But what unnerved you most was the way he looked at you now. Not with malice, not with cruelty, but with something softer. Something almost tender.

“Stay.” he said, his voice coaxing. “I’ll keep you safe. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

You swallowed hard, your mind screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there. And yet... you nodded.

Because deep down, you knew he was right about one thing.

Caleb would never hurt you.

As long as you stayed.

He would never let anyone touch you. He would never let anyone harm you.

You were his, and he was yours.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood there, the weight of his gaze heavy on you.

And as Caleb stepped back, his eyes softening, a reassuring smile tugging at his lips, you knew one thing for certain: you were far past the point of no return.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so bad.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

[geminiwritten]

perfect storm ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: you and jake have a messy history and have been comfortably hating each other for the past few years, until all hell breaks loose when you're brought in as the newest member of maverick's special detachment (enemies to lovers)

notes: okay, i'm starting to think that i really should work at work instead of write... like, is it unethical? anyways, idc!!! have some enemies to lovers! i'm not feeling as strong about this, despite the fact that i've chosen writing over sleep and work for the past few days... but i really hope y'all like it and i hope it lives up! please let me know what you think!!!

warnings: swearing, angst, miscommunication, jake is an asshole, allusions to sex (18+ ONLY PLEASE), bad weather / storm descriptions, a written plane crash, and frequent mention of plane crashes! let me know if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 12439

your callsign is angel

“Alright, listen up.” Maverick stands at the front of the room, his trademark leather jacket draped over his shoulders and his hands firmly planted on his hips. “You received your official briefing this morning, but we’re going to go over a few things now.” 

The chatter that had filled the room falls to an abrupt silence as the aviators, now fully attentive, settle into their chairs—every eye on their captain. 

“Let’s start with the basics. Just like the last operation, this mission is classified. You’ve all been reassigned from your standard duties to continue training as part of this special operations detachment. Not all of you will deploy, but everyone will undergo training and remain in reserve if you’re not selected. We’ve got a bit more time to prepare this go-around, but don’t mistake that for leniency. This mission is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, with brand new challenges ahead.” He pauses, his gaze sharpening as he locks eyes with Mickey and then Bob. “Our weapons systems officers will be key to our success.” 

Natasha raises her hand, waiting for Maverick to acknowledge her before speaking. “Will the same pilots from the last mission be prioritised?” 

Maverick shakes his head firmly. “No. There’s no favouritism or preference. Selection will be based on performance during training. We’ll see who excels in the specific skills needed for this mission.” 

Bob leans forward. “Will Omaha and Halo be returning to the detachment?” 

“Unfortunately, no,” Maverick replies. “As you’re all aware, Omaha and Halo were urgently recalled to their original squadrons and will not be returning. But rest assured, arrangements have been made to bring in a top-tier replacement.” 

Jake tilts his head, a frown forming as confusion plays across his face. “Replacement, sir? Singular? If this mission hinges on WSOs, shouldn’t we be getting a pair to replace Omaha and Halo?” 

What Jake is really asking—without being blatantly obvious—is why they’d bring in another pilot to compete with him for mission lead. 

Maverick’s signature smirk, the one that gets him both in and out of trouble, curls at the corners of his lips. “You’re not wrong, Hangman," he says, voice steady. “Which is why I’ve decided that Coyote”—he glances at the man sitting beside Jake—“will no longer be flying solo.” 

Javy’s eyes widen, brows lifting in surprise as a grin tugs at his lips. “I get a WSO?” 

Just outside the training room door, a knot of nerves begins to coil in your stomach, but you don’t let them show. Nerves are nothing new to you—unwanted, but familiar. You’ve learned how to manage them. When your heart starts to race at the thought of something trivial, like walking into a room full of the country’s best naval aviators, you remind yourself what real fear feels like. Like being strapped into the back seat of a fighter jet, spinning out of control, wondering if you’ll ever see your family again. That’s fear. This? This is just another challenge. 

The admiral standing beside you smiles, but it’s an awkward fit for his hard-lined face. “They’re ready for you now.” He gestures toward the door. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. Maverick is your captain, but… well, he can be a bit trying. Exceptionally skilled, and somehow always managing to dodge death, but trying.” 

A light laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Duly noted. Thanks, Admiral Simpson.” 

His smile tightens as he gives you a terse nod. “Cyclone,” he corrects, his tone sharp. As he turns to walk away, he glances back over his shoulder. “Good luck, Angel.” 

You take a steadying breath, roll your shoulders back, and step through the door into the training room—where ten sets of eyes, and one captain you’ve already met, turn to face you. 

“This,” Maverick announces with a grin, “is Angel.” 

Jake fucking Seresin—because of course it’s him—shoots up from his chair like he’s been launched, disbelief written all over his face. His scowl is thunderous as he whips toward Maverick. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Maverick’s smile drops instantly, confusion flickering across his face before it hardens into something closer to disappointment. He may not be a by-the-book kind of CO, but he’s not about to tolerate open insubordination first thing on a Monday morning. 

Your heart slams in your chest, each beat pounding hot blood through your veins. Anger simmers under your skin, but unlike Jake, you don’t let it take the wheel. Instead, you plaster on the sweetest, most radiant smile you can summon—one worthy of your callsign. 

From the front row, Natasha snorts. “Oh, man. This is going to be fun.” 

“Lieutenant Seresin,” Maverick snaps, voice sharp. “Sit. Down.” 

“Mav,” Jake says, clearly abandoning any trace of professionalism, “you don’t understand-” 

“I understand perfectly,” Maverick cuts in, his scowl deepening. “Now take your seat. That’s an order.” 

Jake drops into his chair stiffly, posture ramrod straight, jaw clenched so tight you can see it working from across the room. 

“Good.” Maverick’s gaze shifts to you, his tone softening. “Take a seat, Angel. I take it you already know a few of my aviators.” 

You nod and start forward, willing your legs to move. “Yes, sir.” 

You offer quiet hellos to Harvard, Yale, and Fritz as you pass them, and Reuben and Mickey each get a subtle fist bump. Bradley throws you a wink as you slide into the open seat beside him, and Natasha and Bob twist in their chairs to whisper excited greetings your way. Across the aisle, Javy leans forward past Jake’s stone-still form to offer you a smile—though there’s a flicker of nervousness behind his eyes. 

“Alright,” Maverick claps his hands together, “let’s go over the mission parameters.” 

You do your best to focus on what your captain is saying, but it’s difficult with Jake shooting you dirty looks every few minutes. When Maverick announces that you’ll be flying as Javy’s WSO, it clicks—that’s why he looked so nervous before. Still, you’re more relieved than anything. As long as you’re not stuck in a jet with Jake at the controls. 

After nearly an hour of mission briefing and discussing operational challenges, Maverick finally decides that it’s time to fly. 

“Phoenix,” he calls as the group begins to file out. “Hang back a sec.” 

Natasha gives you a curious glance but stops, turning back to the captain. You continue out the door with Bob, only half-listening as he talks about the last special detachment training. Something about SAM evasion drills and low-level ingress routes. 

Once the room clears, Maverick crosses his arms and lets out a heavy sigh. “Can you explain whatever the hell that was?” 

Natasha’s concern fades instantly, replaced by a smirk. “You mean Hangman and Angel?” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah.” 

“Why don’t you ask one of them?” 

He looks up, visibly exasperated. “Did you see the way they were glaring at each other? I’d get two completely different versions of the same disaster.” 

Natasha laughs quietly. “Fair.” 

He waits, arching a brow—inviting her to keep going. 

“To be honest, I don’t know the full story,” she says. “But it goes back to TOPGUN. She was his WSO. They were… kind of legendary. Unbeatable, from what I’ve heard. There were even rumours about the two of them dating.” 

Maverick’s expression shifts—mild curiosity now threading through his frown. 

“Rooster swears she’s the only woman Hangman ever really wanted but couldn’t have,” Natasha continues. “But I think he saw her as a threat and convinced her to fly with him just to keep her close.” 

Maverick’s frown deepens. “So, what happened?” 

“One of their last flights before graduation, Hangman pulled something reckless—overconfident, stupid. The usual. He got them into some serious trouble. They lost control and had to eject, both ending up in the hospital.” 

Maverick doesn’t interrupt, just listens, arms still crossed. 

“They refused to speak to each other after that. It got so bad during the investigation that they almost got court-martialled—they kept arguing during the hearing. I’m pretty sure the crash was ruled pilot error on their records.” 

He lets out a low whistle. “And they still graduated?” 

“With conditions,” she says. “They were given a choice—suspension or assignment to the same fleet squadron.” 

That earns a blink. “Who gave that ultimatum?” 

Natasha grins. “Admiral Kazansky.” 

Maverick actually chuckles at that, despite himself. “Of course he did. So, they chose to patch things up?” 

“Yes… and no. According to Coyote, they’ve coexisted by pretending the other doesn’t exist. That’s why Hangman was so eager to join this detachment—he was planning to request reassignment after it ended, and I’m pretty sure she is the reason why.” 

Maverick’s amusement fades. A pale look crosses his face as the reality sets in. “What have I done?” 

Natasha’s grin widens. “Sir, you’ve just set us up for the most entertaining training cycle in Navy history.” 

- 

The roar of jet engines fills the comms, and the sky outside is a dizzying patchwork of clouds and sunlight as Maverick's jet cut across the HUD like a ghost—fast, erratic, and unpredictable. 

Javy’s a solid pilot, but you can feel the tension in his movements. “He’s all over the place,” he says, “I can’t get a clean shot.” 

“You won’t,” you reply, voice steady. “That’s the point. Don’t chase—bleed his energy.” 

Javy exhales sharply through his mask, trying to keep up. Maverick flips his jet inverted, slicing low over the water. Javy follows, but you're already moving, fingers dancing over the console. The radar pulses with activity, tracking Maverick’s erratic manoeuvres.  

“I’ve got tone in five… hold steady,” you say, fighting a smirk under your mask. “Three… two…” A sharp beep echoes through the headset, and you let that smirk stretch across your lips. “Fox Two. Guns, guns, guns.” 

“Holy shit,” Javy gasps. 

On the HUD, Maverick’s jet flashes red—the simulated kill confirmed. 

“Nice shooting, Angel,” Maverick says over the comms, a hint a laughter in his tone. 

“Anytime, Captain.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” he adds. “I was going easy on you.” 

“Bullshit,” Bradley pipes up from somewhere in the sky. “You were scrambling, Mav.” 

“Yeah, alright,” Maverick says with a chuckle. “Now get your asses on the ground. I want Pheonix, Bob, and Hangman up here.” 

You let out a breath of relief as Javy guides the jet back to base, the landing smooth and controlled. The jet powers down, and you run through a quick check before climbing out. The second your boots hit the tarmac, you yank off your helmet, sweat dripping from your brow, and turn to Javy, who is grinning like an idiot. 

“I can’t believe you just shot Maverick,” he says. “None of us have ever done that.” 

You tilt your head, amused. “Really? Maybe he was going easy then.” 

“Oh, he was,” Jake says, his voice sliding down your spine like ice. “You’re not that good, Angel.” 

You round on him, jaw tight. “I’m better than you, Bagman.” 

He lets out a laugh—sharp and mocking. “Says who?” 

You shrug, masking the anger bubbling beneath your skin with false nonchalance. “I don’t know. Ask your friends—or, sorry—friend. Singular. Because I’m pretty sure Coyote’s the only one who can stand you, and even he’d admit I’ve got you beat.” 

Javy chuckles under his breath but shifts awkwardly. “Hey, leave me out of-” 

Jake cuts in before he can finish, cockiness dripping from every word. “You know, you really shouldn’t obsess over my social life. Maybe try having one of your own. Or better yet, get yourself a date. Maybe if you found some loser to fuck you, you wouldn’t be so tightly wound all the damn time.” 

His words stick in your skin like pins in a voodoo doll—sharp and cruel. He always knows exactly what to say to really get to you. 

“Fuck you, Seresin,” you snap, before shouldering past him and storming toward the hangar. 

Your eyes sting, and your throat burns with the threat of tears, but you force it all down. You won’t cry. Not here. Not today. Not because of him. 

Instead, you take a hard turn into the locker room—the men’s locker room—and head straight for Jake’s stuff. His name is stitched on the inside of his clothes, which you scoop up along with everything else he owns—socks, boots, the whole lot. You carry it all around the corner to the showers, drop it into a stall, crank the cold water, and walk out without a backward glance. 

A few minutes later, you’re in the waiting room with the others, tension still buzzing under your skin but your expression cool. Natasha, Bob, and Jake are in the air now—you can hear their comms crackling over the speaker. 

Maverick’s voice cuts through the static like a knife. “Hangman, if you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll ground you myself.” 

You smile to yourself, satisfaction blooming like a flower in your chest. 

The next week passes in much the same way. You do your best to avoid Jake, but apparently, he didn’t get the memo. At first, you think it might have something to do with how much time you’re spending with Javy, but it quickly becomes clear—he’s just really enjoying getting under your skin. 

You argue almost every day. Most of the time, someone has to step in to break it up. But it’s never like that first day again. The fights stay surface-level—petty jabs over gear, disagreements about drills, snide little comments. It’s stupid, juvenile, and relentless. Still, you’re grateful that none of it gets personal again. Because it still hurts to think about what he said on your first day. 

By Friday, you’re right back in the same room where it all started, sitting through an updated mission briefing from Maverick. You try to focus, but your attention keeps drifting. Jake is sitting across the aisle from you, whispering snide remarks about this morning’s drill—childish jabs you can’t help but respond to. 

He leans in slightly. “Hell of a move back there. Almost looked like you knew what you were doing.” 

You glare at him. “Yeah? That part where you nearly clipped your wingman was real smooth.” 

He scoffs under his breath. “At least I was actually doing something instead of riding shotgun in the backseat again.” 

Your head snaps toward him, heat flaring in your chest. “Why don’t you just-” 

“Enough!” Maverick’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. “Both of you—cut it out.” 

You freeze. So does Jake. Slowly, the entire room turns toward the back, every pair of eyes locked on you, and none more intense than Maverick’s furious glare. 

“Everyone else—you’re dismissed. Hangman. Angel. You’re staying behind to help with inventory, and you’re not leaving until you sort out whatever the hell this is. I don’t care if it takes all weekend.” 

You both know better than to argue. There’s a heavy silence as everyone else stands, shuffling out with awkward glances and murmured goodbyes. You sink lower into your chair, dreading whatever’s coming next. 

Neither of you speak as Maverick leads you down into the hangar, where maintenance crews are busy running post-flight checks on the jets. The air smells like jet fuel and frustration. 

He stops to speak briefly with a technician before handing Jake a clipboard thick with paperwork. “You’re logging and checking all the equipment used this week. Everything. Make sure it’s clean, accounted for, and stored properly.” 

He meets both your eyes with a dry, unimpressed stare. “Don’t kill each other…” He pauses. “Or do. I don’t care. Just as long as you’re not still bickering on Monday morning.” 

And with that, he turns and walks away. 

The two of you quickly fall into an unspoken agreement to work in silence. You start with the flight suits and G-suits, then move on to spare helmets and oxygen masks. There’s the occasional grumble or muttered complaint, but for the most part, you both keep your heads down and your mouths shut. 

It’s about an hour into your assigned torture when Jake drifts away from where you’re double-checking the spare survival kits. He doesn’t say a word as he crosses the hangar, heading toward a short row of rusted lockers shoved into the back corner—right where most of the gear you’ve been sorting through came from. Two of the lockers hang open and empty, but the one in the middle is sealed shut with a heavily rusted lock. 

Jake gives it a jiggle, then a harder tug. Nothing. You glance over, ready to tell him to stop wasting time, but your own curiosity is starting to itch. 

Against your better judgment, you rise from your crouch and wander toward the tool pile a tech left behind earlier. You grab a pry bar and walk it over to Jake. 

“Here,” you say simply, handing it over. 

He quirks an eyebrow, like he’s trying to figure out why you’re helping him. But he takes it without a word. You nod toward the locker, silently urging him to get on with it. 

Jake wedges the bar into the seam and heaves. There’s a horrible screech of metal grinding against metal, and the door practically explodes outward. You yelp and instinctively jump behind him, your hands landing on his back as if he could shield you from whatever haunted relic might burst out of the spooky locker. 

When nothing attacks, you quickly step away, cheeks burning. Jake looks over his shoulder, cocky grin already forming—but for once, he spares you the teasing. 

“When do you think this thing was last opened?” he asks, using the pry bar to hold the warped door fully open. 

You peer inside and snort. “Judging by the Barry Williams photo taped in there? I’m going to guess sometime before Mav even joined the Navy.” 

Jake chuckles—and for once, it’s not smug or biting. It’s warm. Deep. It rumbles through his chest like thunder and coils around you like smoke, pulling you toward him despite the apprehension roiling in your gut. 

He steps closer, pulling out his phone to shine a light into the dim locker. It’s mostly empty: a few cobwebs, a protein bar wrapper, a single sock, and the faded photo of Barry Williams. 

Jake picks up the wrapper. “Wow. They really thought this was health food?” 

You laugh softly, taking the pry bar from his hand. As he keeps inspecting the wrapper, you use the bar to hook the sock, trying to lift it gently. But it doesn’t drape—it holds its shape, stiff and unbending. 

“Gross,” you mutter, balancing the hardened fabric on the end of the bar. 

Jake glances up, his eyes widening. “Is that thing... solid?” 

You drop the sock onto the floor. It hits with a soft thud and stays exactly how it landed: twisted and grotesquely preserved. 

“Yup.” 

Jake lets out a snort. “Do you think it’s full of-” 

“Please don’t say it.” 

“Jizz,” he says gleefully. 

You groan and shove the pry bar back into his hands, fake gagging as you walk away from the scene of the crime. 

Jake eventually wanders back over to the survival kits, apparently satisfied with having quenched his thirst for mystery. The two of you settle into what could almost be called a companionable silence—rare for you both. 

About half an hour later, one of the techs approaches, his face smudged with grease and sweat. 

“Most of us are headin’ out,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag. “Lance is still workin’ outside. If you need anything, give him a shout. Security’ll be doing their first walkthrough in about an hour. You can stay as late as you want, as long as your overtime’s cleared.” 

You snort and shake your head. “Oh, this isn’t overtime.” 

“It’s punishment,” Jake adds dryly. 

The man tilts his head, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “What’d you do?” 

There’s a beat of awkward silence before Jake replies, “Captain got sick of us arguing.” 

The tech raises his brows, glancing between you with an amused glint in his eye. “That so? Wouldn’t’ve guessed. You two looked mighty cosy pokin’ around that locker earlier.” 

You glance over at Jake, only to find his gaze already locked on yours. Heat creeps up the back of your neck, blooming across your cheeks. You quickly duck your head and return to sorting the gear. 

Jake lets out an awkward chuckle. “Sorry about that. Curiosity got the better of me.” 

The man waves a hand dismissively. “Ain’t no thing. Have a good night.” And with that, he ambles off. 

“Cosy,” Jake mutters, cracking open another kit. 

You roll your eyes, weariness softening your usual edge. “Don’t think I’ve ever been cosy with you, Seresin. Friends, maybe. But never cosy.” 

You keep your eyes on the kit, missing the flicker of something—hurt, maybe—that crosses his face. 

“Friends, maybe?” he repeats quietly. “If I remember correctly, we were very much friends.” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, your voice flat. “We were.” 

Another few minutes of silence tick by, broken only by the shuffle and scratch of your work. You’re almost finished with the survival kits when Jake speaks up again. 

“You know it’s not true, right?” 

Your brows knit together as you look up slowly, meeting his green gaze. “Well, I can’t say for sure, but I’ve always assumed you’re lying about having a massive-” 

“Not that,” he cuts in, almost growling, irritation flashing across his face before something softer—something almost sad—takes over. “I mean about why I encouraged you to become a weapons systems officer. Phoenix told everyone it was because I was threatened by you, but that’s not true.” 

“Oh.” Your frown fades. “I know.” 

He cocks his head. “You do?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug one shoulder and pack up the last kit, dusting your hands on your pants. “Like I said, we were friends back then, Jake. I know you weren’t trying to screw up my career. You saw that I had potential to be a great WSO—and you were right. I am.” 

You can’t bear the look on his face. It’s too open, too honest—too much like the way he used to look at you right before a flight. Right before you both climbed into the jet and he’d promise to keep you safe. 

You straighten up and turn toward the checklist Jake left nearby, grabbing it and pretending to study it. Anything to avoid the weight of his stare. “We’re almost done. Just a few miscellaneous items and we’re out of here.” 

Jake pushes to his feet and puffs his chest out, as if trying to shove all the emotion down and replace it with ego. “Alright. Let’s hurry up and get the hell out of here.” 

- 

You barely sleep all weekend. You’re too strung out, too confused, and—annoyingly—still thinking about Friday night. Why the hell was Jake nice to you? You know you both need to get your shit together and start acting like adults, but he didn’t need to go dredging up the past like that. 

Every time you close your eyes, you see his face. The one you used to love. The one you used to daydream about kissing. But that was years ago. Any feelings you had for Jake Seresin died the moment you heard his voice through your headset that day—that calm, reckless voice telling you that it didn’t matter if he made it out alive, as long as you did. 

By Monday morning, you wake up in a cold sweat for the third night in a row, sheets twisted and soaked. Your head is a mess and your chest is tight, so you do the only thing you can think of that might help. 

You throw on your workout gear and head to the gym, ready to exorcise some demons. 

The gym on base is unusually quiet for a Monday morning, and you decide that it’s a blessing—you’ll get your pick of equipment without having to wait for others to finish. You set yourself up on a treadmill first, hoping that getting your blood pumping will distract from your turbulent thoughts. Sliding your headphones over your ears, you pick an upbeat playlist and start marching along to the beat. 

Most of the other early risers are packed into the weights section—well away from you, thank God. 

But then, Jake’s words from last week creep back into your mind: Maybe if you found some loser to fuck you, you wouldn’t be so tightly wound all the damn time. 

You grimace. You hate to admit it, but there is a nugget of truth in there. Maybe you do need a release. Maybe that would help you stop fantasizing about strangling—or worse, kissing—Jake Seresin every time he so much as breathes near you. You’ve fought too hard for your spot here. You’re not about to let Jake, or your traitorous body, screw it up. 

Your gaze strays toward the weights section again, casually scanning the candidates like you're hosting your own imaginary version of The Bachelor. 

First up: a beefy guy with a shiny bald head, a thick goatee, and a death grip on the bench press bar. He’s grunting so loudly you can hear it over your music. Definitely not your type—hard pass. 

Next contestant: a scrawny dude slouched on a bench, hoodie up, thumbs flying across his phone screen. The impressive-looking weights at his feet are a hilarious mismatch to his weedy physique. He’s either a sleeper-build legend or seriously overestimating himself. 

Your treadmill beeps, announcing another mile. You bump up the incline and glance back up just in time to spot someone more promising. 

Sitting at the lat pulldown machine is a guy with dirty blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smirk you can feel from across the room. He’s broad-shouldered, strong without looking like he eats steroids for breakfast, and he pulls down the heavy bar with ease. That little smirk screams trouble—and you love trouble. A cocky, pretty boy who can back it up? Now that is your kryptonite. 

After a few more minutes of half-assed walking while planning your opening line, you see him leave the machine and wander toward the water bubbler. 

It’s now or never. 

You jump off the treadmill, loop your towel around your neck, and start sauntering over, practicing your most casual, I-don't-care-but-also-maybe-marry-me smile. 

But then you see him. 

And you stop dead in your tracks. 

In the far corner of the gym is a man doing deadlifts, shirtless. His dark blond hair is sweaty and spiked up like he’s been dragging his hands through it. Tight grey shorts—painted on by Satan himself—cling to him like they were designed for the express purpose of making you lose your religion. 

You only get flashes of his reflection in the mirror, but it's enough to short-circuit your brain. Broad back, taut glutes, rippling arms. Every single inch of him looks carved by someone who knew exactly what they were doing—and wanted you to suffer. 

You forget all about Water Bubbler Guy. About why you even began walking this way. You stand there, completely paralysed, mouth dry, heart hammering, one singular, shameful thought blaring through your mind: 

I want to lick him clean. I want to taste him like a cat in heat. Forget cold showers. Forget dignity. Just sign my soul over now. 

The tremendous grunting of Goatee Guy jolts you out of your impure thoughts. You blink once—twice—before your gaze snaps back to the guy at the water bubbler. He smirks at you like he knows exactly what you’d been planning to do just minutes ago. 

But not anymore. Sorry, buddy. 

You give him a tight, awkward smile before scurrying over to the free weights section. You drop your stuff in a heap and unroll a rubber mat, all while stealing glances at the man still doing deadlifts—your future husband. 

You still can’t see him properly. He keeps his back to you—which you’re not entirely mad about—and continues heaving that heavy bar off the ground like it's nothing. It has to be close to four hundred pounds, easy. Which means, yes, he could definitely lift you. Throw you around. Pin you down until you’re squirming. 

God. Stupid Seresin was right. You do need to get laid. 

You spend the better part of the next hour watching him like a creep. Subtlety is dead and buried. He never strays from his corner, which frustrates you—because it would be so much easier to accidentally make eye contact if he’d just wander past. Instead, you’re stuck hovering like a predator, practically salivating. 

Eventually, you give up on trying to telepathically tell him to walk your way and decide to hit the showers before maybe—maybe—approaching him afterward. What’s the worst that could happen? You accidentally propose? Even if you crash and burn, odds are you’ll never see him again since you've never seen him here before. 

You pack up the weights you’d been pretending to use and make your way toward the showers. After a quick (cold, very cold) rinse and a change into fresh clothes, you walk back out. 

Your eyes immediately dart to the corner where they’d been glued all morning, but he’s gone. 

Panic sparks low in your gut as you scan the gym, your pace quickening toward the centre of the room for a better vantage point. You’re so focused on searching that you don’t even notice what’s right in front of you—until you plough right into a firm chest. 

You stumble back, an apology on the tip of your tongue—but then you realise exactly who you just ran into. 

“Ugh.” You glare up at a very shirtless Jake Seresin, cocky grin firmly in place. “It’s you.” 

He chuckles, deep and smug. “You really do know how to make a man feel special. It’s honestly a mystery why you’re still single.” 

You roll your eyes. “Shove it up your ass, Seresin, I’m-” 

The words get stuck in your throat as your gaze drops. 

Shirtless, yes. And wearing a criminally tight pair of grey shorts. 

No. Fucking. Way. 

Silence stretches thick between you before Jake tilts his head, amusement dripping from every pore. “Cat got your tongue?” 

Yes. A cat in heat. 

You wrench your gaze back up to his face. “No.” 

Without another word, you shoulder past him and bolt for the exit. 

The second you step outside, you suck in a gasping breath like you’ve just broken the surface of deep water. Your stomach twists, nausea clawing up your throat. 

There’s no fucking way you just spent the entire morning fantasizing about Jake fucking Seresin. 

You try to avoid Jake for the rest of the day, which proves absurdly difficult—he’s like a bad smell you can’t escape. It makes you wonder if he caught you creeping on him at the gym. You weren’t exactly subtle. But if he did notice, he’s keeping it close to his chest. 

By lunchtime, you’re so desperate for a reprieve that you decline the invitation to join your friends in the mess hall, opting instead for a little peace and quiet in the training room. Unfortunately, Maverick isn’t a mind reader, and he’s completely oblivious to your silent plea for solitude. 

“You alright, Angel?” he asks, sliding into a seat across the aisle from you. 

You glance up from your phone, hoping he didn’t notice that you had Tinder open. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

There’s a brief pause before he chuckles to himself, shaking his head softly. “You know, I’ve heard a lot of callsigns, but yours always makes me hesitate.” 

Your brows pinch together. “Really? There’s definitely worse out there… for example, Maverick. Ugh.” You can’t help it—being a smartass is in your blood. 

He laughs again, tilting his head with a fond smile. “I don’t mean it’s bad. There are worse. But ‘Angel’—it’s so... affectionate. Forgive me, but I’m not exactly used to calling my lieutenants pet names.” 

You snort, watching as Maverick’s face turns a soft shade of red. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I guess I’m just so used to it, I stopped thinking of it as something affectionate.” 

He leans back in his chair, considering you for a moment. You feel a little too seen under that sharp gaze. Maverick is smart—almost obnoxiously so—and you’re not naive enough to think he doesn’t see straight through you. 

“So it was affectionate,” he says finally, cutting through the silence. “At some point, at least.” 

You sigh, warring internally about how much to share. The usual, abbreviated version you tell everyone else seems… somewhat insufficient right now. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “It was actually Ja—uh, Hangman who called me Angel first. We met at the Academy. He tried some stupid pickup line on me, and I told him—rather colourfully—where to stick it.” You pause, chest aching as you drag the memory out of the dark corner you’d shoved it into. “He thought it was hilarious. Said I looked like an angel but swore like a sailor.” 

Maverick chuckles softly, but his expression gives nothing away. You can’t tell if he’s judging you, or simply wondering how you and Jake could have fallen so spectacularly apart. 

“Then, when I decided to become a WSO, people started calling me ‘The Avenging Angel’,” you add. “Because I was good at it. That’s usually the story I stick to. I don’t like admitting who really gave me the name.” 

Maverick nods thoughtfully. “Fair enough. You two clearly have a complicated history. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.” 

You offer him a tight smile, grateful he isn’t pushing, though you aren’t sure what else to say. 

“I’m not big on advice,” he says after a beat. “And I’m not going to pretend to know you better than I do. But I’ve known Hangman a little longer—and if you’ll let me, I’ll tell you one thing. Take it however you want.” 

You nod once, fingers fidgeting anxiously with your phone in your lap. 

“I once had a back-seater who kept me grounded when I needed it most,” Maverick says, pushing slowly to his feet. “And I’d give anything to have him still flying with me.” 

Your breath catches. You know exactly who he’s talking about. 

“Unfortunately,” Maverick adds, offering a small, soft smile, “there’s nothing I can do to get my back-seater back.” 

Then he turns and walks out, leaving you frozen in your seat, staring after him like he just dropped a nuclear bomb. 

Did Maverick just tell you—in the most roundabout, emotionally devastating way possible—that Jake misses having you behind him? That you still matter to him? 

You blink back the sting of tears. 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

The afternoon passes in a blur, and before you know it, Maverick announces that it’s time for some outdoor team-building—something everyone is far too excited about. You’re not sure why until he tells everyone to change into their “beach clothes” and then leads the group down to the sand, where Bradley and Reuben are quick to start setting up a volleyball net. 

The sun is blazing, and the energy is electric. Everyone is stretching and practicing, casually tossing jabs at each other as they get the trash-talking started early. 

Maverick decides that the WSOs will be paired with their pilots—so you’re with Javy—and the solo flyers are free to pick their partners. Jake teams up with Billy, callsign Fritz, while Mav steps in as Bradley’s partner. 

The first teams to play are Reuben and Mickey versus Jake and Billy. The rest of the group settles around the court, all eager to watch and prep for their own games. The competition is fierce, and the excitement is palpable as Mav twirls the white ball on his finger and shouts out the rules. 

But then, the worst thing imaginable happens. 

Jake takes off his fucking shirt. 

You hadn’t even noticed that the other guys had already opted to go shirtless under the blazing sun, but the second Jake peels off his white cotton t-shirt, your eyes lock onto him like a magnet. 

You can feel your mouth go dry, your heart rate spiking, like a predator eyeing its first meal in days. The logical part of your brain is screaming at you. 

Look away, you fucking idiot, before someone notices! 

But you can’t. You can’t look away. You’re still seeing the guy from the gym—before you knew who he was—and now, against the backdrop of the beach, he looks absolutely obscene. His tan skin gleams in the sun, and his sunglasses sit low on his nose, giving him that effortlessly cocky look that makes your stomach tie itself in knots. 

“Hey,” Javy appears beside you, nudging an elbow into your ribs. “You’re good at this game, right?” 

You snort, tearing your eyes away from Jake. “I haven’t played since high school.” 

Javy chuckles. “Well, shit. Let’s just hope we’re not up against Hangman and Fritz. Those two are more competitive than they have the right to be.” 

You laugh again, letting your eyes slide back toward the game, landing immediately on the hot, tan man you hate yourself for fantasizing about. But you can’t help it—he’s fucking magnetic. 

And, of course, he’s fucking good too. He knows how to play volleyball like a pro, and despite the stiff competition from Reuben and Mickey, Jake and Billy eventually prevail. 

The rest of the group erupts into laughter and cheers as Jake does a victory lap around the court—cocky bastard. Mav then tells you and Javy to flip a coin with Natasha and Bob to see who goes next. Your heart pounds in your throat as the coin spins in the air, and when it lands on heads, you curse under your breath—you’re up. 

The sun feels twice as hot as you stand across from Jake, grateful for your sunglasses that hide the very hungry look you know is threatening to spread across your face. This is Jake—annoying, cocky, careless Jake. There’s nothing special about him just because he was carved by the gods... right? 

You wriggle your feet in the sand, trying to shake off the way your body is betraying you, and decide to take a little of Maverick’s advice. Maybe it’s time to stop hating Jake Seresin and at least try to be civil. 

Jake gets into his stance just on the other side of the net, and then he tips his chin forward. His sunglasses slide down his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of those piercing green eyes. And then he fucking winks at you. The audacity. 

He throws the ball into the air, his body coiling as he leaps up after it, slamming the ball over the net toward your partner behind you. Your stomach flips. This bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. 

Javy whacks the ball back, and Billy returns it with equal intensity. You barely have time to think before you’re leaping up and spiking the ball back onto their side. It’s clearly Jake’s to save, but for some inexplicable reason, he freezes. He just stands there, staring at you like you’ve grown a second head, as if he can’t believe you just pulled that off. 

It wasn’t that impressive. In fact, you’re pretty sure you hit the net, which would be a foul in a real game—but this is just a friendly match. 

The ball hits the ground, and Billy throws his hands up in disbelief. “Dude, what the hell? I thought you had that.” 

Jake snaps out of his daze, his head jerking toward Billy like he’s just been slapped. “Shit, sorry.” 

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you turn to Javy. “Did you see that?” 

“Fuck yeah, I did!” he exclaims, beaming back at you. 

You rush over to him and deliver a high-five so hard it stings, but you don’t care. You just scored on Jake. 

You glance back over at him, jutting your bottom lip out exaggeratedly. “You okay, Seresin? Cat got your tongue?” 

You can’t see his eyes, but you know they narrow as he tips his head forward. “Oh, it’s on!” he growls. “You’re about to lose those wings, Angel!” 

A giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Bring it!” 

The game wears on, and your confidence begins to wane—because, yeah, Jake is good. Really good. But that only fuels your competitive fire. You’re sprinting, jumping, leaping without worrying about how you look. All that matters is keeping that ball off your side. You hit the sand twice, and your knees are starting to burn, but it’s worth it. You’re in it now. 

You and Javy are almost perfectly in sync, anticipating each other’s moves without a second thought. After every point, you share a high five or—at one point—a painfully awkward chest bump, but it’s worth it for the rush. 

The fatigue starts to creep in after about fifteen minutes, but you know the game is nearly over. So, when Jake sends a ball sailing just out of reach, you spring as high as you can, throwing your entire body into the jump. Your fingertips brush the ball, just enough to send it back over the net. 

You brace yourself for the inevitable thud of hitting the sand again, but instead, two strong hands catch you by the waist, pulling you into a solid, muscular chest. You do hit the sand, but with far less force than you anticipated. 

And then, you tumble right on top of Javy. The two of you land in a heap, laughter spilling out of you like it’s been building up all day. Sand is everywhere, covering both of your faces as you giggle uncontrollably. 

You hear Billy’s frustrated shout from across the court, and you realise that your dramatic save just scored you another point. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, climbing off Javy. 

He’s still chuckling and shaking sand out of his hair as he takes your hand to let you help him up. “Yeah, I’m good. You?” 

“Yeah, I had a pretty soft landing,” you reply, winking playfully at him before you can even think about it. 

When you turn back to your competitors, wearing a cocky smirk that could rival Jake’s, you’re met with a pair of blazing green eyes. Jake’s glare is nothing short of stormy, his sunglasses now perched on top of his head, eyes flicking between you and Javy. 

Wow, he really does not like losing. 

The next few volleys are borderline dangerous. Jake is putting everything he has into each hit—swinging hard and fast, directing every single ball straight at Javy. He’s darting all over the court, barely allowing Billy to touch the ball, sending it slicing through the air with a vengeance. 

Five minutes later, Jake and Billy are declared the winners, but Javy is wiped out. Not because of the loss, but because he’s exhausted from dodging and saving himself from Jake’s ruthless shots. 

Maverick calls for a break, giving Jake and Billy some downtime while Natasha and Bob face off against Brigham and Logan. 

Billy shoots both you and Javy a teasing grin, offering a little jab about doing better next time before grabbing a water bottle and heading over to chat with Bradley. The two of them stand at the edge of the water watching Reuben and Mickey try their hand at body surfing on the small waves rolling toward the shore. 

Javy grabs a cold bottle of water from the cooler before flopping down beside you in the sand. “That was intense,” he sighs. 

You nod, taking a long drink of your own water. “Yeah. Hangman doesn’t like losing.” 

Javy chuckles, his grin a little knowing. “In more ways than one, apparently.” 

You frown, opening your mouth to ask what he means, but Javy cuts you off with a subtle shake of his head as Jake approaches. His dark sunglasses are back in place, concealing any trace of emotion written on his face. 

You’re sitting next to the cooler, so you decide to extend a small olive branch. You pick up a bottle of water and offer it to him. 

He takes it without a word and starts to walk away, effectively snapping your olive branch. 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’?” you call after him, unable to stop the words before they slip out. 

He spins on his heel and strides back toward you, his broad shadow swallowing you whole. “Thank you? Right. For what? Doing something nice? I’m not in the habit of handing out gratitude to people who only pretend to care when it’s convenient for them.” 

Your heart races as the words sink in. The heat of the moment rushes to your head, and you rear back, suddenly feeling too small beneath his towering presence. “What the fuck is your problem?” 

“You are,” he snaps, voice sharp and low. “I can’t escape you. The academy, flight school, TOPGUN… then you had to run your fucking mouth and get us deployed together. This detachment was the best thing to happen to my career, and then you had to come in and fuck it all up. As usual.” 

The sting of his words lands like a slap across the face. Your heart beats louder in your chest, and the bridge of your nose burns. Your vision blurs, but you rapidly blink away the tears, refusing to give him the satisfaction. 

“As soon as we’re done here,” he says, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower, “I’m getting reassigned and getting the fuck away from you. For good.” 

“Good,” you bite back, scrambling to your feet. “The further you are from me, the better. Because I fucking hate you, Jake Seresin.” 

It’s a cheap shot, but it feels like the truth. You’ve never felt as hollow as you do in this moment, realizing that your past and what you once meant to each other still haunts you. He knows exactly where to hit to make it hurt. 

“Woah, woah,” Maverick’s voice cuts through the tension as he rushes over. “What’s going on? I thought you two-” 

“It’s fine, Mav,” you cut him off, voice cold. “It’s nothing.” 

Without waiting for a response, you turn and storm off, your feet digging into the sand with every furious step. You have no destination in mind, only the burning need to get away from him. You swipe the back of your hand across your cheek, feeling the dampness of your skin and realizing too late that you’ve been crying this whole time. How fucking embarrassing. 

- 

Later that night, Maverick sends out a message to everyone to let you all know that training will start a bit later tomorrow. Something that you’re grateful for, because you don’t fall asleep until well past midnight. You spend the hours crying and wallowing, allowing your mind to spiral, and ultimately giving way too much of your time to the thought of Jake Seresin. 

By morning, you’re feeling a little better and a lot stronger, fully prepared to ignore the hell out of him for the next few weeks. 

At 9 AM, you’re all gathered in the training room, waiting for Maverick to finish his meeting with the admiral. Everyone is there except one—Javy. And the absence of your pilot is making you more nervous than you’d like to admit. 

“Hey,” Nat says quietly, twisting in her chair to face you. “You feeling better?” 

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, heaps. Yesterday was just... a bit of a shit show.” 

She waves her hand dismissively. “We’re all entitled to a meltdown, especially with the kind of assholes we have to deal with.” 

You offer her a tight, appreciative smile. “Tell me about it.” 

She turns back around just as Maverick breezes through the door, his face tight with tension. 

“Alright, listen up,” he says, standing at the front of the room. “You’ve probably noticed by now that Coyote is absent. That’s because, during a particularly intense game of volleyball”—his gaze flicks sharply toward Jake—“he hurt his back. The doctors have recommended that he not fly until further assessment, so unfortunately, he’s out.” 

Your stomach drops and your heart starts pounding as a wave of anxiety washes over you. 

“Angel,” Maverick continues, his gaze shifting to you. “This means you’ll be Hangman’s back-seater.” 

A collective gasp ripples through the room, and your heart jumps into your throat. This has to be some kind of joke. This can’t be real. 

“Mav.” Jake leans forward, his posture stiff and tense. “This isn’t a good idea. I can’t fly with-” 

“You can and you will fly with her,” Maverick interrupts, his voice hard and final. 

You don’t look away from Jake, studying his profile with desperate eyes, searching for even a hint that he’s on board with this—like Maverick said he would be. But his face is stone cold, and you’re starting to think that Maverick might have been full of shit when he told you that Jake misses his back-seater. 

“That’s all,” Maverick says, his voice slicing through the stillness in the room. “Now, let’s hit the skies.” 

Downstairs in the locker room, your hands shake as you tug your flight suit on and drag the zipper up to your collarbone. You haven’t been this nervous since your first flight after the crash—but you managed then, and you’ll manage now. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t flown with Jake in years. You’re good at your job and he’s good at his. As long as you can both be mature, this will be fine. 

Jake’s already seated in the jet when you approach, head bowed over his controls. He doesn’t flinch when you climb up and strap into the back seat. He doesn’t even move—until it's time to follow the ground team’s signals toward the runway. 

You focus on steadying your breathing, the rumble of the engine thrumming through your body. When you glance up at the familiar helmet in front of you, a wave of aching nostalgia crashes over you, stealing the air from your lungs. 

Once you level out in the sky, you take a gulp of oxygen from your mask. 

Maverick’s voice crackles through the headset: “Enemy fighter inbound. Take him out. Work together.” 

You snap to attention, eyes locking on your radar, fingers flying over the controls with perfect precision. 

“Talk to me, Fritz,” Jake says coolly. “Where is he?” 

“I don’t see him yet,” Fritz responds. “Angel, anything on radar?” 

And then—Maverick’s jet appears on your radar. Fast. Slippery. Impossible to pin down. 

“I see him, but he’s bouncing all over the place,” you say. 

Jake dives after him instantly, and you resist the urge to look up—you have to trust him. 

“I’ve got him,” Jake says. “Fritz, on your left.” 

The g-forces shove you into your seat as Jake throws the jet into a tight, reckless turn. 

“Hangman, wait—follow my lead,” you snap. 

Jake scoffs. “No. Just be quiet and let me do my job.” 

You grit your teeth and swallow your retort. 

“Hangman, on your six,” Fritz warns, a beat too late. 

Jake yanks the jet into a hard, inverted climb. Your stomach flips, chest compressing painfully. 

Maverick isn’t playing fair. He’s a blur across your radar, pulling turns that would rip lesser pilots apart. Your fingers dance across your controls, tracking him as best you can. 

“He's coming up behind us, Hangman,” you call urgently. “Evade, evade.” 

Jake finally hesitates. 

“Left, now! Then roll!” you bark. 

And this time—he listens. 

The jet swings in a sharp, vicious arc. You spot a window, heart hammering against your ribs. 

“He’s right behind me, guys,” Fritz says, his voice strained with panic. 

“Hangman, right!” you yell. “Hold steady! I’ll have tone in four... three... two…” 

The shrill beep fills your helmet, and adrenaline floods your veins. 

“Fox two. Guns, guns, guns!” you shout. 

The HUD flashes red. Maverick is hit. 

“Nice move,” Maverick’s voice comes over the comms, surprisingly warm. “Very impressive flying.” 

You sag back in your seat, heart still racing. 

Flying with Jake used to be your favourite thing in the world. 

And God help you—you’re starting to realise it still might be. 

Back on the ground, the others are buzzing. They can’t stop raving about how good you were—how insane it is that you managed to catch Maverick with the way he was flying. 

Harvard and Yale are next up in the sky with Bradley, and Hondo tells you and Jake to go clean up before the afternoon briefing. Apparently, the admiral himself will be joining for a mission update. 

You’re just about to push into the women’s locker room when Jake’s hand slaps against the door, stopping you cold. You hadn’t even realized he was right behind you until he’s there—towering over you, close enough that you can smell the sun and sweat on his skin. 

“You—uh,” he starts, voice low and rough, like it’s been scraped raw. His free hand drags through his hair, mussing it up. “You were damn good up there.” 

You blink up at him, heart thudding. “Um. Thanks. You too.” 

You try to slide past him, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he leans in a little closer—close enough that you feel his chest against yours when you inhale too deeply. Your whole body locks up, wired so tight it’s a miracle you’re still standing. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he mutters, voice dipping even lower. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was... way outta line. And if you like Coyote... that’s fine.” 

You raise an eyebrow, the tension snapping something sharp inside you. “Thanks for the permission,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Especially coming from the guy who told me to find some loser to fuck in the first place.” 

You pause just long enough to see the way his throat bobs when he swallows. 

“But for the record?” you add, voice soft but cutting. “I’m not interested in Coyote. He’s got a little too much Hangman in him for my liking.” 

You expect him to lash back, but he doesn't say a word. He just stares at you—hungry, furious, starving—like he’s seconds away from doing something reckless. 

“Move,” you whisper, breath hitching. “I’m hot and sticky and I need a sho-” 

Before the words are fully out of your mouth, he grabs you. 

His fingers wrap around your bicep, pulling you against him and then pinning you against the wall. He cages you there with his body, pressing so close that there’s not a sliver of air between you. You can feel every hard plane of him, the heat pouring off his skin. 

“You drive me fucking crazy, Angel,” he growls, voice low and ragged, the sound vibrating through your chest. 

You gasp, back arching instinctively toward him. 

His mouth hovers just a breath from yours—so close you can almost taste him. His gaze drops to your lips, then flicks back up to your eyes, desperate and agonizing and wrecked. 

“Do you have any idea?” he murmurs, the rough edges of his voice catching. “How fucking hard it is to be around you?” 

His thumb brushes along your jaw, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorising the shape of you. Your skin burns under the touch, your whole body tightening with the need to just lean in—just once—before it’s too late. 

Your mind is scrambling, unable to catch up with whatever the fuck is going on. I mean, yeah, you know you drive him crazy—but not in this way. Not in a way that should make him look at you with that much hunger in his eyes. 

“Jake, I-” 

The sound of footsteps shatters the moment. 

He tears himself away from you like he’s ripping off his own skin, turning and disappearing through the next door without a word. 

You sag against the wall, dizzy and aching, as Reuben strolls past and raises a curious brow. You can’t even summon the energy to pretend you’re fine. 

Because for the first time in a long time, you know you’re absolutely, dangerously not. 

The next three days feel like you’re an extra on The Walking Dead. You can barely eat, barely sleep, and even breathing feels like a conscious effort—and half the time, you forget to. Every time you see Jake, your chest tightens, your lungs constrict, and your limbs seem to forget how to function. You stand there, frozen, like you’ve forgotten how to be human. But then he walks right past you, as if you don’t even exist. 

How he went from being molten hot to freezing cold is beyond you. And it’s almost tearing you apart. 

Everyone can feel it—the thick tension that’s building between you two. It’s suffocating. Even over the comms during flight drills, you can’t ignore the electricity crackling between you. It’s as if the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for the moment when everything explodes. 

Maverick has noticed it too. You haven’t even come close to catching him again during the drills. It’s like you’re both on autopilot—doing your jobs, but barely. 

It’s finally Friday, and you and Jake are the last to fly today. You should be focused—laser-focused—on the radar in front of you, tracking the mission as Jake does the high-speed manoeuvres Maverick instructed. But you can’t. Your eyes keep drifting toward the horizon. 

The sky was clear and sunny this morning, but now it’s turning ominous. You know there’s a storm coming tomorrow, but today was supposed to stay clear. Yet here you are, watching the sky darken, thick clouds rolling in like a slow-moving freight train. 

“Angel?” Jake’s voice snaps you back into the cockpit. 

“Yeah?” You blink, shaking yourself out of the daze. “Sorry, can you repeat?” 

“Do you see Mav?” 

“Not yet.” You hesitate, weighing up whether or not you should say something about the storm. But when you twist in your seat, you catch sight of the darkening clouds creeping toward you. 

“Jake,” you murmur, your voice low, “the sky looks bad.” 

The jet shifts into a turn, angling toward the oncoming storm. 

“Shit.” Jake curses under his breath. “Mav, are you seeing this?” 

“Yeah, I am,” Maverick responds, his voice tight. 

You tune out the next few seconds of chatter as Mav asks control if they need to call it off. The jet begins to shake slightly, the turbulence picking up, and Jake curses again as the wind buffets the jet, pushing you off course. 

You want to speak up and tell him that you’re scared. The words are sitting on the tip of your tongue, but then the memory hits you—the one from that day before the crash, when you told Jake, your best friend, that you were afraid. 

“You’re gonna alright, Angel,” Jake’s voice comes through your headset, as calm as it has no right being. It’s meant to be reassuring, but it only makes your stomach twist in knots. Those aren’t the words you wanted to hear then, and they're not what you want to hear now. 

The jet lurches again, and you grip the armrests, knuckles going white. Your chest tightens and you struggle to breathe. 

“Control has called it,” Maverick’s voice crackles through the comms. “Bring it back to base immediately.” 

“Copy that,” Jake replies, his voice steady but edged with a tension you can’t ignore. 

You try to focus on the instruments, but the jet is shuddering, veering off course as the storm grows closer. The sky is turning an almost unnatural shade of grey, and you’re pretty sure you can see a flicker of lightning in the distance. 

“Jake,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “Tell me we’re going to be okay. Both of us.” 

There’s a long pause before his voice comes through the comms, low and firm. “We’re gonna be okay, Angel.” 

You keep your eyes trained on the instruments as the jet wobbles its way back toward base. You’re moving slower than usual, every inch of the plane hesitant as it fights against the unsteady weather. Over the comms, you hear Maverick speaking with control, his voice calm and confident as he lands, having been much closer to base than the two of you. 

Just when you think you might be able to breathe a little easier, a downburst hits, and the jet is slammed by violent turbulence. A scream tears from your throat as the plane pitches up and down, lurching wildly in the storm. You’re thrown against the harness, the seatbelt biting into your skin as your body is tossed around like a ragdoll. 

Jake’s voice cuts through the chaos, but you can barely hear him over the deafening shrieks of the wind and the thunderous shakes of the jet. His words are broken and distorted, lost between the gusts of wind and the violent rocking of the plane. 

You glance up just in time to see a massive bolt of lightning slice through the dark clouds ahead, and the jet jerks again, diving into a deadly spin. 

“Jake!” you shout, panic rising in your chest. “We need to eject!” 

His voice is strained, barely audible, but you catch the tail end of what sounds like him saying he can save the plane—save you—but you know it’s too late. 

“Eject now!” Maverick’s voice crackles through the comms, urgent and commanding. “Eject, eject!” 

“Jake!” you scream, the fear in your voice raw and desperate. 

“Okay,” he says, his voice a rasp. “Eject!” 

You brace yourself, gritting your teeth as the plane continues to be tossed around like it’s made of paper. You have no choice but to trust in the training, the equipment, and Jake. 

Then, with a frantic press of the button, you eject. 

The world explodes into chaos. A rush of wind roars in your ears, the pressure so intense it feels like your bones are being hollowed out. For a heartbeat, everything is spinning, and then the world falls silent. Your stomach drops as you’re weightless, free-falling through the air. 

You force your eyes open, the blurring motion of the storm clouded sky making it hard to focus. But then, with a violent jerk, your parachute deploys, the canopy snapping open above you, catching the air and slowing your descent just enough to ease the shock of it all. 

- 

Being picked up and rushed to the hospital is a complete blur. The only clear memory you have is giggling like a lunatic in the back of the ambulance when you hear a huge crack of thunder. Like... yeah, you were just in the sky. 

Once they’ve got you in a bed, hooked up to machines, your mind slips into a half-conscious state. You're too full of adrenaline to fall asleep, but exhausted and in shock enough to let your eyelids drift shut. You hear the doctors discussing your condition—something about you being fine but clearly sleep-deprived. Rude. 

The thing that snaps you back to full consciousness is the sound of Jake’s frantic voice. Cracking and desperate as he argues with the doctors. 

“I told you, I’m fine!” he exclaims. “Look! I’m standing, breathing, walking. I need to see her. Let me see her or you’re going to be the one in a hospital bed!” 

You shift higher in the bed, and the beeping of your heart monitor increases its pace. 

“Oh, thank God,” Jake sighs, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and something you can't quite place as he rushes into your room. 

The nurses at the door scowl at him, but they don’t try to stop him. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asks, stepping quickly to the side of the bed. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

He reaches for your hand, hesitates, and instead places both palms on the bed railing beside you. 

“I’m fine,” you say softly, your voice still rough. “Just sleep-deprived, apparently.” 

His smile is shaky, watery, and the sight of it makes your chest ache as you look at the earnest, green-eyed boy you haven’t seen in years. The real Jake Seresin. 

“What are you sorry for?” you ask after a beat of silence. 

His brows furrow, and he hesitates, as if weighing his words carefully. “Um... you know, the whole plane crash thing... back there. Do you—did you bump your head?” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “No. I told you, I’m fine. Just sleep-deprived—which is something you should be apologizing for. Not losing control of a jet in a storm. That wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could.” 

He opens his mouth, likely ready to protest, to say something about how he should’ve seen it coming sooner, but then he stops himself. His eyes soften, and he tilts his head slightly. “Why do I need to apologize for your lack of sleep?” 

You snort loudly, a very unladylike sound. “Because of that shit you pulled the other day. Cornering me near the locker rooms and telling me that it’s hard to be around me. But not like ‘hard’ because you hate me, but like... I make you hard or something ridiculous.” 

You feel your cheeks burn at the thought. 

He chuckles, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Oh. That.” 

“Yeah,” you say. “That.” 

Another awkward silence falls between you, and both of you glance away, unable to meet each other’s gaze thanks to the thick and unholy tension hanging in the air. 

Your chest tightens as your heart tears itself in two. One half wants to forgive him for everything, to beg him to be your friend again and forget the years of unadulterated loathing. But the other half refuses to give in, holding onto the hurtful things he said and did—especially what he said before the first crash. 

Huh. Now you get to sulk about not one, but two plane crashes with Jake Seresin. 

Jake clears his throat, breaking the thick silence. “Do you want to know the real reason I encouraged you to become a weapons systems officer?” 

You glance at him, your brow furrowing. “We had this conversation last week, Jake. Are you sure you didn’t bump your head?” 

He rolls his eyes. “I said the real reason.” 

You gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “So it is because you were intimidated by my massive talent. I knew it.” 

He closes his eyes for a beat, inhaling like he’s summoning patience. “Why are you making this difficult? I'm trying to be intensely heartfelt right now.” 

You bite your lip to keep from giggling, not sure if it’s the painkillers or lingering adrenaline making everything feel strangely buoyant. “Sorry. Force of habit to annoy you. I’ll shut up. Please, enlighten me.” 

He grips the bed railing so tightly his knuckles turn white. When he looks back up at you, the intensity in his green eyes steals all the air from your lungs—and every ounce of humour drains away under the weight of his stare. 

“The reason I encouraged you to become a WSO is because I knew you’d be good—and I knew we’d be good together. And if we proved that, we’d most likely be deployed together.” His voice drops almost to a whisper. “I didn’t want to lose you.” 

It feels like you've just been ripped from your jet again, but this time you’re not free-falling—you’re caught in the storm, spinning helplessly out of control. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, and thanks to the rapid beeping of the monitor beside you, it’s not exactly subtle. 

Jake’s eyes flick toward the machine, a quick flash of amusement crossing his face, but when he meets your gaze again, his smile is small and fragile. “I was scared to lose you, and then that stupid crash happened. I knew I’d screwed everything up. I knew you’d hate me for ruining your record, but I-” 

“Wait.” You sit up straighter, twisting toward him. “Is that why you think I was mad? Because of the mark on my record?” 

He blinks, confused. “That’s... not why?” 

You stare at him, shock crashing through you. For years—years—you've carried this anger, this bitterness between you. And he never even knew the real reason why. 

“Jake...” You hesitate, emotion swelling tight in your chest. “I wasn’t mad about the crash being labelled pilot error. I mean, sure, it sucked, but that’s not why I couldn’t speak to you afterward.” 

His eyes widen, the colour draining from his face. “What?” 

“God, this is going to sound so stupid.” You drag a hand over your face. “The reason I was angry was because of what you said before we almost died. You told me it didn’t matter if you survived—as long as I did.” 

A heavy silence settles over you both, broken only by the too-loud beeping of your heart monitor. 

“I just...” You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. “I hated that you thought so little of yourself. That you could leave me behind and think I would be fine. That I could just go on like you never existed. You scared the hell out of me, Jake. And when we ejected and I couldn’t find you... I didn’t know if you were alive. I thought-” You stop, throat closing up. 

Jake’s chest heaves with quick, shallow breaths, his hands trembling slightly where they grip the rail. 

“When I saw you again, I wanted to forgive you. I knew I would... eventually. But then, before the hearing, you told me to-” 

“Stop acting like you're better than everyone else and get a fucking grip,” he says, voice hoarse, repeating the ugly words that had haunted you. 

You nod, forcing yourself to look at him. 

“I thought you hated me,” he mutters. “When you wouldn’t talk to me... I thought you hated me because of the crash. I thought I'd wrecked everything. I convinced myself you didn’t want me around anymore. I thought I’d lost you.” 

A flash of anger sparks in your chest. 

“So instead of just asking if I was okay, you made sure you lost me by being a prick?” 

Jake’s brow furrows, a flush creeping up his neck into his cheeks. “You didn’t talk to me for three fucking weeks after we almost died! What was I supposed to think?” 

“Maybe that I needed space?” You throw your hands up. “Maybe that I was a little rattled and trying to figure out how to breathe again? But no—you assumed that I hated you, so you just decided to hate me back.” 

He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustration practically vibrating off him. When he leans in closer, his eyes blaze with an intensity that makes your heart stutter—and the monitor beside you makes sure everyone hears it. 

“Don’t you get it?” His voice is low, rough around the edges. 

You can barely breathe. 

“I never fucking hated you,” he says. “I’m in love with you.” 

A nurse freezes at the door, shooting a concerned look toward the screaming heart monitor, but you barely notice. 

Jake’s voice softens, but it still hits like a punch. “That’s why I couldn’t stand seeing you with Coyote.” 

He pulls back like he’s preparing to walk away, but before he can, you grab his hand. Without thinking, you’re up on your knees, yanking him back toward you. There's a clatter behind you as your movement tugs at the cords and machines, but none of it matters. 

Jake stares at you, stunned, like he’s bracing for you to shove him away. 

But you don’t. You reach for his face, holding him between your palms like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go. You barely have time to catch your breath before crashing your mouth into his. 

The second your lips meet, it's like a dam breaks. Jake's hands find your waist, steadying you as you cling to him, desperate and trembling. He kisses you back with a rawness that speaks of years of confusion, anger, and longing all tangled together. His mouth is warm and familiar, yet new all at once—like you’re discovering something you’ve been searching for without even knowing it. For a moment, there’s nothing else: not the heart monitor blaring, not the nurses whispering at the door, not the ache still lingering in your bones. There’s only Jake, and the way he kisses you like he’s terrified to let you go again. 

But then a god-awful alarm explodes through the room, startling the two of you apart. 

One of the nurses rushes in, heading straight for the heart monitor. She presses a few buttons before turning to you with a spectacularly unimpressed glare. 

Your cheeks burn as you sink back into the bed, trying to sit properly. “Sorry.” 

She gives you a deadpan stare, then starts untangling the cords from around you. “I can see you're feeling much better. I’ll remove these to avoid any... further incidents.” She fiddles with the machines, then adds, “And I’ll page the doctor to clear you for discharge.” 

You nod sheepishly. “Thank you.” 

Then she turns her death stare on Jake. “You still need to be examined, so please return to your room.” 

Jake flashes her his most charming, boyish grin. “But I—” 

“Now.” 

You have to hold your breath to keep from laughing, but Jake doesn't even try. He chuckles low and deep, then leans over you again, his presence swallowing the space between you. He kisses you—firm and possessive—right on the mouth. Then at the corner of your lips. Then your cheek. Your jaw. Finally, he breathes against your ear, voice a delicious threat: 

“When we get out of here, I'm gonna be the loser who fucks you ‘til you finally unwind.” 

And then he’s gone, leaving you breathless and blushing like a maniac, while the very exasperated nurse pretends she didn’t hear a damn thing. 

END.