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norrisjpg · 8 days ago

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cool about it

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summary: in which, what lando thinks was a bad race and a bad weekend, couldn't be more different in the eyes of his favourite person.

content: the fluffiest fluff ever, negative thoughts, self-doubt, crying, insecure!lando, poor mental health, mclaren slander, cuddling, shared showers (non-sexual), lando 'heart-eyes' norris!

pairing: lando norris x fem!oc

rora's thoughts: i am actually distraught after the saudi arabian grand prix weekend because what do you mean lando was crying in the car after qualifying? what do you mean he thinks that he's the problem? i can't keep seeing mclaren fuck him over because i am going to crash out harder than max when esteban took him out that one time. and to clarify, i am not an oscar fan - yes he's unproblematic, and i used to like him - but after hungary, monza and australia, i cannot bring myself to support a driver who's so willing to fuck up his teammate's race with no care for the result, especially when mclaren claim to be such a well-organised team with great relationships within it.

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SHE KNEW HE WASN'T going to be happy.

the way he looked at oscar with subtle resentment as he patted him on the back, the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes in his sky sports interview, the way his shoulders slumped when he was asked what happened in the fifty laps of jeddah - they were all tell-tale signs, easily picked up his best friend.

lando breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he stepped into the mclaren motorhome, the team debrief having drained him. he wasn't jealous, he wasn't angry, he was just longing.

longing. longing for self-validation, longing to be appreciated by the team, longing not emotionally manipulated when he was at risk of death from crashing. it took his mind back to hungary last season, will's words that still frequently echoed around his head, and how sick he'd felt when those sentences crackled into his ears.

"the way to win a championship is not on your own," will had told him. "you're going to need the team, you're going to need oscar."

he knew he was spiralling, thoughts swirling into one big pathetic mess. the tears were creeping up on him, like a slow and agonising death - he couldn't cry, he did well right?

the world was static around him, all the noise and bustle of saudi arabia blending into a mushy blur as his breathing picked up a little. his lower lip was squat between his teeth in a desperate attempt to stop it from trembling and the reality of the situation sinking in.

they just seemed to look past the previous years lando had spent with the team, the four gruelling years of finishing out of the points, watching teammates come and go, not being the number one driver, lando was there through it all, loyal to the papaya team when they directed their energy into other parties, just as was happening now - the only exception being when it was mathematically impossible for oscar to win the twenty-four drivers' championship.

"lando?" a soft voice called, after a knock on the door the driver had failed to notice. "please, let me in."

he tried to hum, but the words caught in his throat, dying along the redness of his neck. so instead, he stood up a little too quickly, mind reeling from the change in altitude and the thoughts torpedoing through it - and he opened the door.

lily stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his torso and squeezing him tight, while kicking the door shut behind her. he was sweaty, dripping with the liquid that he believed should have been champagne - instead replaced with fatigue and frustration.

"i'm sorry."

could he sound any more pathetic? he was a grown man for god's sake, practically sobbing into lily's shoulder as his hands rested on her lower back. this wasn't the mentality of a world championship - the critics had said - he needed to have a 'fuck you' attitude - as will buxton had claimed in a recent podcast - lando was never going to be world champion - that's what social media had told him.

"don't be," she said, voice laced with sorrowful affection. "you have nothing you could possibly be sorry for, you drove incredibly today, lan."

"no i didn't, i didn't get a podium, and i've lost the championship lead," lando began, sighing into her skin. "and i'm so fucking tired of the team telling me to wait it out, when their letting oscar win and overtake me and all this stupid fucking papaya rules—"

"—lando." lily said firmly. "you're spiralling, take a breath."

"i want to go home." he murmured, a singular tear dropping from his eye and onto her shoulder.

"i know, but our flight isn't until tomorrow," she told him quietly, placing a hand on the back of his neck. "is the hotel okay?"

a broken hum left his lips, and she cupped his jaw, lifting his head from the crook of her neck and making him look at him.

"i hate seeing you like this, you know?" the model whispered. "you are so incredible, and it kills me that you can't see yourself in the same way i do."

lando just sighed, breath crackling in his throat as he stared down at his lifeline, holding him so affectionately and telling him everything he needed to hear.

"i love you so much," a small smile broke onto his face as more tears dropped from his eyes, to which she responded to by wiping them away with her thumb.

"i love you too, lan." she replied, nodding her head as she internally relaxed upon seeing the crease at the corner of his eyes matching the display of genuine joy on his lips.

• • • •

THE DRIVE BACK was quiet, filled with the hum of the engine and the rolling of tyres on tarmac. the windows were sealed up, air-conditioning on full blast — in an attempt to gradually bring lando's body temperature back to a normal after the ice bath he'd had around thirty minutes ago.

his head rested lazily on her shoulder, lulling a little as they encountered speedbumps in the black suv — driven by the chauffer mclaren had hired for the british driver.

lando's curls were damp and a few were sticking to his forehead, his eyes were half-lidded and tired, and he still smelt of burnt rubber and sweat, coated in the aroma from the time he'd spent in his black fireproofs. he felt pliant, out of control in the softest way possible, gentle and affectionate and sleepy.

she'd swiped the key card across the pad on the door, a quiet, positive-sounding beep coming from the device. before he knew it, he was inside the cool room, eyes almost shutting as the perfect temperature of the area enveloped him.

"shower?" lily tilted her head, walking toward the bathroom and flicking the light on.

"too tired." lando groaned, stumbling toward the bed.

"you smell like barbequed human, shower."

he sighed, padding over to the en-suite slowly, steps heavy and long.

"shower with me?" the words slipped from his mouth with no afterthought, too tired and achy to realise what he'd just asked.

and for the first time, her words faltered, snagged in her throat as the weight of his words settled in her chest. so, instead of verbally replying, she simply grabbed his swim shorts from her suitcase and handed them to the man, gesturing for him to go and get changed in the bathroom.

a subtle smile graced his expression, and he walked into the bathroom, closing the door and stripping off at his own pace.

lily changed into the bikini she'd accidentally left in her suitcase from their bahrain trip the previous week — quickly wiping her makeup off with a wipe and taking down her hair from the half-up-half-down style she'd previously donned.

"lan, can i come in?" the girl called through the door softly.

"yeah," he replied, stepping into the shower, basking under the hot water that poured over his skin.

she opened the door, walked in, and left it open, hoping the steam would drain out of the bathroom once they'd finished together.

after picking up the washbag from the countertop, lily slid the glass shower screen across and joined him, placing the bag down once again and letting the water wash through her hair and over her body.

"i love you," lando sighed, puffing his lips out a little as he gazed down at her. "so, so much."

"i love you too," the model smiled, the corner of her eyes creasing as she looked up at him. "more than you know."

it was intimate, her hands were all over him in the most wholesome way possible. her slender fingers massaged the hair food into his scalp, paying attention to the curls poking out at the nape of his neck, taming them with her skilled digits. her palms flatly rubbed circular motions over his shoulder blades and spine, the smell of vanilla filling the shower along with the steam around them.

she'd even gotten lando his usual sleepwear, an old pair of black quadrant shorts that had now been discontinued, and a clean pair of boxers, of course.

lily had gotten ready for bed in the bathroom, dressed in her black silk pyjama set, skin a little red from the products she'd scrubbed into her pores.

lando was sat on the bed, zoned out and looking sleepy. she walked over to him, standing directly between his legs, causing him to look up at her. their height difference meant that his chin rested directly on her sternum, just above her boobs, when he made eye contact with her.

the girl had started affectionately rearranging his unruly curls, tucking in soft strands of hair here and there, pulling some others more outward from his scalp.

meanwhile, he was blatantly staring at her like a lost puppy — pupils dilated, eyebrows slightly arched, lower lip caught between his teeth. he was the definition of heart-eyes, a man who only had eyes for one woman and one woman only.

his arms wrapped snugly around her waist, keeping her against him as she fiddled with his mullet — which had been her idea in the first place, claiming it was a birthday treat for her last june. lando admired the way her hair was back in a tight, low bun, not tight enough to be described as sleek though, as there were a few stray strands — or 'duck strands' as she liked to call them — at the sides of her face and by her ears. the way her skin looked a little pinker than usual because of her meticulous skincare routine, the way her skin smelt like shea butter and papaya fruit — which was the scent of the body lotion she was currently using.

it was when they were in bed together around ten minutes later, lights off, room lit by the moonlight, that he knew.

he knew because of how relaxed he felt in her grasp. he knew because of how her arms felt like home. he knew because of how soft her lips felt against his temple when she mumbled goodnight.

lando knew he was going to be okay.

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i do not give permission for my works to be re-written, re-published, or published on any other platform.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #fanfiction #f1 2024 #lando norris #lando norris one shot #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris x oc #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #lando fluff

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altitudeofalcatraz · 2 years ago

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If anyone sees this, I’m looking for rain world art requests-!! can be canon or non-canon, ships included-! I have no ideas for art so this is what I'm resorting to-- oops.

#rainworld #rain world #rainworld downpour #rainworld rivulet #art #altitudes art #altitudes chats #hungry for requests... yes #feel free to also send multiple idont mind #ocs are allowed as well yes yes

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aecholapis · 7 months ago

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#ironwing (oc)#ft. altitude. carbonlight and helios #oc stuff #transformers oc #wow! it's in color. sorry I don't have time for polished drawings rn so this'll have to do

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mlqueen89 · 6 days ago

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Six | Stakes

I want to know Everything about you that I've had to dream about Every single almost that we've been dancing around I want to know Who we are when we can stop pretending we're just friends Let's go to those places that we've never been

The Way I Wanna by Max McNown

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin / ofc (top gun: maverick)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

warnings/triggers: 🔥smut in overall series, p in v sex, fingering (lmk if i missed any!)

word count: 8,518

summary: ellie realizes that she needs to swallow her pride as the stakes are upped in a significant way.

A/N: i think i have some of the best readers on all of tumblr, if not all of the internet. so, since you’ve been so patient with me and i've been torturing you with all the sexual tension...

my biggest apologies for leaving you guys hanging! lots of illness and #toughlifeshit going on, but all is looking up.

for those of you looking forward to the glen powell/f!writer oc fic "i can do it with a broken heart," my lovely betas and i are cooking up the launch.

there are a few tag requests that don’t have tumblr usernames attached in the tag form. If you requested a tag and you don’t see yourself tagged, let me know and I'll tag you right away and add you to the tag doc!

allons-y!

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ glossary of terms ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ❥

The data was in the red again.

Angry, relentless, it seeped across Ellie’s screen in jagged lines and pulsing errors. When she closed her eyes, to sleep, to blink, under the spray of a hot shower, she could see it still, just behind the quiet in her mind, burned into her retinas.

Error.

Failure.

Danger Ellie Rigby, danger.

Was it irrational to think that numbers could taunt her? Because it sure felt like they were.

She’d been at this for hours—no, days. It was days, now. Days that bled together with routine and numbers that didn’t act the way they were supposed to.

A symphony of chaos orchestrated by Jake fucking Seresin.

Pulling flight data, filtering telemetry, layering Jake’s flight logs over top of every other pilot’s log in the system, from testing and from mission training (because why stop with just Rooster and Teak) always resulted in the same findings.

Jake’s data showed the same maneuvers.

Same wind shear.

Same altitude drops.

Same variables, same route, same conditions.

But his data didn’t bend like Rooster’s or dip like Teak’s. It broke. Every. Damn. Time.

She muttered fuck and I'm going to murder him under her breath, dragging the cursor through the heatmaps, watching his flight path curve and zip, carve through her projections and predicted variables like a scalpel through paper. A hot knife through butter.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing she wrote could predict him. Nothing she coded could contain him.

No matter how often she adjusted the parameters, no matter how often she read his data and shifted her tech to catch him where he’d dodged, the same red numbers filled her screen.

It was as if he studied her data sets during pre-flight briefings and quickly noted how they could be shattered until they were unrecognizable. She was almost certain he did, she could practically see it, his eyes, mischievous and fucking twinkling, catching hers as he strode past her toward the tarmac.

Not even the Anti-Seresin protocol she coded after that first test flight disaster made her feel better when it popped up on her screen. Instead, it made her something that teetered between frustrated and livid.

If the time constraints weren’t impossibly tight to present something functional, stable and reliable, she might have been impressed. Might have been.

If it’s not ready... Mav had mentioned, again, just the other day as he dragged her out of the office to get some fresh air and a coffee, almost prying her rigid fingers from the edge of her desk ...we can defer to next quarter.

It took every ounce of patience she had left to keep her hand from crushing the disposable cup in her grip, to keep her gait even as they walked. She responded as she had before: No, it’s ready.

Deferring now felt like admitting that she wasn’t cut out for this, and by birth, she knew in her goddamned bones, she was. Even if she didn’t like acknowledging it, she was Rick Neven’s daughter, a top class, damn good Top Gun pilot. Raised on the shoulders of quasi-uncles like Iceman and Mav, Wolfman and Slider. That meant something.

It had to.

She leaned in closer to the screen, as if proximity might change what she was seeing before she leaned back in a huff, combing a hand through her hair.

Nothing held him.

Not her algorithms.

Not the predictive modeling.

Not even the black box diagnostics that she’d demanded access to from the higher ups.

He was effectively a ghost in the system. Untouchable. Untraceable. Un-fucking-reasonable.

And yet, all of it would have been easier to deal with if he wasn’t also (unfortunately) the last person she wanted to or should have been thinking about late at night.

It would have been so much simpler if she didn’t remember the sound he made as he finally gave her what she was begging for and pushed inside her, a low groan against the shell of her ear. It would have been less complicated if she didn’t still dream about his fingers in her hair and the scrape of his teeth against the hard edge of her collarbone.

She couldn’t fucking think straight anymore.

It was as if when he was undoing her, with his mouth, with his hands, with the way he moved inside of her like he knew what would set her alight, he’d quietly rewired her brain. Remapped neural pathways until they all led back to him. His smell, his taste, the sound of his voice and the way it hit deep parts of her, so her mind thrummed like a tuning fork.

Sometimes, more so now after the night she left him at the Hard Deck a week ago, there was very little between her and the overwhelming need to satisfy herself. In a bathroom stall, in the quiet of her office, after hours with the door locked, biting hard into her bottom lip as she came with the thought of him on her mind.

Nothing ever quite satisfied that need for him though. The pinch of desire still lingering just out of reach, building until she next had to ease the pressure of it.

Every time, on the come down, she pushed away the suffocating thought that she’d never remembered a time when she’d felt like this. Simultaneously smoldering and yet, burning.

“You wanted me?”

Her spine straightened sharply, his voice hitting her like heat. It was something she felt in her stomach. A flop. A flush of liquid warmth that pooled a little lower than her bellybutton.

She didn’t hear the knock if there had been one. Just that familiar drawl curling through the air, low and casual, laced with something just beneath the surface.

Ellie looked up fast, heart kicking against her ribs. Across the room, Jake stood in the doorway, tall, golden, and infuriating—his flight suit still on, the zipper tugged halfway down like if was nothing, like he didn’t know what that did to her.

Except he did—he had to. The night they’d met, when he’d looked at her over the rim of his beer, the same easy confidence in the way he presented himself, the same suit clinging to his body like a second skin.

She gave a curt little nod toward the chair opposite her desk. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed hard, hoping the thick, hardwood between them would be enough of a buffer. Enough distance so he couldn’t hear the erratic beating of her traitorous heart as loudly as she could.

When he stepped into the room, he shut the door softly behind him and moved toward the chair. He didn’t sit, instead choosing to hover near it, hands planted on his hips, a trademark smirk exposing dimples.

“You still chasing my numbers?” he asked, eyes flickering to the screen in front of her.

“Depends, are you still screwing mine up?” She shot back easily, second nature, but her voice didn’t quite carry the edge that she’d meant it to.

“Told you I don’t play by the rules, Ace.”

Admittedly, it was to be expected. Rules and Jake Seresin never did play nicely.

If she ever had to determine who amongst them had been body snatched, the first sign she’d look for was a version of Jake that toed the line and didn’t fall back into his usual penchant for getting under her skin. No pun intended.

He smirked, but there was something else in his eyes. Something darker. Pupils blown wide, eclipsing his beautiful green eyes with something hungry. And when his gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered, she felt her stomach flip.

“Maybe your system just can’t keep up with me.” He continued, his voice dipping lower still.

Her pulse stuttered. She looked away—only to find herself looking down. Below the waist, his flight suit clung to the shape of him, already hard and her mind betrayed her.

Flashes. The way he took her apart without hesitation. The filthy things he’d whispered in her ear like promises of what was to come as she writhed beneath him.

Hands dragging her hips to the edge of the bed. His mouth tasting her like he was starving.

The way he looked up at her as she looked down, gripping the headboard and rocking against his mouth, greedy for the next crushing, shuddering wave of orgasm he pulled from her.

The hot weight of him stretching her open, filling her when she’d begged, desperate, for the kind of release only his cock could provide.

It was the memory of a night she’d tried to bury in mountains of logic and equation. Tried to shrink into boxes with labels and cautions. Yet, it managed to crawl back up every day when she saw him, every moment he smirked at her with that shared knowledge. It brought back with it the feelings and the swift, intense ache of needing him, a body no grave could hold down.

She wanted him again. God, she fucking wanted him.

“You’ve been thinking about it too,” she said then, breaking the silence. It had meant to be a question, but it came out as a fact, low and raw.

“Every damn night.” The gravelly sound of his voice was all she needed to hear. He never lied to her.

Then, between them, it was as if something snapped.

Ellie stood and stepped around the desk, and he stepped forward to meet her there, hands sliding to her hips. She didn’t stop him. Couldn’t anymore. His touch burned through the thin slip of her shirt, and he kissed her, tongue already in her mouth, like they picked up where they had left off.

Yet, it wasn’t clumsy or rushed. It was a rhythm—one she remembered just as she knew to breathe. Without instruction, he knew where she wanted him to touch her, how to make her gasp into him without guidance. Responding to her thoughts as they passed through her mind.

His mouth moved to her neck, his hand under her shirt, deftly undoing her bra before he palmed her breast, pinched her nipple sharply until a muted moan parted her lips and her knees threatened to give way. She could feel his smirk against her skin as she clutched his shoulders, holding herself upright.

He didn’t even need to be inside of her, she thought, she’d come just like this, gripping him as the world melted away while he nipped and sucked where the hickey he’d left that first night had been. If he wanted to mark her, reclaim her as his, she’d let him.

She stumbled slightly as he pressed her backward until she hit the edge of the desk, breath ragged as he lifted her up onto it like she weighed nothing. She hit the desk with a soft gasp, papers fluttering to the floor, test results and calibration logs scattering like leaves as her hands swept back to brace herself.

She wasn’t in complete control of her words when they started to come out, unedited, spilling, “You remember—” she began, already breathless, her chest heaving as she tried to find the next word.

Jake’s voice came out rough, hazy. “I remember every sound you made. Every time you said my name, like you couldn’t help yourself. Begging me to—”

He was working the button on her jeans now, one handed, as he reached up around the back of her neck and pulled her toward him, his lips crashing to hers like a diver surfacing for air. The button released and he dragged her pants off sharply, pulling her closer to him with the motion.

Ellie broke the seal of their lips first, tipping her head back a gasp moving through her as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her panties and found her clit, swollen, pulsing. She instinctively clenched around nothing as his thumb brushed her, slick. She watched, entranced as he swallowed thickly, she’d come for him, as many times as he let her.

“Jesus,” he said it like he had to hold himself back, like the part of him that wanted this to last and the part of him that wanted to fuck her, warred. “You’re still so fucking wet for me...” it came out as a growl, primal.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, rocking against his hand as he slipped two fingers inside of her, his thumb still moving in lazy circles, just behind the first orgasm waiting to fall out of her.

Where Jake didn’t like to follow rules, he followed instruction well.

He didn’t stop.

Fingers working her just right, like he knew her body better than she did. Like he owned it.

She was already so close, and he knew it, so when she arched against his hand, the papers still beneath her crinkling and stuck to her skin, he slowed, moving up her body dragging her shirt up to pinch her hard nipple between his teeth.

“Jake—” she breathed, her brow scrunched.

Ellie whined as he pulled his fingers out with an obscene, slick sound. When she propped herself up on her elbows, her hand trailing down to fill to void of pleasure, Ellie watched as he pulled the flight suit down, leaving only a white undershirt and his dark blue tented boxers.

In the light of her office, taking him in, she could see the patch of material dampened with pre-cum. Something in her spiked, her fingers picking up speed as she chased the edge of her ending.

“Not yet,” he huffed out a breath, his eyes glazed and wild all at once, grabbing her wrist, prying it away. He bent to kiss her clit carefully, reverently, the slightest flick of his tongue and the smallest bit of suction when he came away almost sending her off the cliff face into a freefall.

Her legs roped around his waist in response as he straightened, holding him to her.

She was wet and needy and already so close she was shaking from the anticipation of it. It was like muscle memory—he knew her. Knew exactly how to unravel her.

His eyes caught hers, his hand carefully pulling himself out, the tip already slick with his want. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he stepped closer and dragged the tip of his cock through the mess between her legs. The bump of him on her clit had her hips moving forward, chasing it as a moan escaped her lips. In her ears, she could hear the wetness of herself, could feel her empty cunt clenching around nothing.

“Jake—” his name was breathy on her lips, a whispered prayer, “—please.”

Her legs tightened around his lower back, trying to pull him forward closer as he slid himself down toward her opening and he hissed something that sounded at once close and far away.

“Fuck, Ellie—” He breathed out her name and once it fell from his lips, she wanted to hear him say it again. He spoke her name like he was trying to center himself, trying to regain control of a situation he himself definitely didn’t have control over.

Ash in the wind.

“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he groaned, resting his tip just at her entrance. When he pressed forward, pushed into her, the gasp that tore from her was involuntary. She swore she saw fucking stars as her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she closed them into darkness.

Then—nothing.

She jolted upright.

Ellie's skin was slick with sweat, sheets twisted around her thighs, skin flushed and pulsing with the echo of a climax that hadn’t really happened.

Dark room. Her bed. Alone. No Jake. No desk. No hands. No mouth. Not one inch of his cock inside of her.

She withdrew the hand between her legs, the wet heat pulsing, aching and unsatisfied. The glow of her phone on her nightstand a beacon in the still darkness: 3:41 AM.

Her head fell back against her pillow with a loud groan.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Ellie threw off the headset, the clatter as it hit her laptop and then the floor almost inaudible over the loud groan that fell from her lips.

Today’s test flights had been a disaster.

Just like the test flights from Monday and Tuesday.

Just like every test flight since the first when Hangman had dismantled her tech without a care in the world.

When she screwed her eyes shut a headache thrummed steady, just out of the reach of the Tylenol she’d popped an hour ago. Mashing the heels of her palms into her eyelids, she pressed until starbursts of white erupted in the blackness.

Maybe she had a tumor.

It was the only logical explanation, right?

Maybe her dreams about Jake in the night and the way they clung to the very corners of her thoughts in the day was her body telling her there was a foreign mass lodged in a cortex. She made a mental note to do some spotty research on where she could get a CAT scan in a half-assed attempt to troubleshoot, likely ending with one Google search before being forgotten.

Until her brain reminded her during the night by way of a (reoccurring) fantasy where Jake, hands placed firmly on her hips, bent her over a pool table and fucked her, wet panties pushed aside haphazardly because he couldn’t waste another second not being inside of her.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

She was in the middle of typing “sex dreams and constant headaches correlation to brain tumors” into a new tab when a gradient of blue and white filled her phone screen and Mav’s name flashed, bold and white.

When she answered, she was flushed, embarrassed as though he had the faintest idea of what she’d just searched, raw dogging it in a non-incognito browser.

“Mav?”

On the other end of the line, there was a bluster of air, a scream of a jet ripping down a runway, the unmistakable sound of it taking to the sky. “We’ve got a problem.”

The problem, as Mav delicately explained, was “monumental”—the Mount Everest of hurdles. It was to their project what the iceberg was to the Titanic: catastrophic and unavoidable. Not enough lifeboats. Women and children first.

Ellie only half appreciated the candor as she watched Mav pace the length of the P-51 Mustang, a WWII era relic he always seemed to be fixing up, sitting in a hangar he’d somehow managed to hijack for personal use.

She was sure there was a metaphor mixed in there, for how it looked perfect to her but whenever she asked Mav, it always seemed to need one difficult to find piece or another. Always a work in progress. Never complete.

“Stark is demanding answers.” He huffed, paused. Paced some more. Kicked a loose nut he came across in his path. Ellie listened to it ting and clatter off something else metallic, lost. “Didn’t say why, but it can’t be a coincidence that some of the Admirals are sitting down with the Office of Naval Research end of next week.”

Fuck.

How many 'fuck' moments could she have in one day?

Her count was already up to three, before 11 AM.

“Okay.” Ellie stepped up to the table of blueprints, drummed her fingers on top of Mav’s flight helmet sitting on a side table, absently.

The Office of Naval Research meeting was next week. Stark sitting down with her now meant, she hoped, that the Rear Admiral hadn’t completely given up on the tech’s potential.

The single word response earned Ellie a hands-on-hip eyebrow raised look from Mav as he stopped pacing. “Oh, you have those answers then?”

“Depends on the questions she asks.” Ellie could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, magnifying the headache exponentially. “When?”

When was the hour of their greatest need? When was the march to the gallows? Prayers, prayers, sorrows, sorrows.

Mav huffed a laugh before he glanced down at his watch. “Now.”

The conference room was colder than Ellie expected, the air conditioning hummed softly in the background, the shades drawn across the large picture window at her back.

The ominous feel of doom did not escape her, creeping up the back of her neck as she fought back a shiver. The walls were bare except for the Navy insignia hanging behind Rear Admiral Stark, who sat at the head of the table, expression unreadable. The small, beige timer she’d wound and set on the table, front and centre, ticked away: seven minutes.

Ellie sat across from her, back straight, hands folded in her lap to keep from fidgeting. Mav was beside her, silent—for now, his posture a bit more relaxed than Ellie’s rigid one, but she could see the seriousness in the straight line of his mouth, the hard furrow of his brow.

When Ellie had appeared, Mav at her side, RADM Stark had granted him a seat at the table, despite the way her lips pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon. He’d been granted permission to sit in on the firm condition he “kept his mouth shut”, a fact Ellie could tell he clearly wasn’t happy about.

Rear Admiral Stark exhaled, fingers drumming against the table for only a moment before she broke the silence. “Let’s not waste time, Ms. Rigby.” She nodded at the ticking timer before she leaned forward, her hand waving over the spread of papers Ellie had provided. Her eyes didn’t shift down to the reports, the meticulously gathered documentation, charts and data. “With the meeting coming with Navel Research and the Secretary of Navy, the test results your tech are putting up aren’t where they need to be.”

Ellie nodded, forcing herself to hold the woman’s gaze. “I’m aware, ma’am. But I can assure you, they are improving. We’ve been within two percent of the projected margin for the last three simulations. If we then adjust for environmental factors, the success rate is—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Stark interrupted smoothly, her gaze sharp and unrelenting. “You’ve had weeks. You have some of the best pilots in the world at your disposal. And yet, somehow, we’re looking at numbers that still don’t meet expectations.”

Ellie swallowed, pulse drumming at the base of her throat. “I understand, ma’am. We’re working on recalibrating the—”

Stark cut her off with a sharp look, her long finger tapping the paper closest to her. “Ms. Rigby, woman to woman—” her gaze didn’t slip to Maverick once, “—don’t bullshit me and I won’t bullshit you. I’m not interested in projections; I’m interested in results. The results aren’t good enough. Does sixty percent truly look like progress to you? You want me to sit in front of that stuffy old bastard Quigley and tell him as much?”

Ellie’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She could feel Mav shift beside her. She didn’t need to look at him to feel the energy rolling off him. As agreed, he hadn’t spoken outside of professional pleasantries, but she could feel the barely restrained tension pooling in his aura as he silently fought for his life to hold back the words surely backing up in his mind, just on the tip of his tongue, like a jammed printer.

Part of her wanted to reach under the table to grip his arm, tell him to relax, that she had this under control, but she wasn’t sure she believed that herself.

“Moreover, do you think pilots are going to be okay flying with tech that gives them a forty percent chance of being scattered over the ocean or enemy territory?”

“No, ma’am. But—”

Stark held up a hand again. She leaned back in her chair, assessing Ellie for a long, drawn-out moment, the silence only filled in by the ticking of the air conditioning and the timer. Ellie didn’t shift, didn’t shrink under the weight of it.

“Do you have any idea what this project is to me, Ms. Rigby?” she sighed, voice even but tinged with the weight of her position as she glanced at the timer ticking away. “It’s my last vote for funding approval. My final act on paper before I turn in my stars in the spring. I have given the Navy everything, sacrificed and borne the weight that comes with my rank. I won’t go out on a sour note. I won’t attach my name to a failure.”

Stark let it breathe, let it sink in, watching Ellie with a measured look. Then, as if on an afterthought, she exhaled deeply, shifting slightly in her seat.

Of all things Ellie had expected, it was a dressing-down. But it wasn’t until the Rear Admiral’s lips curled into something resembling a smile, nostalgic, that Ellie realized she may have underestimated just how hard this meeting was going to hit.

“I know you know what the Navy takes from a person.” Stark’s voice was even, neutral. “Your father was one hell of a pilot. Not one person can question that. But make no mistake, that doesn’t mean I’ll cut you any slack. If this doesn’t work, I back the pulling of the plug. And when I walk away, I walk away clean.”

Ellie stiffened. Her hands slipping off the table and clenching into fists in her lap before she forced them flat again, her fingers still trembling, clammy. Of course. She should have seen it coming.

Stark’s gaze flickered over her reaction, assessing, as if she were waiting for Ellie to break—waiting for some sign she’d struck a nerve.

Ellie made sure to give her nothing.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, ma’am,” Ellie said, tone steady, even if her stomach was twisting itself into knots.

Mav shifted beside her, the first movement he’d made in minutes. Ellie didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. She knew the expression he’d be wearing. The barely restrained frustration on her behalf as his mouth opened and snapped shut again just as quickly.

Mav had always let her fight her own battles; she was sure he knew better than to step in now.

“Then tell me, ten words or less, why I shouldn’t recommend Research pull funding and scrap this right now.”

Ellie inhaled sharply, Stark’s words a kick to her stomach. “Because it’s not going to fail.”

Stark sat back, skeptical. “I wanted to back a woman in the field. Thought it was time for a shift, time to show that women could lead the future of aviation tech, plant the seed for after I’m gone.” She exhaled slowly. “Maybe that was a mistake.”

Ellie stiffened. “No, ma’am. It wasn’t.”

“Good,” Stark said simply, then leaned forward again, folding her hands atop Ellie’s reports. “The Secretary is meeting end of next week to go over our funding. If you can’t prove to me that this program is worth the resources the Navy is putting into it, I will recommend we pull the plug. And I don’t care whose daughter you are.”

Ellie nodded once, firm. “Understood.”

Stark studied her for another beat, as if trying to decide whether she believed in Ellie’s resolve.

Finally, she gave a curt nod, seemingly decided. “You have one week. If I don’t see substantial improvement by the time the Secretary marches his short ass onto this base, it’s done.”

Ellie inhaled slowly, measured. One week wasn’t much time. Frankly, it wasn’t nearly enough. But it was better than nothing. One week was better than having her funding pulled today, here and now.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Stark glanced at Maverick then, just for a second. “Captain Mitchell,” she acknowledged before rising from her seat, straightening out her uniform. “You’re both dismissed.”

Ellie stood, reflecting Mav’s formality at her side, but she didn’t relax until Stark left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Only then did she exhale, her shoulders sagging.

Mav allowed a hand to scrub his face before he let out a long breath, a single word evacuating him on it. “Jesus.”

Ellie forced her hands to stay still on the table, even though every nerve in her body was screaming at her to move. To act. To do something. Plan.

Instead, she turned her eyes to Mav, “well, I think that went super well, don’t you?” The dry smile that pushed up the corners of her lips didn’t reach her eyes.

Mav just shook his head. “You okay?”

Ellie nodded, because what else was there to say? She didn’t need Stark to cut her any slack, in fact, she preferred it that way. As it was, she’d be picking the thorn of Hollywood’s legacy out of her side until the week was over.

“What’s our next move?” Mav was already starting for the door, motioning for Ellie to follow.

Ellie swallowed, squaring her shoulders. “We prove her wrong.”

“Sounds like you have a plan.”

Ellie chewed her lip for only a moment. “I might have one.”

Ellie hadn’t told Mav exactly what her plan was, only that she had one.

The fact that this was her only plan at the moment wasn’t something she had wanted to divulge, because this plan in particular may just come back to bite her.

Ellie leaned against the concrete wall outside the locker rooms, hugging her tablet to her chest. When she’d reached the end of the hall, she waited, timing it just right—most of the pilots had already filtered out after mission training, and she just needed a few minutes to firmly swallow her pride and get a moment alone with Jake.

Coyote strolled past her, chatting animatedly with Fanboy, giving her a tight nod.

Fanboy, however, slowed as he took her in, assessing—his eyes flicking quickly to the tablet she hugged and then to the way she shifted from one foot to the other. His head tilted slightly, the beginnings of a smile curling the edges of his mouth.

“Rigby!” Fanboy held out his fist.

Ellie hesitated, then tapped her knuckles against his. It was enough to make him grin while Coyote rolled his eyes. “Garcia.”

“You coming out tonight?” Fanboy shifted the flight gear bag on his shoulder, lifting it higher.

The look of confusion on Ellie’s face must have been enough, he didn’t miss a beat. “Hard Deck. A bunch of us are going.”

“Oh.” It took her a moment to force a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe.”

Fanboy nodded, but the look of mischief that crossed his face told her he could see past her attempt at indifference. “You should. You always look like you could use a drink.”

Coyote scoffed. “Jesus, Fanboy. Drag her, why don’t you. Just say she looks stressed and get it over with.”

“C’mon man,” Fanboy groaned. “What I’m saying is kick back. Relax a bit.”

Ellie shifted her weight, her eyes flickering to the locker room door as it swung open and a few more pilots–Harvard and Fritz–slipped out.

It would have been fair to say she wasn’t entirely focused.

“Yeah. I mean, maybe?”

Fanboy looked triumphant, providing a quick, almost reflexive double thumbs up as Coyote grabbed the strap of the bag slung over the Wizzo’s shoulder and tugged.

As they walked away, Ellie could have sworn Coyote murmured something to Fanboy that sounded a lot like ‘why are you so goddamn weird, dude?’

Her face was already in her phone, pulling up her browser where her last search stared back at her, the results mocking her:

Reddit – r/AmITheAsshole - Thinking about fucking my co-worker – AITA?

Can Frequent headaches and vivid dreams be a sign of a brain tumor? - WebMD

Tumors & Sleep Disturbances: When Should You See a Doctor? – Mayo Clinic

Headaches and Sex: Could It Be a Neurological Disorder? – VeryWell Health

Urban Dictionary: “Brain Tumor Horny”

Ellie’s scoffed, but her thumb hovered over the first result.

Thinking about fucking my co-worker – AITA? – Posted in r/AmITheAsshole

The absurdity of it almost made her laugh. Almost.

If it weren’t for the pounding in her skull and the realization that this was, in fact, her reality, she would have. Laughed, that is.

Instead, she found herself very seriously debating on whether or not to tap into the rabbit hole and ask Alice.

The sound of the locker room door swinging open and slamming shut barely registered in the background. She heard the boots on the floor moving in the opposite direction, followed by a laugh that sounded like Yale or Payback. When she glanced up, she saw them disappear around the corner at the far end of the hall.

She returned to the glow of the phone for only the briefest of moments when a voice, too close for comfort, cut through her focus.

“Didn’t take you for a Reddit girl.”

Ellie jolted. The phone nearly slipped from her grip as she jammed the lock button and dragged her eyes up, stuffing the device into her pocket.

Teak.

Of course it was fucking Teak.

He, like the presence of a rash of questionable origin, always showed up at the worst possible times.

“Didn’t take you for a Reddit girl,” He repeated as if Ellie hadn’t heard him. She hated the way his eyes traveled from her hip where she tucked her phone away, back up to her eyes, slowly, measured.

“And I didn’t take you for someone who sneaks up to read over shoulders.”

Teak clicked his tongue, shrugged. “Didn’t have to sneak. You were pretty distracted.”

The breath that left Ellie was sharp, fighting against the urge to let him know how annoying and pretentious and pig-headed she thought he was.

Instead, she watched as he shifted, a hand combing through his short, still damp hair before he used it to brace against the wall beside her, head tilted like he was about to deliver the sagest of wisdom. If a tree falls in the forest.

“You know, it must feel fucking terrible,” he mused, and Ellie didn’t miss that his tone dripped with mock sympathy. “Being just... bad at the one thing you’re telling everyone you’re good at.”

Her grip on the tablet tightened. She didn’t blink.

If being a prick was an Olympic event, Nathan Hughes would take the podium. Medal in every event. 10 out of a possible 10 asshole points across the board.

It took her a half second to recover.

“It’s funny you should mention that.” Her voice was smooth, schooled. “I was about to say the same thing to you. I’m glad you brought it up.”

Teak’s expression, shit-eating, faltered for the briefest of moments, before he recovered. But Ellie had seen it.

“If you want to talk about failures, we can,” she continued, her voice level. She barely restrained the sing-song lilt hanging just off stage as she tapped on the screen in her arms. “I have your individual test results right here. Won’t be able to cover it all, of course. But I’d be happy to give you the abridged version.”

Teak’s jaw ticked. Tightened. Relaxed. When his grin returned, it was razor sharp instead of easygoing, fun. “You’re awful cute when you’re defensive, Rigby.”

If looks could kill, Teak would have spontaneously combusted. Reduced to a cancerous ash.

“So, what’s the deal?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the locker room door before his gaze was back on her.

“You lookin’ to corner Seresin? Plan to share some of those search results with him?” His blue eyes flicked toward her hip again, the shape of her phone in her pocket. She wondered if the way his tongue swiped his bottom lip was intentional, his gaze lingering longer than she would have liked. “Or were you hoping to find another pilot?”

He let the insinuation hang between them, watching her, waiting. She felt like a fish in a tank. Teak tapping a finger against the thick walls beside a sign that told him not to. No flash photography. No tapping.

I’d rather eat broken glass.

I’d rather listen to Fanboy explain the plot of every single Fast & Furious movie in excruciating detail, complete with Vin Diesel impressions.

I’d rather spend the next five years in a sensory deprivation tank.

I’d rather let Rooster give a masterclass, step-by-step breakdown of his skincare routine, including optimal moustache grooming techniques and his thoughts on the benefits of double cleansing while properly incorporating retinol.

She’d have to workshop her comebacks.

“Careful, Hughes. Sounds like you’re dangerously close to the neighbourhood of jealousy.”

Teak didn’t waver, but she saw the moment his eyes sharpened.

“Nah,” he drawled, lazy, assured. “I think I’ll let Hangman take the ‘L’ on this one. I like my women a little more—”

Stupid.

Compliant.

Broken.

When he moved, his fingers reaching out to brush the strand of hair that had fallen across her vision, Ellie had already reflexively taken a step back. Oil to his water. If her reaction bothered him, he didn’t show it, instead, his fingers curled back before his hand dropped.

When the locker room door squealed open, it shook Ellie out of survival mode for just long enough. When she tilted her head past Teak’s shoulder, a pilot, bag slung over his shoulder, glasses held in his grip, stepped into the hallway.

Bob.

Relief flooded her, flushing out the cold pit in her stomach.

Thank fuck for Bob. She’d owe him a beer. Or twenty. She’d never been happier to see him.

When he placed the glasses on his face, lenses wiped clean on the hem of his tan uniform shirt, Ellie watched his expression shift from easy to something more guarded when he saw her and then Teak, still braced on the wall, too close.

The door snapped shut before he spoke.

“Hey Rigby.” His tone was cautious, his gaze cutting to her, his eyes locked on hers as if to say, blink twice if you need help.

He pushed the glasses up on his nose. “Everything... good?”

Ellie didn’t hesitate. Didn’t allow Teak, who had already turned and opened his mouth, to speak for her. She imagined he’d tell Bob everything was great. Nothing for him to be concerned about.

The scorpion ferrying across the river on a frog’s back. If Teak spoke first, he’d smooth this over. Shoo Bob away.

“Where’s Seresin?”

Bob blinked as her abrupt tone settled between them. If he picked up on it, he responded anyway. “Still in there. He’s always the last one out.” Bob motioned to his hair with an eyeroll.

Perfect.

Great.

Private conversation. Away from Teak.

Ellie pushed off the wall, ignoring the knowing look Teak shot her as she brushed past him and smiled at Bob.

Right now, Teak and whatever it was that he thought of her was a backburner item.

The heat of the locker room, thick with steam and the scent of soap hanging in the air, hit her hard as the heavy door swung shut behind her.

The staccato rhythm of her heels clicking on the damp tiled floor was punctuated by the slam of a locker.

When she rounded the corner, her fingers a white-knuckled grip on her tablet, it didn’t take long to spot Jake.

Standing near his open locker, towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

He was rubbing another towel through his hair, oblivious to her presence, the deep cut of his muscles on full display, the ‘v’ of his abs disappearing behind the hem of the cotton at his waist. The dog tags on his bare chest caught the dim light overhead as he dried his hair, and Ellie felt the weight of her shifting thoughts before she could stop them.

Jake, behind her.

One hand gripped tight on her hip, fingers digging into her soft curve, bitingly painful and firm in a way that sent pulses of pleasure rippling straight to her core.

Dog tags dragging across her bare back as he leaned forward to sink his teeth into her side, nipping and teasing as he guided himself to her aching, waiting—

No. Nope.

Clearing her throat, Ellie knocked on the locker closest to her.

The last thing she needed to do was watch him take off the only thing wrapped around his waist with her standing there.

She repeated it to herself until she was convinced it was the last thing she wanted.

Jake turned, one brow arching as he took her in, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe. His smirk was slow, knowing. “Rigby.”

She ignored the way her pulse kicked up at the sound of her name in his mouth. The way it rolled off his tongue, light, airy.

“I need you,” she started, quickly adding an addendum when she noticed how his eyebrow quirked, “your... help.”

The word weighed a metric ton. The vowels and consonants tasted bitter and acrid on the way out.

This was her reality now: asking Jake Seresin for help. Her Hail Mary in the dying seconds of the half. Or was it quarter?

“Well,” he paused for a moment, tossing the towel he’d been drying his hair with to the bench, “this wasn’t on my bingo card for the month.”

“Don’t start.” She warned, her eyes reflexively rolling.

“Start what?” Jake’s hands were in the air now, submissive, nonthreatening, but his lips were already curved into the beginnings of a smirk. “Just... I think I might be hearing things. Sometimes the Gs, they mess with your head...”

She tried to ignore the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he shrugged, tugging at his ear as if it were waterlogged.

Ellie huffed out a sigh, pulled from deep in the core of her being.

Why had she thought this was going to be easy? Why had she thought Jake would have let her get away with asking him for help without a mild ribbing?

Working past the pride lodged in her throat, actively fighting the part of her brain urging her to turn right around and walk out of here, Ellie forced herself to stay. “I need your help.”

Nope, saying it didn’t get easier the second time around.

Jake blinked, hands finding his hips as he assessed her, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek.

Was he—? Did he just flex? Ellie’s eyes flicked to his chest for a fraction of a second and she knew he’d seen it.

“Are you going to say something, or—?” Ellie’s hands flew up before they fell again.

“Just really didn’t see this coming...” he feigned shock, sucking his lip in, biting down.

Ellie let out a strangled groan.

She was going to leave here and tell Mav that her plan had backfired and then she’d take it to the grave of her career as RADM Stark threw a handful of dirt onto the casket.

Here Lies Eleanor Amelia Rigby Neven’s potential.

Foolish enough to ask Jake “Hangman” Seresin for help in her hour of greatest need.

The obituary would request hope and prayer for the career of other women in aviation technology in lieu of flowers.

“Don’t make me regret this, Seresin.”

He grinned but, to her surprise, didn’t push. Instead, he stepped in beside her in a fluid motion, his shoulder nearly brushing hers as he tilted his head to get a better look at the screen.

From the corner of her eye, heart beating erratically at the base of her throat, Ellie watched as his expression shifted, the teasing edge in his eyes giving way to something sharper, more focused.

“Alright,” Jake nodded once toward the tablet in her hand, “show me what you’ve got.”

Ellie hesitated for a moment before swiping, pulling up the parameters she’d been tweaking earlier.

She paused to flex her fingers mid-swipe, the clean, masculine scent of his soap clinging to his skin enveloping her. The awareness of him, his shoulder brushing hers, jarred her concentration, a kite whipping in the wind of a tornado.

He smelled like that stupid candle she’d been conned into buying years ago at the Irvine Spectrum Center Yankee Candle.

Mountain Cabin? Or maybe it was Mountain Lodge?

Tumblr says it’s what the perfect boyfriend smells like! Like, remember that scene in the Avengers movie where Captain America just like, rips apart the log— the sales associate had slipped into a tangent as Ellie carefully placed an overpriced glass jar full of scented wax into her basket.

Now, she wondered whether or not she still had it, packed away somewhere.

By the time she found her way back to her winding train of thought, remembered what her voice was again, Ellie had to clear her throat.

“The system’s good,” she admitted, nudging the data sets around on the screen. “But it’s rigid. It doesn’t account for pilot instinct, for the way you—” she stopped herself for a half beat, “—for the way some pilots push beyond textbook expectations.”

Jake’s gaze shifted, glanced at her, lips twitching. She heard the teasing edge in his voice and didn’t need to look up to know the twinkle was back in his green eyes. “See, was that so hard to say?”

He was enjoying this far too much. Smug jerk.

And yet, Ellie couldn’t help but shake her head, trying to hide a smirk of her own.

“Excruciating.”

And yet, she didn’t want to crush up broken pieces of lightbulb and add it to her morning smoothie instead of sharing space with him.

She didn’t want to listen to Rooster talk about niacinamide as the alternative to being in Jake’s orbit.

The laugh that rumbled in his chest, a genuine, almost surprised sound, made Ellie’s stomach flutter. Caused her skin to prickle as she fought the shiver edging up her spine.

She’d have to add another symptom to her ongoing research (Google search) on tumors, because she definitely didn’t want to unpack that right now.

“Alright, let’s start here,” Jake reached across her, his finger hovering over a spike in the telemetry readings just before a telltale stream of data indicated a system overload redline. “You’re focusing too much on the failsafes—they’re throttling responsiveness.”

He swiped up, his fingers brushing hers as he manipulated the screen and pointed out another less-than-ideal reading. “See, it’s here too.”

Ellie frowned, but as he pointed out another, third data spike, explaining where she needed more flexibility, she saw it—saw the gaps she hadn’t considered, the places where the tech needed to adapt instead of restrict, open up instead of close down.

How had she missed that?

If it had been difficult for her before, to insinuate that Jake’s flying skills were above average, stellar, if she were being completely honest, her next words weren’t any easier.

“Fine. Can you show me how you’d fix it, if you were me?”

When she looked up from the data streams on the screen, Ellie swore she saw Jake’s focus flick up from her lips to her eyes.

“Yeah, I could.”

He shifted beside her and Ellie’s thoughts drifted back to the stupid candle, which she’d (embarrassingly) bought three of. Perfect boyfriend, Mountain Lodge. She hadn’t even burned the thing, just opened the lid and huffed it before squirreling it away again.

“Hard Deck, then? Tonight?”

At least then she could disguise meeting with him as coincidence. They’d both been invited by Fanboy, part of the “bunch of us” collective, she’d say.

Jake was already shaking his head, even before she’d finished.

“Nah. Got a better place in mind.”

“Where?” She was frowning, her brow scrunched together.

“I’ll text you the address.”

Ellie was about to remind him that she hadn’t given him her number, but he was already moving. She felt the coolness of the air in the space he created between them and Ellie stepped forward almost reflexively, chasing the warmth of his presence.

She watched the bands of muscle in his arms, a magpie distracted by a shiny coin, as he reached into his locker and pulled out his phone. In a moment, it was in her hand, the screen opened to a blank contact card. She punched in her contact information and handed it back.

“See you later, Rigby.”

As she turned to leave, Jake grabbed the hem of his towel, tugging it until it fell away, everywhere except for where his hand hovered, just over....

Ellie caught the movement in her periphery, but she kept her eyes forward.

“I’m still here,” she pointed out, pausing near the corner of the bank of lockers.

Jake hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t stop, moving behind the open door of his locker and depositing the phone on the upper shelf.

Ellie swallowed tightly. She was certain—certain—that he could have waited until she left, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t in a rush to cover up or dismiss her. If anything, it felt deliberate. An almost wordless invitation: you can stay if you want to.

She clenched her jaw and forced herself to look away.

“Text me,” she waved her hand dismissive, and without waiting for a response, she strode out the door, her pulse hammering in her throat, the small, steamy room suddenly short of oxygen and far too hot.

Behind her, as the locker room door swung shut, Ellie swore she could hear Jake chuckle.

Hours later, back in her office, Ellie was pouring over the data sets Jake had been pointing out, making quick notes on the data spikes when her phone buzzed against the desk. A new message from an unknown number stared back at her when she flipped it over.

Hope you’re hungry.

Below the text was an address. She frowned as she pulled up the map app and punched it in. When the location popped up, she groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

a/n: i am pumped for the next chapter. the tides are changing for ellie/jake. anyone want to take any guesses as to where jake suggests he and ellie meet?

also, the mountain lodge candle theory is real. no, as a canadian, i have not been able to find one. 😫

if you love this series, reblog, comment, like!

tags: @hookslove1592 @mrsevans90 @avengersfan25 @jbennsquared @dempy

@obsessed-fan-alert @djs8891 @lunatygerqueen @khouse712 @alipap3

@yuckosworld @marvelouslyme96 @luckyladycreator2 @lovelylndskies @cardi-bre91

@whatislovevavy @qutequeersstuff @tgmreader @writergirl28 @literal-tv-menace

@queenslandlover-93 @fantasyfootballchampion @marrianena @dizzybee03 @justjess2025

@malindacath @b8211na

taglist if you want to be added/removed!

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neverniko101 · 1 year ago

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🫵 GET FANART-ED

Altitude (Alti) belongs to me

Solaris belongs to @bunningchaos

Ya-yeet! A 'Varient' of a Swap Skele!

Imsosorrybutthemispellingistoofunny

Alti, belongs to @neverniko101 !

Solaris belongs to me ^^;

#solaris sans #altitude sans #utmv #swap sans #art #my art #artwork #digital art #sans #sans undertale #underswap #undertale oc #alllll the tags #neverniko101 #undertale #krxken!tale

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silvershadow1711 · 1 month ago

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Apotelesma

Fandom: Binary Star Hero

Word count: 7k

Pairing: Ray/Maddie (OC)

Summary: Stars have always been said to have influence over the course of a person's life. Can a moment of weakness really be considered a mistake if it was fated to happen?

Warnings: Male masturbation, mentions of female masturbation, mentions/descriptions of violence/gore, a mention of sexual assault (nothing happens, he just thinks about it), bodily fluids, lots of angst in general. Like… this was supposed to just be a PWP, but it ended up being kind of really depressing…

A/N: This is something that’s been on my mind for a long time but that I never had any intention of putting on paper. And then I took a little poll on tumblr that essentially asked if I could write a fic (not chapter- fic) that was 7k words. I’ve only done something that short once in the last decade or so of fic writing, so I decided to take the bait and challenge myself. This is written as a bit of an AU of my other BSH fic, "Syzygy", but it's not required to have read that to understand this.

It was always a treat, getting to accompany her on these heists. Well, “accompany” might have been stretching the definition a bit. He was definitely present at the same time as her, even if they weren’t… technically… there together.

Even if he was hovering around fifteen feet above her (usually he preferred to stay between twenty and thirty, just to make sure he was harder to spot if she happened to look up, but he was a bit too… preoccupied at present to focus on his field).

Even if she didn’t know he was there.

But it still counted in his mind, and thank goodness for that because otherwise, she would have been completely alone. The man in the black mask (matching hers, he tried not to think about how his gut twisted if he thought about that too much) had left, taking the handful of lower ranked members that had (actually) accompanied them with him, piling them into a nondescript sedan along with their stolen goods and driving off. Ray had- purposefully- dropped his altitude during the altercation that preceded the split, listening intently as Maddie and her… coworker? Associate? He was loathe to call the petulant man her “partner”, even if it was just a partner in crime (and there was a growing pile of evidence that indicated it wasn’t…).

Well, whatever he was was, there had been a slight concern that their little spat might escalate, potentially becoming physical. The last thing he needed was to spook her by swooping down in full costume and folding this so-called “Double Vision” asshole like an origami swan. Even if he claimed (truthfully in this case) that he was simply doing his duty in protecting a civilian from what he could only assume was a violent altercation, the terror of being approached by a hero mere minutes after committing several felonies would forever poison the well and ensure that she never saw him as anything but a threat. Thankfully, their tiff had remained just that, and even when Ray opened the channels of his mind and let their thoughts flow into his head, all he got was an overwhelming sense of annoyance from both parties. This battle was an old one, practically generational.

But even if his darling little glimmer of starlight was unharmed and unworried about making her way back home alone in the dead of night, that didn’t mean he was. Letting a woman weave through dark alleys all by her lonesome was downright unheroic. He was keeping her safe, truly. Watching the way those tight athletic pants clung to her ass, the inner seam pressing into her pussy enough for him to practically make out the swell of her lips as she crawled through a hole in one of the chain-link fences… that was just a happy coincidence. After all, she mostly wore baggy clothes in the daylight hours- not that he couldn’t still appreciate the swell of her breasts accentuated by the logo of whatever black tee-shirt she was wearing that day.

But her villain get-up, as casual as it was, marked such a departure from her usual aesthetic that even the most mundane things seemed eroticised to the point of lewdity. Seriously; just catching a glimpse of her ankle, the way the skin shifted as the joint rotated, had his dick hard and leaking. What the hell was wrong with him, getting all hot and bothered over an ankle like some deeply repressed Victorian lord? Why didn’t he get hard this easily when he was having sex? Maybe it was a fetish? A villain fetish? But if that were the case, why was it just manifesting now? Why with this… what, G-lister? As Maddie climbed back to her feet, she unzipped her cropped jacket, allowing him an unobstructed view of her throat all the way down to the dip of her clavicle as she rolled her neck in a stretch. His hips jerked of their own accord and he bit his lip until he could taste the faintest trace of copper to stifle the moan desperately climbing up his throat.

At any other time, he might have cut his losses and flown home to jerk off in peace, but… this really was a bad part of town and he really did worry that leaving her on her own might be dangerous. And honestly, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to notice him; just the subject of his strange fascination, and in the five months he’d been tailing her, she hadn’t looked up once. No one in their little gang had. Had they forgotten that justice roamed the skies and no darkness could withstand his light, or were they simply so arrogant as to think they were untouchable? Frankly, Ray didn’t care. Be it arrogance, naivety, or plain old stupidity- whatever the reason, it worked in his favor.

The seam allowances on his suit were annoyingly small, which meant zippers were even smaller. Normally, he used his telekinesis to undo them, but while just about any natural-born telekinetic could split their field at least two ways, as long as he wanted to stay airborne, he was stuck using his hands. And between the tiny zipper and the thickness of his gloves, it was frustrating enough that, if the ache between his legs was coming from his bladder, he would have just pissed in the suit rather than continue fighting it. Alas, arousal was a more powerful motivator than he ever would have imagined- for the first time in his life, he understood why men would seemingly move heaven and earth just to get laid.

Finally wresting open his fly, the cool night air on his overheated skin sent a shiver through him that ended up feeding back into his arousal. Wrapping a hand around his shaft, he began stroking himself hard and fast, copious amounts of pre-cum easing what otherwise would have been unbearable friction from textured gloves. Even in the privacy of his bedroom with all the time he could reasonably expect, Ray never felt the need to build up to an orgasm. If he was at the point of jerking off, he was horny enough and, more often than not, it was simply another bodily function that just needed to be taken care of. Lately, it had become more enjoyable, simply by want of actually experiencing sexual desire when he was doing it, but he still didn’t feel the need to draw it out unnecessarily. For as good as it felt, there was no urge to prolong it, so when Maddie’s voice reached him, and he felt his balls start to draw up, he quickened the pace of his strokes.

Her voice was unintelligible and just audible enough for him to make out that she was singing something under her breath. It wasn’t surprising; she sang all the time, even while breaking into cars or homes (one would guess that was the reason behind her villainous nom de guerre). He assumed it was a way of self soothing, calming what had to be harried thoughts, but at the moment, all he could think was what that range of dulcet tones would sound like moaning his name.

‘Ah, fuck, keep making those pretty sounds for me… I’d have you singing my name all night, Star; I’d conduct a fucking symphony on that sweet pussy of yours…’

He was so caught up in the visions playing out in his mind that he barely noticed that Maddie- and by extension, he himself- had stopped moving. Maybe because there was still motion below him, his star swaying a bit as she tapped out something on the tablet she’d pulled from some interior pocket of her jacket.

“Heh, you keep doin’ that, you’re gonna go blind, sugar pie…” Huh? Slowly, almost too slowly to feel natural, like he was watching something in a dream, the woman below him turned around and tilted her head back, back, craning her neck all the way until she was looking at him. At least, he assumed she was; the eyes of the demonic half-mask she wore were gilded the same as the horns, obscuring her own eyes. The massive fangs that protruded from the carved smile of Double Vision’s mask were the same gold and hid his mouth. Maddie’s mouth was exposed, the massive grin she was sporting putting all her teeth, white and small and just a little crooked in places, on full display.

“I take it you’re enjoying yourself?” She… she wasn’t talking to him. “Man, you are just going to town on that thing!” She couldn’t be. “I gotta say, Binary Star being a full-on exhibitionist was not on my bingo card.” No, this… this wasn’t happening. This… was just a nightmare, h-he was going to wake up at any moment-- “Aww, what’re you doing? Don’t stop on my account. Keep going. Wait!” She backed up, not running, not in any kind of hurry, just about two steps back, raising her hand and pulling it back as well. That was a… strange motion, but one that ultimately made perfect sense as a thin black rectangle floated from its previous position at his side to the front of him. A phone, whatever make and model he wouldn’t have been able to tell even in full daylight (all smartphones produced after 2006 looked interchangeable to him), tilted in such a way that, while he was certain his whole body was in frame, it was obvious the focus of the shot was on his dick, which he was still holding, even if his hand had stilled.

“Okay,” Maddie practically chirped. “Now keep going.” She was talking to him. His bright little star, a singular light amidst the haze of pollution, was saying words directly to him, looking directly at him… There was no fear; she spoke as if they were old friends… She had realized he was following her… she was watching him masturbate, filming it- for who knew how long?

Over the last two or so decades, a shift had begun taking place inside of him, so subtle and gradual that he didn’t really even notice it until a few years ago. A dimming of sorts had happened. Colors were muted, sounds muffled; the entire world seemed to have washed out, leaving everything a bit faded… and that included Ray himself. He had never really been happy- there wasn’t much in his life to be happy about, honestly- but these days, he didn’t feel… anything anymore. Not really. The anger that used to sweep over him had dulled to a perpetual annoyance, disgust morphed into a faint irritation, fear… honestly, he probably hadn’t been afraid since the day he left Steel’s house fifteen years ago. After all, what was there for Binary Star to be afraid of?

The answer was about fifteen feet below him, still swaying a bit, holding a tablet and beaming at him with a shit-eating grin. Arousal curdled into horror that churned in his stomach and drenched the inside of his suit with a cold sweat. The phone was out of reach (especially when it was on the side of the arm that was still holding his dick), and his field dexterity was below that of all but the youngest, most inept children. The pressure built behind his eyes, the peripherals of his vision turning red--

“Ah ah ah! That’s a mistake!” He blinked, and the heat dissipated. “I’m not exactly live-streaming, but I am streaming this to a private server. A server I keep… contingency plans on. And if, for any reason, I don’t log into that server for more than 18 hours, all those ‘contingency plans’ do get live-streamed. Not just on multiple accounts on every social media platform, but other places. Archives. The dark web. This’ll go up right next to that video of you turning that Los Perreros mule into a meat pinata.” What was she talking about- how the fuck did she know about that? NAHA said they scrubbed every copy of that video off the internet. If it were anybody- literally anybody else- saying those words to him, Ray would have taken his chances and removed their head from their body by now. But… if he hadn’t been able to kill Maddie that first night, there was no chance of it now. To hurt her, to even think of extinguishing the sole source of light in his dim, miserable world… that was a type of sickness he hadn’t felt since that day. He swallowed, but his mouth still felt wretchedly dry.

“What do you want?”

“Well, right now, I want you to finish jerking off.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” There was no humor in her tone this time. “You’re still at about half mast- honestly; respect- so… cum and then we’ll talk.” …it had to be a fetish. Because that was the only logical explanation as to why, even in the horrific scenario he’d found himself in, his dick still jerked and began hardening once more just at the sound of his star telling (ordering) him to cum.

With a shaky inhale, he began stroking again. It was impossible to find a comfortable rhythm; he didn’t want to drag this out by going too slow, but the thought of going too fast and seeming too eager made him want to crawl under a rock and die. He didn’t know where to look, he was suddenly far too aware of every part of his body; honestly, the last time he’d felt this uncomfortable masturbating had been back in the NAHA facility when he was eleven. But that awkward discomfort hadn’t stopped him then, and it wasn’t going to stop him now.

Risking a glance downwards, he noticed that Maddie hadn’t shifted even slightly. She had to be looking at him. Was she… enjoying this? It would be easy to tell- he could pull back that mental curtain, peer into her thoughts… but what if she wasn’t? What if she was disgusted by him, despised him? He mentally shook his head to clear away those horrible thoughts. It was Schrödinger’s judgment, and for the sake of his own sanity, he was going to choose to believe that she was watching because she got something positive out of it. With that in mind, he allowed his gaze to grow bolder, roving down her body to land once more on wide hips and thick thighs and the junction between them, groaning slightly as he let his imagination run free, envisioning how he could tear that thin lycra like tissue paper to reveal the treasure beneath. His mouth, his hands, his dick- hell, even his field; he wanted to experience what it felt like to have as much of himself inside her as possible.

His hips bucked into his fist as he felt his orgasm begin to crest, and for one horrible moment, he wondered what it would be like to simply land and play out his fantasies in real life. To tear her silly costume (if it could even be called that) off and push her up against the filthy brick wall and finish those final pumps it would take to push him over the edge inside that sweet pussy he had been dreaming of. She probably wouldn’t take too kindly to that, would probably scream and try to fight him off, but… it’s not like that could actually stop him. Women fighting back hadn’t stopped Steel, after all. And that was what snapped him out of it, that thought; ‘Are you Steel Sheriff…?’ No, but for a moment that lasted only a heart’s beat and an eternity all at once, he’d thought like him. And the thought itself was what pushed him over the edge.

A few more pumps, flicking his wrist and focusing on the head, and he came with a choked moan and a staccato jerking of the hips. The afterglow never lasted very long, the regeneration that kept his body regulated cycling through any burst of hormones rather quickly, even the pleasant ones. A few deep breaths later, and he was once again returned to unpleasant reality at hand. There was no dignified way to tuck his now flaccid dick back into his suit; why the fuck hadn’t NAHA taught him how to not look like an idiot in an embarrassing sexual situation instead of wasting time with media training? At the very least Maddie wasn’t pointing and (openly) laughing at him, waiting until he was zipped up to gesture for him to come closer with a nonchalant yet oddly elegant curl of her fingers.

(How would those fingers feel on his skin?)

(He wanted to put them in his mouth)

(…the hell? Where had that thought come from?)

(Goddammit, he just came- how was he getting hard again!?)

Thoroughly annoyed with both his body and mind, Ray alighted back on terra firma, leaving a good three feet between himself and his strange fixation (an arbitrary distance that was in no part enforced by his attempt to not step in any of the conspicuously milky puddles on the asphalt, no sir). At some point, Maddie’s phone had returned to her hand and she had been typing something on the cracked screen before putting it in sleep mode and returning both it and the tablet to their respective hidden pockets. With her full attention on him, she was no longer leering with that wicked smile. She looked, to be sure- intensely and upon every square inch of him if the motions of her head were anything to go by, but her full lips remained a neutral line. Finally she stilled, her attention turned (presumably) to his face.

“You’re a lot taller in person than you look on TV.”

“I get that a lot,” he muttered. Ray didn’t know how he felt about this whole situation. On the one hand, he was elated that his little star hadn’t taken off running the moment he’d been spotted, that his mind hadn’t been inundated with a flood of terrified, disgusted thoughts reviling him for being a disgusting pervert… but on the other hand, of all the ways he would have wanted to finally make contact with this newfound obsession, being sexually blackmailed into it was definitely near the bottom of his list. With a deep breath and sigh that didn’t sound nearly as shaky as it felt, he ripped the bandage off. “What do you want? Money? Information? ‘Clout’?” He hated the way that word felt on his tongue, and judging by the way Maddie physically recoiled, she hated the way it felt in her ears.

“Ugh, it sounds so hateful when you say it. Like a slur. But to answer your question, no, no, and definitely not.”

“Then what do you want?” She tilted her head ever so slightly to the side, and he was once again reminded of that cat she’d stumbled across, the way it had looked at her as she squealed and cooed at it in the most insufferable baby talk he’d ever heard. Did looking at something at a 15 degree angle help you understand it better?

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you kill me as soon as you realized I was filming you?” The better question was, why hadn’t he killed her five months ago?

“I-I’m a hero; heroes don’t--”

“Don’t piss in my mouth and tell me it’s La Croix.” For the first time since he’d noticed her noticing him, she sounded irritated. “I’ve seen you vivisect a man. So why haven’t you split me down the middle?” She made a slicing motion from the top of her head down to her chest to illustrate her point, and Ray’s traitorous mind quickly filled in the gaps, painting a vivid picture of organs spilling out as the two halves of her fell open like a macabre flower, pooling blood overtaking the meager splattering of his arousal. It was only weeks of practice in Pará that had him preemptively slam his lips shut against the mouthful of vomit he threatened to spit up. Swallowing the bile, he kept his eyes fixed on an empty bottle behind her shoe, not trusting himself to look directly at her just yet.

“…because I don’t want to.” He expected her to scoff, to laugh in his face, to call him out on his bullshit. It was the honest-to-god truth, but even to his ears it sounded like a lie. But if he’d ever been able to predict this woman before him, he wouldn’t have been so fascinated by her, now would he?

“…that’s as good a reason as any, I guess.” He blinked, taken aback.

“You believe me?”

“Should I not? Are you lying?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. So. That being the case, what I want from you is twofold. One!” She held a finger up in front of his face. “I don’t know why you’re following me and I don’t particularly want to know. But I don’t want heroes” she actually made air quotes as she sneered, “and law enforcement to know my comings and goings, so from now, if you ever see me again, no the fuck you don’t. Keep my actions and whereabouts out of NAHA’s databases.” A guarantee that he wasn’t going to cart her off to prison- Ray should have seen that coming. Given that he’d been following her for weeks and witnessed her commit multiple felonies in that time, it was safe to say he’d never had any intention of turning her in, but he still made a show of acting beleaguered, sighing heavily, shoulders slumping, the whole shebang.

“I suppose I have no choice. And your second demand?” Her smile came back. Not a full smile, just a little quirk of the corner of her mouth that made his stomach flip uncomfortably.

“Your phone number.” That he wouldn’t have seen coming under any circumstance.

“My… huh?”

“Number. You have a phone, yes? Some way of communicating over telecom lines? So, can I have it? Can I have your number? Can I get the ten digits that comprise your number~?”

“Why?”

“So I can call you. Obviously.” Instantly his mind began racing, trying to figure out what nefarious reasons she could have for wanting to call him. A set up, some misguided attempt to take out Binary Star? Surely she couldn’t be that stupid. For the first time since her argument with Double Vision, Ray opened the channel of his telepathy, allowing her thoughts to pour into his head.

/--‘your number, your number; can I have your number? Your phone number and area code?’ God, I am never gonna forget that until I die…/

Well, that was less than helpful. Maybe this was a joke- maybe she intended to post his number online so annoying fans could harass him? It would hardly be the first time he’d changed numbers.

“I suppose that’s… acceptable.” It took a moment to remember the current string of ten digits he was using; it wasn’t as though he had cause to remember his own number. The only people who called him were those affiliated with NAHA, and they always knew how to reach him. Any “dates” were set up by handlers, including exchanges of contact information, and honestly, Ray saw those glorified publicity stunts as yet another aspect of his job. It wasn’t as though he had friends, family… there was no one outside of work for him to talk to… Once she finished entering the number into her contacts, Maddie once more fixed him with a tight-lipped smile that looked especially wicked when paired with those gleaming horns.

“I don’t make calls often, but I will text. And I expect you to respond.” Another strange flip-flop in his gut, brought on less by her words and more so her tone. It didn’t feel great, but he didn’t dislike it either. Maybe that was what spurred him to push back, just a little.

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, releasing a sex tape worked for the Kardashians- I guess it can work out for you, too. All those sex shops that make unlicensed Binary Star dildos can at least have a decent reference to work off. Oh! Before I forget, you might wanna get that mole on your dick checked out.” The chill slipped down his spine, into his stomach, and all he could do was stand there, gaping like an idiot, as she gave him a bitchy little wave and traipsed off.

Ray avoided social media- he hadn’t really used the internet until he was eighteen, and by that time, it had advanced to the point where it just confused and frustrated him. Besides, he had handlers and PR people to deal with that, to run the accounts on Twitter and Instagram under his name. If there had been any kind of credible threat to his wholesome image (no- fanart and lookalikes doing parody porn didn’t count, much to the chagrin of the NAHA’s marketing department), he would’ve known almost immediately. It seemed that Maddie had kept up her end of their bargain, but even so, he refrained from trailing her for a while. He wasn’t worried about some stupid scandal; he was worried about what she thought of him. Was she afraid he’d go back on his word and send a SWAT team after her? Had she taken to wearing hoods and carrying an umbrella for fear of getting caught in a localized downpour of something that wasn’t quite water? …had she immediately told that Double Vision asshole what happened and now they were both laughing at him…?

Ugh, just thinking about that made his gut churn. He hadn’t felt this bad in decades, his healing factor usually keeping his body too stable for anything but a general sense of malaise. That was probably why he didn’t register his phone ringing until the vibration ran up his thigh. Fishing the brick from his pocket, Ray frowned and squinted, as though that would change what was written on the screen. “Private Number”. It took a few long seconds for his brain to catch up with his eyes. A private, unknown number? How could someone even reach-- the realization struck him and he fumbled to swipe right before the ringing stopped.

“Four rings.” A disappointed clucking from the other end. “We gotta work on your reaction time.” Maddie. He was about to refer to her by name, before he remembered that as far as she knew, he didn’t actually know her name.

“Who is this?” If the hero thing hadn’t gone through, he still would’ve had a promising chance as a child star. He couldn’t sing, but he could sure as hell act.

“Oh, I guess you don’t know me. Hmm. How’s about you call me ‘Bard’? I’m the poor, delicate maiden you busted a nut to the other night.” Ray choked back a scoff. Delicate? He’d seen pit bulls more delicate than her (not that that was a bad thing- the fact that someone who seemed so hard-bitten and borderline aggressive could at the same time be so gentle charmed him to no end).

“I’ll keep that in mind. Did you need something?”

“Nah, mostly just checking to make sure you haven’t forgotten our arrangement. You’re not hispanic, are you?” That threw him for a loop.

“No, why- do I look hispanic?”

“You could be very diluted. But no, I ask because the number you gave me is registered to one ‘Miguel Sanchez’ and… that didn’t sound right. You don’t look like a ‘Miguel’- you look like a ‘Trevor’.” …somehow, that was more insulting than if she’d just called him a cracker.

“I’m not going to have a phone registered in my name, especially with a number that could so easily fall into villainous hands.” He wondered if she would take offense at his little dig. If she did, it didn’t register in her voice.

“So your name’s not Miguel or Trevor?”

“…no.”

“Well, that’s two down. So, what’s up, Lefty?” He frowned slightly.

“Why are you calling me ‘Lefty’?”

“Because your dick curves to the left.”

“No, it doesn’t!”

“It does.” Good fucking lord, how intently had she been looking at it!? Was she just studying that video frame by frame!?

“I don’t care; don’t call me that!”

“Sure thing, mole dick!” The sheer delight in her voice made his heart flutter, and coupled with the nerve-wracking embarrassment he was feeling, Ray had to duck his head between his knees until the urge to vomit fully passed.

“…‘Lefty’ is fine.”

“Thought so. Quick question- where are you going to be patrolling tonight?”

“Huh? What makes you think--”

“Don’t play cute with me.” Once again, that short, sharp tone returned. “I know you spend all day doing ‘respectable’ hero work for photo ops and kill gang members under the cover of darkness. You probably have a list of targets to hit, so where are you going to be tonight?” …most people didn’t think of heroes doing dirty work. That was the purview of squads in bulletproof vests carrying assault rifles, not caped crusaders in spandex (read: ballistic nylon). He was supposed to be a symbol of hope, a shining light in the eyes of people, not some shady assassin… Maddie must’ve taken his silence as defiance, and her next words were completely devoid of any levity. “If I die, I will ruin your life from beyond the grave. You know jerking off is the least horrifying thing you’ve been caught on tape doing, right? The shit you’ve done to people makes cartel killings look tame. And most people don’t know about it because it’s on the dark web and they have no idea what that is, but if I get caught up in one of your raids, every goddamn ten year old on Tik Tok is going to see you melting a man’s face off.” Sighing deeply, Ray pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“…there’s a warehouse on East 8th street that apparently has an industrial meth lab. Is that one of your endeavors?” He already knew it wasn’t, already knew she mostly dealt in theft and selling pills, already knew about the pawnshop and autobody shop that acted as her little gang’s money laundering fronts… but she didn’t know he knew, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Hell no- that shit’s poison. Good to know, good to know. Well, that’s all I wanted from you. I’ll text you later~” She hung up before he could even begin to think of a response, and once the line clicked off, he was left staring at his reflection against the dull gray screen. If anyone else had seen him, they would be ashamed at what he had been reduced to, cowering from and taking orders from some two-bit criminal, but Ray himself knew he hadn’t been reduced to anything. There was nothing to be reduced down.

Leaning back against the cushions of his sofa, he huffed in amusement. Lefty. Being teased and getting embarrassing nicknames was a part of growing up, wasn’t it? In the facility, they mostly called him by his designation… “Ray” was technically a nickname, but how many people actually knew the name on his birth certificate was “Raymond”? Maybe if he had actually been treated like a normal boy even once in his life, he wouldn’t have practically had an allergic reaction to it just now. His phone buzzed and he groaned, wondering what Herschel wanted to bitch at him about now. There was no name attached to the alert, once again “Private Number”. Opening the message, that terrifying flutter in his chest came back as his body seemed to fluctuate from hot to cold and back again in seconds.

Here ya go. You look like the kind of freak who’s into feet. See, I can be nice~

He tapped on the attached image before he even realized his thumb had moved, filling his screen. Ray had never, in his life, been “into” feet. Or breasts, or pecs, or asses or anything. Whenever interviewers asked what he looked for in a partner, he always gave a non-answer like “a nice smile” or “their personality” as if the NAHA cared about anything like that. He wasn’t “into” feet, he reminded himself as his gaze roved over the expanse of smooth brown skin and faintest hint of blue beneath the surface, the curves of the arch and ankle… her nails were painted a bright, cherry red.

Once he had finished fisting his dick and cleaning up the resulting mess, Ray quickly pulled up several different porn sites, harriedly looking up several combinations of keywords for some very scientifically unsound research. Five minutes and eight open tabs later, he breathed a sigh of relief as he mentally reasoned that it wasn’t a fetish if it only turned him on when it was one specific person. That made him feel a little better.

It took another week before Ray’s nerves had settled enough for him to feel it was safe to return to his old (or rather, new) hobby, though he never dropped below twenty feet again. True to his word, any time there was a break in or a suspicious instance of several gang members turning up dead with no visible injuries in an area where NAHA’s GPS pinged him, he unfortunately always seemed to be busy dealing with something else. Funny how that happened.

And true to her word, Maddie (or “Bard”, as she informed him) did not call again, but her text messages were somewhat regular. At least once a week, she would demand to know if and where he would be assisting in raids, and occasionally reward him with another picture (it honestly seemed like she was mostly just showing off her collection of nail polish) but every so often, she would send something he couldn’t really make heads or tails of.

Pictures, usually screenshots of cartoons, with captions he was pretty sure weren’t taken from the shows themselves. Pictures of different animals, usually cats (sometimes even her own), videos of short comedy sketches… It didn’t make any sense. She didn’t seem to expect reciprocation, so he had no idea what any of it meant. Loathe as he was to make a fool of himself, he sent a response one day asking exactly why she was sending him all that nonsense.

Oh, is this your work phone? Are you not allowed to look at memes on the clock? Should’ve said that before I sent all those feet pics…

This is my personal phone. Why are you sending me these things?

…bruh, I send everyone shit like this. What, do your friends not link you things they think are interesting?

Ray hadn’t even noticed the phone slipping from his fingers, his entire body feeling numb as the blood rushing through his ears grew louder. Friends… friends? Binary Star didn’t have friends; he had sidekicks he barely tolerated and arranged dates he despised and work associates whose deaths he prayed for. And Ray… Ray didn’t have anyone, not since--

(don’t think about it)

Ray just existed as some pale, soft, disgusting thing that emerged from Binary Star’s exoskeleton at the end of the day, hiding away until his red white and blue shell hardened and that picture-perfect smile was locked in place. Even if he’d been hiding on a certain someone’s balcony more than his far-too-large penthouse these days, the fact remained that no one wanted anything to do with him outside of the role he played.

Except for one person, it seemed. Maybe she was just trying to butter him up, make him lower his guard, keep herself in his good graces- it didn’t matter. No one else had ever so much as made the effort. Maybe deep down, a part of her viewed him as another cat on the street, something to be cooed over for a while. Maybe if she saw him on her balcony, peering into her apartment through the gap in her curtains, she would invite him in and let him have a place amongst the other strays rubbing against her ankles. That was too ridiculous a dream, and yet it was such a pleasant fantasy that he barely noticed the buzzing against his thigh. Tilting his head away from the now-warmed glass, Ray opened his messages, not even bothering to try and suppress the smile tugging at his lips as he saw it was from his star. What silly “meme” had she sent him this time?

Send me a video of you jerking off.

…that wasn’t a meme. He stared at the screen, willing the words to translate into a language he could understand because this wasn’t it. What… on earth could she…?

Why?

So I can send it TMZ /s

So I can watch it. Obviously.

Maybe she thought that made sense, but no- it really didn’t.

Why would you want to watch something like that?

Thank god for texting, because he would not have been able to keep his voice from breaking if he’d spoken.

I’ve watched the video I took too many times. It’s getting stale. I need something new.

Too many times… so she had been watching it. And now she “needed something new”? Was she…? Ray all but threw himself away from the balcony door out of sheer instinct, fearfully staring at the backs of his shaking hands, examining every pore for the tell-tale sign of that horrible glow… Usually, the only thing that resulted in a surge of heat that strong was his birth ability triggering, but… no… His skin remained as dull as ever, and lifting his hands to his eyes, he didn’t see any light reflected back. So his racing heart and quickened breaths and the stiffness rising between his legs were all natural, then.

‘God, you are going to be the death of me, Star…’

It was dangerous, downright stupid, to send a known villain yet more incriminating evidence, but the thought of her watching him as she fingered herself, using him to get off, was too intoxicating to think straight. Settling himself back in front of the curtain gap, he pulled the waistband of his sweats down just enough to free his quickly hardening dick. The videos he took on his phone (evidence of completed missions) always had massive file sizes, so he would just film the climax. As he peeked into the apartment, he could see the back of her head over the back of the sofa, the TV's glare shining through the ends of her curls like a halo.

Given what he knew from months of observation, she probably wasn’t even looking at it, staring at her phone instead. Maybe… watching that video again, fingers working over her clit but unable to reach her peak because she’d built up a tolerance watching the same motions, hearing the same heavy breaths and groans… Did she replay certain parts? Were there close-up shots? Ray brought the neck of his sweater between his teeth to muffle his panting, but it did nothing for the lewd squelching as pre-cum dribbled between his fingers and dripped onto the poured cement between his thighs. For a moment, he imagined what it'd feel like to have Maddie’s hands working his shaft, her hands so much smaller than his, and probably softer too, but just as quickly, his mind axed that notion.

Binary Star’d had no shortage of eager fans of all genders and persuasions offering to pleasure him in whatever way he saw fit, but when given more exclusive access to the number one hero than anyone else in the world, his star had simply demanded he touch himself. For her pleasure. A far more vivid fantasy was conjured, of those curtains pulling back and Maddie standing just on the other side of the glass, looking down at him, not in shock or disgust but… reserved expectation. Head tilted curiously to the side, waiting to see if he would impress her with his pitiful display of devotion.

He was grateful he could hear the TV from out here, because if it had been any quieter, she surely would’ve heard his choked moan in there. Tightening his grip, his tempo swung from languid strokes up and down the length of his shaft, to short, rapid jerking focused on his glans, the only variance coming when his hips bucked of their own accord, throwing off his rhythm. He could already feel his balls drawing up, and as he pressed his thumb against his leaking slit, his clean hand fumbled for his phone, haphazardly pulling up the camera. The orange haze of light pollution provided just enough light for his pallid skin to show up against the dark- a small miracle because the light from the flash would have definitely been noticed.

Making sure his dick was in focus, he tapped ‘record’, moaning and panting just a little more freely as he squeezed his deeply flushed tip. As the pleasure crescendoed, his head fell back and he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning a name that he still wasn’t supposed to know. The wet splattering of his cum hitting the glass with force sent another jolt of arousal up his dick and throughout his nervous system and he continued stroking until the over-stimulation began to lean towards painful. Breathing hard, he looked down at the mess he had made, angling the camera up slightly to better capture the milky streaks running down the glass.

“Hope this ends up being as good for you as it was for me,” he muttered, his words a rumble deep in his chest. He couldn’t stop the smile curling his lips as he wiped the cum on his hand off on the glass. “Enjoy, Bard~”

(Dividers by @anitalenia )

#binary star hero #binary star hero vn #bsh ray #bsh oc #bshvn fanfic #male yandere #i don't know if I'll post fics on tumblr like this again #it's actually kind of hell to do on the app

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astraljedi · 1 month ago

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Bewitched - Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw (Part 1)

Part 1.5 | Part 2 (coming soon)

Summary: After two years since they last saw each other, Bradley and Sadie cross paths again. What started as a heated rivalry turned into something more, only for Rooster to walk away, leaving Sadie with nothing but a voicemail. Now, assigned to the same mission, tension lingers between them.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female! OC

Warnings: Just some cursing and fighting. It will contain a lot of smut, angst, jealousy, mention of death, PTSD and panic attacks. It also contains spoilers for the Top Gun movies.

Word Count: 4.4k

Song: Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift / right where you left me by Taylor Swift

Author's note: This is a re-upload of an old fic/idea I posted months ago and rewrote. I've been diving back into writing and decided to write a few parts for this idea. If you have any requests for anyone in the dagger squad, request are always open! Also, this is pure fiction, this isn't going to be 100% accurate and it's just for fun. Enjoy!

Someday, when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around

The tension in the room was suffocating. Sadie felt it when she walked in, but it wasn't from the mission.

It was him.

Bradley Bradshaw.

His gaze was on her, sharp and unreadable, and his jaw locked tight as Admiral Solomon introduced her as the leader. She refused to let her expression waver and acknowledged how her stomach twisted at the sight of him after all this time. Instead, she stood tall, arms folded behind her back, nodding once when Solomon finished speaking.

Her eyes flicked over the group. Phoenix, Hangman, Coyote, and some familiar faces. But she kept coming back to him.

Bradley

She hadn't seen him since—

No.

Not now.

She shoved the thought away as Maverick stepped forward, taking over the briefing. He explained the flight drills, the schedule, and what was expected from them. Sadie barely heard him. She felt Bradley's stare like a weight pressing against her ribs.

She last heard his voice through the voicemail he left her two years ago.

"I can't, I—" his voice broke.

Sadie gripped her phone tighter, pressing it against her ear.

"I'm sorry, Sadie."

And then it cut off. No explanation. No closure.

Maverick's voice pulled her back.

"You all have ten minutes to gear up and meet me on the runway. That includes you, Captain Kazansky."

Sadie nodded, the movement sharp. She turned on her heel and headed for the lockers, blocking out the murmurs behind her. She could feel Bradley watching her go.

It wasn't until she was halfway into her flight gear that it hit her all at once.

The past.

The mission.

The accident.

Him.

Her fingers fumbled with the straps. Her breath came too fast, too shallow. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn't stop them, no matter how hard she tried.

The walls of the locker room blurred at the edges, narrowing into a tunnel.

Not now. Not now. Not now.

She braced herself against the bench, head lowering between her arms. She needed to breathe.

She needed to focus.

But all she could hear was her plane screaming warnings at her—

"Low altitude. Low altitude."

She could feel the violent shake of the controls as she tried to regain control: the sharp snap of the eject handle beneath her fingers, the deafening rush of wind, the crack of her body hitting the ground, the suffocating weight of her helmet pressing against her skull, and the rotor wash of the recovery chopper.

And underneath it all—

"I'm sorry, Sadie."

The voicemail looped in her head like a cruel echo, like a broken record.

A hand landed gently on her shoulder, interrupting the voices in her head. "Sadie."

She jerked up, gasping, eyes wide. Maverick was crouched beside her, concern all over his face. Behind him, Coleman stood near the doorway, arms crossed, observing her.

"It's okay," Maverick said, voice low. "You're okay."

She wasn't.

Coleman exhaled. "You can't fly like this, Captain."

Maverick's hand cradled the side of her face, grounding her. "Watch from the ground. Just for today."

Sadie opened her mouth to argue, but Maverick shook his head.

Her jaw clenched, but she gave a slight nod after a moment.

Maverick pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I'll handle the others."

When they left, the silence was suffocating and lonely.

Sadie sat back down, pressing the rough skin of her palms into her eyes.

And then—

The past came rushing in.

Two Years Ago

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when Sadie stepped onto the carrier's deck, the scent of salt and jet fuel thick in the air. She barely had a moment to process the rush of adrenaline still coursing through her before the roar of an approaching F/A-18 forced her to shield her eyes.

Rooster's jet.

Her grip on her helmet tightened. Rooster's wingman had already exited his aircraft, rolling his eyes—annoyed by the situation that could have been avoided.

Out there, the team had to work together. If they wanted to come home alive—and not in a casket—there was no room for mistakes.

She had flown many missions and led countless pilots, but something about this one had her blood running hot. Sadie was used to being undermined by men, used to the names they called her and the rumors that followed. But not once had someone outright disobeyed her orders during a mission.

He was infuriating.

She waited long enough for his wheels to hit the deck before turning sharply and heading toward him. The moment he climbed out of the cockpit, she was there.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw." Her voice was steady and clipped, but a sharp edge was beneath it.

Rooster barely spared her a glance as he pulled off his helmet. "Captain."

Sadie narrowed her eyes. She knew that tone—disinterested, almost dismissive, like she wasn't worth the respect of her rank like she was just some nepotistic baby-playing soldier.

She wasn't in the mood.

Sadie squared her shoulders, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. He towered over her, all broad shoulders and cocky, but she didn't intimidate easily. His chest was puffed out—just like his ego.

"You left your wingman," she said, stepping closer. "You were given a direct order, and you ignored it."

Rooster exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp, sweaty hair. "I was covering you. You were caught too close to the enemy."

"I was baiting them," she snapped. "That's the point of the maneuver. When I give an order, it's because I know what I'm doing out there. I didn't need saving from you."

His jaw clenched. "That maneuver was reckless."

Sadie let out a humorless laugh. "Reckless?" She took another step toward him, close enough to feel the heat rolling off his flight suit. "You ignored a direct order and left your wingman vulnerable because you thought you knew better."

Rooster's eyes darkened, but he didn't back down. "You could've been shot down."

Sadie tilted her head, studying him. He wasn't entirely wrong—what she did was dangerous. But it was also calculated. Controlled. And it worked every time. She wouldn't pull that maneuver if it put her or, more importantly, her team at unnecessary risk.

"You don't know me, Lieutenant," she said finally, her voice quieter but no less sharp. "And you sure as hell don't know how to follow a simple order."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "I know your reputation."

There it was.

Sadie felt the slow burn of anger in her stomach, but she refused to let it show. Usually, comments like that rolled right off her. She didn't need to prove herself to men who already made up their minds about her. She knew what kind of leader and pilot she was. But something about this—about him—struck a nerve.

"You don't have to like me," she said simply. "But you will follow my orders, or I'll report you. Not just for disobeying a superior but for disrespecting me as a female pilot. If I were a man, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"

Rooster's throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he said nothing.

Sadie let the silence stretch, letting the weight of her words settle between them. Then, with a steady, unblinking gaze, she added, "You are dismissed, Lieutenant."

His jaw tensed. Sadie could see the fight in his eyes—the urge to argue, to push back. But he couldn't. Because she outranked him.

Rooster exhaled sharply through his nose before muttering, "Yes, ma'am."

They had an audience—of course, they did. She was constantly being watched, waiting for her to falter or overstep. But that wasn't going to happen. Sadie didn't break. She didn't have meltdowns—not like the men did.

Rooster turned away first, gripping his helmet as he stalked off the crowded tarmac. Sadie's gaze flicked to the group of men who had been staring. They quickly pretended to be busy.

She could write him up, but that would mean a lot of paperwork. And she already had enough to deal with, thanks to Rooster's hiccup of leaving his wingman alone.

…

Being on the aircraft carrier always felt like a buzz. Sadie was most alive when she was in the air with her jet. It was thrilling and euphoric. But there was something about being back at base that brought her peace.

She had her family, the new house she'd already moved into. A white corner-lot home with blue shutters, small but hers. But instead of spending the night there, she was going to the bar after a long day catching up on work.

The Hard Deck felt alive with the low hum of conversation mixing with the crack of pool cues and bursts of laughter while the jukebox hummed a rock' n' roll tune. The scent of sea salt and beer lingered in the air, the warm California night spilling through the open doors.

Sadie barely spared the crowd a glance as she stepped inside. She didn't need to—she felt their attention snap toward her the second she walked in. Part of it was her name, her reputation. The other part was the way she looked. There was no denying her effortless beauty. Light brown curls hung loose over her back, starkly contrasting the tight bun she always wore at the base.

As she passed the pool table, movement caught her eye. A group of lieutenants stood around the table, sticks in hand, easy banter flowing between them.

Rooster was among them. She didn't acknowledge him.

Instead, she headed straight for the bar, spotting her friend Mia, a Navy medic, already waiting with a beer in hand.

"You're late," Mia teased, pushing the cold bottle toward her.

Sadie smirked, shrugging off her jacket as she slid onto the barstool. "Had to finish up reports. You know, actual work."

Mia scoffed. "Please. Like you weren't just busy terrorizing another group of pilots."

Sadie clinked her bottle against Mia's glass. "It's both a curse and a gift."

Behind them, Rooster stepped away from the pool table, offering to grab the next round for the group. He didn't have to stand near Sadie, but gravity pulled him there against his will. The bar wasn't packed like usual—he could've ordered from the other side.

But he didn't.

He placed his order and waited, close enough to hear Sadie laugh with her friend.

"It was horrible. The worst lay," she said, laughing as she sipped beer. "And then I had to go on a mission for months with that disappointment."

Mia nearly choked on her drink. "Please tell me you didn't let that man leave without knowing he couldn't fulfill."

"Trust me, I didn't. I told him he could fuck off." Of course, she had. Sadie Kazansky was opinionated and ensured people knew how the fucked up.

Mia cackled, shaking her head. "A good deed for the women's community."

"Karma better pay me back for my good deed soon, please."

"I have a feeling good karma is around the corner for you, babes," Mia said, sliding off the stool. "I gotta hit the bathroom. Be right back."

Rooster clenched his jaw, fingers flexing around his glass.

He wasn't sure why it bothered him—why the thought of her in bed with some guy who didn't know what the hell he was doing got under his skin—but it did.

He didn't know what possessed him to move, but he pushed off the bar, forgetting the round for the guys.

Rooster hovered close behind her, his broad chest brushing against her back as he leaned in, lips just by her ear.

"Is that why you're always cranky? No one can make you come?"

Sadie choked on her beer.

His grin was slow, lazy, dripping with amusement. "Save the choking for later, sweetheart."

She wiped her mouth, whipping her head around with wide eyes. "What the fuck, Bradshaw?"

"Cranky Kazansky," he mused, grabbing the round of beers. "It flows off the tongue so easily." He winked at her before turning away and walking toward the pool table.

He didn't need to look back—he could feel her eyes burning into him.

She didn't mean to. Didn't want to.

But the way his arms flexed as he lined up his shot, the way his fingers curled around the wooden stick, steady and precise—it held her attention longer than she'd like to admit.

How would it feel to have those fingers—

Sadie cut off the thought the moment she felt the heat rise.

Then, Rooster caught her staring.

Mid-shot, he glanced up, his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. Slowly, he dragged his gaze over her summer dress, showing off her toned calves and thighs. His brain flooded with images of what it would be like to have his head buried between them.

The thought lingered as he went back to his game.

That should've been the end of it. She was his superior. They worked together.

Their thoughts alone weren't professional.

"I'm gonna call it a night. I'm getting too old to be out of my house after eleven," Mia yawned. "Want to ride-share?"

"No, I don't think I'm ready to call it a night." Mia gave her a look but hugged her goodbye anyway.

Sadie leaned against the bar, an almost empty beer bottle dangling from her fingers, waiting for the bartender to finish up with another customer. The young and eager bartender rushed toward her, handing her a fresh bottle with a grin that was too enthusiastic.

Rooster shouldn't care. He shouldn't feel anything about a guy flirting with her.

But the way she laughed at his probably terrible joke, the way she blushed when he refused to take her cash for the beer she shouldn't have been paying for in the first place—

Someone like Sadie shouldn't be wasting her time with inexperienced boys.

"Another game?" Coyote asked, lining up the colored balls on the green table.

Rooster tore his gaze away from Sadie and looked at Coyote instead.

"No, I'll give you a break so you can beat someone," Rooster teased before finishing his beer.

He was about to offer to grab another round—maybe as an excuse to be near Sadie—but he saw her heading toward the bathroom.

"I'll be right back," he said.

Coyote, oblivious to where Rooster was looking, scoffed. "Sure, you're just lucky. I can beat you at this stupid game."

Rooster tossed his empty bottle into the trash and strode after Sadie. She didn't hear his approach over the music, but suddenly, he grabbed her arm and pushed her against the wall in the dimly lit bathroom hallway. His palm braced the back of her head, protecting her from hitting the hard surface, while his other hand gripped her waist.

"Are you going home with him?" His voice was low, rough—more desperate than he intended.

Sadie's breath hitched, her eyes widening in shock at how quickly he had her pinned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The bartender." Rooster's grip on her waist tightened slightly. "Don't go with him."

Sadie stared at him, her lips slightly parted, but the bathroom door creaked open before she could speak. She shoved Rooster off, making him stumble back just as a drunk old man staggered out, barely sparing them a glance.

When he was out of sight, Sadie grabbed Rooster by the front of his shirt and pulled him into the small bathroom. She shoved him against the worn-out door, locking it in the process.

Rooster barely had time to react before she yanked him down into a messy, desperate kiss. She took control immediately, tugging his unbuttoned shirt over his shoulders as their mouths warred against each other. His large hands settled on her waist, pulling her flush against him.

Sadie moaned at the feel of him hardening against her through his jeans. He let her think she was in control—until she started unbuckling his belt. That was when he decided he'd had enough.

In one swift motion, he spun them around, pressing her back against the door before dropping to his knees. His hands skimmed up her thighs, pushing the skirt of her dress higher.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, he slid her underwear down and tossed it over his shoulder carelessly toward the sink.

Neither of them spoke. Their heavy breathing filled the small space, the air thick with anticipation.

Rooster hooked his hand under her thigh, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist. Sadie leaned in, biting down on the skin of his neck, impatient, rushing him.

He let out a low groan, his grip tightening on her as he lined himself up at her entrance. His hand slid up to wrap gently around her throat, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Eager, are we, Captain?" he rasped, sliding into her.

Sadie parted her lips to retort, but her words never left her tongue. Instead, her head fell back against the door, pleasure crashing over her.

Rooster watched her—the way her head tilted back, lips parted in a silent gasp—the way her walls squeezed around him, and she wasn't even full of him yet. His grip on her thigh tightened as he thrust into her, slow at first, letting her adjust, savoring every second.

Sadie clawed at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, desperate to ground herself. Fuck. Her breathless curse barely passed her lips as her hands tangled in his hair.

Rooster groaned, low and guttural like he hadn't expected this to feel so damn good. He'd told himself this would be a one-time thing, a way to fuck out the steam and tension between them. But the way she squirmed beneath him, the way their bodies moved together in sync—he knew it was going to take more than walking out of this bathroom to let her go.

And they had barely even started.

"Shit, Sadie," he muttered, his forehead dropping to hers as he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. He was holding back, trying to make the feeling last—for her, for him.

He couldn't lose control. Not yet.

Sadie's breath hitched, her fingers slipping down to the open buttons of his Hawaiian shirt, fisting the fabric. "Harder," she pleaded, chasing the coil tightening inside her.

Rooster cursed under his breath, his restraint slipping, and obeyed, driving into her with more force. His hands gripped her like he was molding himself to her as if he wanted to carve this moment into his memory.

Sadie's head hit the door, lips parting in a sharp gasp. She wasn't quiet—he should've known she wouldn't be.

"Shh," Rooster hushed, his voice edged with amusement. "You don't want the whole bar knowing what I'm doing to you, do you?"

Sadie huffed a breathless laugh, her grip tightening around his shoulders. "Then show me how a man really fucks," she challenged, her voice dripping with defiance.

That was it. That was the moment he lost himself completely.

With a growl, Rooster lifted her higher, pressing her against the door. He felt her shudder, her fingers threading through his hair. Then her gaze flickered behind him, and he followed it—to the mirror on the wall, perfectly angled so she could see everything.

A wicked smirk spread across his face. "That's right," he murmured, voice rough, his lips brushing against her jaw. "Watch yourself while I fuck you."

Sadie whimpered, her nails digging into his back as the sight of them—of how perfectly they moved together—pushed her over the edge. She bit down on his shoulder, muffling the sound of her moan as she shattered around him.

"Bradshaw," she whimpered, breathless, and the way his name tumbled from her lips was all it took to send him spiraling after her. With a sharp curse, he buried himself deep, his forehead pressing against hers as the aftershocks ran through them both.

For a long second, neither of them moved. Their heavy breathing filled the small space, mixing with the low music hum and the bar's distant chatter beyond the door.

Rooster watched her—how her chest rose and fell, her hair clinging to her damp skin, the faint blush on her cheeks.

That was his doing.

Slowly, he eased back, his hands still firm on her waist, careful with her.

Sadie finally opened her eyes, glancing toward the door. Without a word, she smoothed down her dress, already putting herself back together. But when she caught her reflection in the mirror, her cheeks darkened further, and her lips curved slightly as she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.

Rooster hesitated, buttoning his jeans and tucking himself away. There was something in the air between them—something neither acknowledged.

He decided to keep it light. "Ladies first, Captain." He opened the door for her when she was ready.

Sadie shot him one last look, searching his face as if trying to read his thoughts, but she said nothing. Then, without another word, she slipped out.

Rooster leaned against the wall for a moment longer, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair. He turned toward the sink—and that's when he saw them.

Her lilac lace panties were neatly abandoned on the counter.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

That's my sign.

He swiped them off the sink and stuffed them into his pocket before slipping out of the bathroom minutes later.

His eyes scanned the bar for her, but she was already gone.

"Hey, the guys are calling it a night. Are you good?" Coyote's voice broke his thoughts as he nodded toward Rooster's untouched drink.

Rooster blinked, then forced a smirk as he pulled out his wallet. "Yeah. Just tired."

He tossed some cash onto the bar and downed the last drops of his beer, but his fingers brushed against the lace in his pocket as he walked out into the night.

Yeah, he had a feeling this wasn't the last time.

Present

The locker room was empty. Bradley assumed everyone had gone back to their assigned living quarters. The dim overhead lights flickered and hummed, casting uneven shadows against the metal lockers. Rooster's jaw was tight, his flight suit half unzipped as he tore off his gear, muttering under his breath.

"Stupid. Fucking stupid," he hissed, barely registering his own voice. He was thrilled to be at TOPGUN, following in his father's footsteps, but he had to go and fuck everything up. He had to let his emotions slip earlier that day with Maverick. His fingers curled into a fist before he slammed it into the locker beside him. The sound cracked through the room, echoing off the walls.

A sharp inhale from across the room made him freeze.

He wasn't alone.

His eyes flicked up, breath still heavy, and landed on her.

Sadie stood on the other side of the room, her hand clutched to her chest like she had jumped at the sound. Her eyes were wide, guarded—but only for a split second. Then, just as quickly, her expression smoothed into something unreadable.

"Sorry, Captain," Rooster muttered, turning away, focusing on peeling off his flight suit like she wasn't there. Like she didn't matter.

Sadie exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. "What you and Maverick did up there was reckless."

He looked at her, debating if he had the energy to defend himself. She couldn't even begin to understand how Maverick had set him back.

"If you want to go to that assignment, you must keep your recklessness in check, Bradshaw. I can't have you flying if you can't control your emotions and put the rest of the team at risk."

Rooster let out a sharp laugh, humorless, bitter. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Sadie looked up from her zipped-up bag, her jaw clenched as her eyes locked onto his, filled with anger and—sadness?

"You don't understand what I've been through," he continued, voice rough, turning toward her now. "Especially with him. You don't know what it is to struggle, to grieve—"

"No, you don't know what I've gone through," Sadie cut in, her voice echoing through the locker room, her eyes still locked onto his. "And the weight I carry every single fucking day."

Something flickered in Rooster's expression, but she didn't stop. He hadn't seen her like this—not like before.

"You knew a version of me that no longer exists," she said, quiet but firm, slicing through him like a knife. "The person you're looking at is a version that doesn't have you in it."

Rooster's heart ached—it had never stopped, not since the moment he ended that voicemail years ago. He thought that at some point when they met again, she would have moved on. Maybe married and had a kid—a thought that haunted him for years. Deep inside, he hoped it hadn't come true.

He looked at her for the first time since she walked in. Really looked at her.

He had noticed it before when his eyes landed on her earlier that day. She looked different. She was still Sadie Kazansky—shoulders squared, confidence unwavering to the average person. But he had seen it, just for a second. A slip.

After he got grounded and did his push-ups for Coleman, he noticed her hands shaking. He sensed it. Something about her was different; he couldn't pin it down yet.

Rooster's lips parted, his hand aching to reach for her, but Sadie didn't give him a chance to respond. She grabbed her bag, threw it over her shoulder, and walked past him without another word.

The door swung shut behind her, leaving Rooster alone in the locker room—heart pounding, jaw clenched, and the weight of her words pressing against his chest like a vice.

A version that doesn't have you in it.

Sadie held her breath as she walked down the corridor toward her car. She left the base, desperate to get home—to her safe place—but the moment the wheels of her Jeep crossed the gate, her vision blurred with tears.

She swerved into her driveway, slammed the Jeep to a stop, and punched the wheel, her screams ripping through the silence.

All day, she had been holding it in. And being in that room alone with Rooster had nearly made her break. It nearly made her scream, letting everything out.

But he had made his choice.

He didn't want her in his life, and he made it clear when he left her stranded at the gala.

And she wouldn't allow him to witness the broken version he left behind.

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