#rose writes

You barely look at him as you step onto the court, eyes locked on the lines, the crowd murmuring qnd cheering in anticipation. It’s hard to ignore the tension in the air, everyone’s been waiting for this match. You and Jannik Sinner, the World No. 1 ATP, and the World No. 1 WTA, forced to team up for a mixed doubles charity event in Italy. How ironic is that?

The Nike kits cling to you both in a matching, almost absurdly coordinated way. You can feel his presence beside you. Sharp, composed, intense; but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. This is all for the sponsors, nothing more. You aren’t friends. Not now, not ever.

He’s the last person you’d choose to be paired with. You’ve fought on the court against him on practices, never yielding an inch. You know how competitive he is, how he thrives in the heat of rivalry. And yet, here you are, standing shoulder to shoulder, forced to play as a team against Aryna Sabalenka and Ben Shelton. The moment the ball is served, you’re both in motion, racing across the court with sharp precision, silently competing to outdo one another. Your hands brush as you both reach for the same shot. Your heart skips, your breath hitches, but you don’t acknowledge it. Not yet.

The crowd cheers as you win the first point, and you catch a glimpse of Jannik out of the corner of your eye. He smirks at you, just barely. You hate that smirk, that confidence. It’s too much like your own. You give him a half-hearted nod. "Nice shot," you mutter. He doesn’t respond, but his eyes linger on you a second too long, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. There’s more between you now than just competition. A strange, undeniable chemistry. You try to shake it off, but the match is far from over, and neither of you is ready to stop playing.

You don’t expect it, that effortless rhythm. It’s like you’ve trained together for years, not met awkwardly thirty minutes before warm-up. Every crosscourt shot you angle, he’s already there, anticipating it like clockwork. You find yourself moving in sync with him, not because he tells you to, but because your body just knows. At one point, you catch his eye after a clean volley, and he gives you the smallest nod, that same unreadable expression he wears when he’s locked in during finals. It should be infuriating. Instead, it sparks something warm, something dangerous.

The crowd starts getting louder, caught up in the surprising electricity of your teamwork. You don’t even notice the scoreboard ticking upward, too focused on the way Jannik moves; fluid, precise, like a language your body suddenly understands. Aryna’s grin sharpens when she realizes you and Jannik are actually a threat, while Ben just shakes his head, laughing under his breath after another brutal rally. Still, no words pass between you and Jannik. Just glances. Just breathless seconds between points where you could swear he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. And maybe that’s safer. Because if either of you speaks, you’re not sure you’ll keep pretending this is just tennis.

A series of volleys, and backhands go by in a blur. You both won straight sets, now it's the final set. And the final point. And it's your turn to serve.

You bounce the ball, you toss it. And the ball leaves your racket with a clean, vicious snap. You know it’s good the moment it cuts through the air. Fast, flat, brutal. It kisses the service line, untouched. Ben doesn’t even move.

Silence, just for a beat. Then the umpire’s voice cuts through the tension:

“Game, Sinner and—”

Your name, sharp and clear.

The crowd erupts.

Jannik doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, really looks at you. Hus chest rising with the effort of the match, sweat clinging to his hairline. Then, in that quiet, charged pause before your teammates approach, before the photos, before the sponsor reps swarm in with cameras and high-fives, he reaches out. Not for a hug, not for show. Just a brief touch to your back. Warm. Grounding. The kind of thing you’re not supposed to feel anything from.

But you do. And judging by the way his fingers hesitate before falling away, so does he.

And for a second, you swear you could see his boyish smile, barely there, just enough to catch the light before he wipes it off, turning it into a quick flick of his towel against his forehead. But you saw it. Just for a moment.

You smirk at the thought, the coolness of his touch still lingering on your skin, even as you pat his back lightly. Your hand lingers a second too long, just enough for the feeling to settle between you before you turn away. It’s not much. Nothing serious. But it’s something. And it means a lot more than either of you will admit. You head up to the net, shaking hands with Shelton first, exhanging thank you's and congratulations', then Aryna. She raises an eyebrow, clearly aware of the dynamic she just witnessed.

“Nice teamwork, you two,” she says, voice dripping with amusement.

You return her smirk. “Same to you, Sabby.” Her hand feels solid in yours, a rival’s handshake, but you’re too caught up in the lingering heat of your own victory to care.

The umpire’s call fades into the background as you all exchange pleasantries, preparing for the obligatory PR photos. The media teams and sponsor representatives rush in, pushing cameras and microphones into your face. You’re forced into the carefully choreographed smiles, standing side by side with Jannik as the photographers capture what feels like an entire lifetime of perfect moments: smiles too tight, poses too polished. You keep your eyes steady, even when you feel his presence next to you, too close for comfort. You wonder if he’s feeling it too, the strange tension that lingers in the space between you.

The session drags on, but finally, it's over. You escape to your hotel, the silence of your room welcoming you as you collapse onto the bed. You scroll through your phone, your feed already buzzing with highlights from the match, the photos, the reposts. You share your own, a subtle but confident caption. The whole world knows you’ve won. The whole world knows you’ve had this strange, unspoken moment with Jannik on court. Your phone buzzes again, this time a message from an unexpected source: Jannik.

You hesitate for a moment before opening it.

“Good match today.”

It’s simple. It’s cold. But something in the way it’s worded makes your heart skip. Maybe it’s the timing. Maybe it’s the fact he’s reached out at all. You type back slowly, keeping it casual.

“Yeah, not bad for a forced teammate.”

The dots appear, then disappear. Then a reply, as brief and sharp as the last one:

“Not bad at all.”

Leona

Leona is annoyed. 

His ears twitch as the other housewardens chatter, the noise like a fly throwing itself against a glass window. Irritating. Insistent. These meetings are never productive. They agree to meet, only push off doing anything, saving it for future meetings. They spend most of their time yapping back and forth. He feels like falling asleep.

“We have received numerous requests to cover the event from both television stations and print media,” the Octopus says. He’s taken charge of this meeting, because of course he would. Head of the ‘Tournament Planning Committee’ fits Ashegrotto like a glove – it’s titular.

His eyes roam around Crowley’s office. The paintings of the Great 7 hover around them. His eyes linger on the Thorn Queen. Her chin held high, nose pointed upwards commanding authority and respect. As the single heir to the throne, her inheritance was always guaranteed. Her prowess was never questioned and birthright never denied. 

Leona glowers, flicking his tail back and forth.

He hears his name and he snaps back to attention. Kalim is staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

Shit.

“Who knows? And also, who cares?”

Somehow, that works. The other housewardens go back and forth… blah blah blah…Leona rests his chin on his palm, counting the number of cobwebs in the rafters. It keeps him busy until he hears the name Draconia. 

He jerks in his seat. “What are you on about?” 

The headmage’s eyes glow from behind his mask, fixing on Leona. “Ever since Draconia enrolled, no dorm has scored a point against Dismonia. 90% of the points from the team end up being from Malleus himself.” 

It’s true. But coming from the headmage makes it all the more bitter. “Yeah, so?”

“I know many members of Savanaclaw aspire to play in the pro-league. Yet, in the past two years, you’ve been eliminated in the first round against Diasmonia. That’s not impressing any recruiters.”

And who’s responsible for pitting Savanaclaw against Diasmonia? He feels like snapping back. “You’re saying you think we’ll make fools of ourselves again this year?”

“It brings me no pleasure to suggest it.” 

He balls his fists, fighting the urge to dig his claws into the desk. He’d love to ruin it, leave his mark there for future housewardens to see. Just so they’d wonder who caused it.

“Draconia has agreed to be inducted into the hall of fame. We just need the committee's approval.” 

“So you're saying we need a handicap.”

“That’s not–” 

“Spelldrive isn’t about power. It’s about what’s up here,” he taps his forehead.

“Erm…I’m pretty sure my head can’t beat malleus.” Kalim murmurs. 

“I don’t doubt that. But mine can.” 

He’s drawn the eye of his other Housewardens.  Even Idia’s tablet seems to sit up at attention. Better give them a performance, then.

“Malleus has won two years in a row. Rather than sitting here complaining, you all should be wrackin’ your brains on how you can beat him.” His fangs poke into his lips as he smirks. “Whichever dorm figures out how to do that is going to look real pretty to those recruiters. Are you going to let this once in a lifetime opportunity pass you up? Or are you going to take the cowards way out and admit to the world that you can’t outsmart one mage?”

Azul’s staring at him intensely, something dark swirling behind his glasses. It grosses Leona out.

“I am inclined to agree with Leona.” 

Crowley sighs. “Alright. But if this year ends up being a repeat of the last, he will be inducted.”

Leona shrugs. “Fine by me.”

There won’t be another win from Diasmonia. He will make sure of it. His dorm will win, no matter what.

With that sorted, the meeting is adjourned quickly. Leona’s out of his chair before being officially dismissed.

“Ah, one thing before we finish, Kingscholar.” The headmage gestures for him to stay behind as the others trickle out of the office. 

Leona pauses. “Yeah?”

“I have a request to make of you.”

Prefect

The cool fall air breezes over your skin pleasantly. It’s perfect weather for being outside, not too chilly and not too hot. The sky is overcast, so you don’t have to worry about burning your eyes out. 

“Over here!” One of the ramshackle ghosts calls. Grim runs across the field, bow fluttering in the wind. He leaps in the air, throwing the disk from his mouth. It soars through the air and the ghost reaches out a white hand to catch it, only for it to pass directly through him. It bounces harmlessly on the grass.

“Aw come on!” Grim whines, landing on all fours gracefully. “How am I supposed to play an actual game with transparent players?”

“Translucent players,” you correct.

“Same difference.”

It’s really not. You bend over to pick up the disk. “Why don’t you play with the Heartslabuyl guys?”

“And risk invoking the wrath of their housewarden? Nah. Who knows, maybe one of their ridiculous rules is about no spell drive playing after 5.” 

It hasn’t been that long since Riddle had ‘Overblotted’. Something which you’re still struggling to wrap your head around. Your first-year friends have been quick to forgive but others were rightfully still on edge. Yourself and Grim included. It’s not easy to disregard everything that happened just because Riddle cried and said he was sorry. Even if, you can empathize with the fact that he was slowly poisoning himself for weeks. 

Grim frowns over your shoulder. “Raven at 6 O’Clock.”

You quirk a brow. “Like the bird?”

“The person.”

You turn around. Sure enough, a feather-cloaked figure is making his way up the hill. Your spine tenses. The headmage makes you uneasy. Maybe it’s because you can never see his eyes. Maybe it’s because your entire livelihood is dependent on how generous he’s willing to be. Or maybe it’s because he acts foolish half the time. Grim jumps up onto your shoulder as the ghosts dissipate to give you privacy.

“Good day,” Crowley says once he’s close enough. “Playing some spell drive?” 

You grip the disk between your fingers. “Yeah, what’s up?” 

Those yellow eyes make you shiver. “I have a request to make of you. Let’s take this inside.”

…

Grim is thrilled with the idea. You, on the other hand, are not. 

“Please,” he pleads, bouncing from one paw to the next. “Let’s do it, yeah? Let’s investigate?” 

First off, it isn't exactly a request when your living expenses are being dangled over your head, but it doesn’t come as a surprise. Since Grim first got his magestone and you were officially registered as a student, you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Free food, housing, and education is a deal too good to be true.

Secondly…

“Why me?”

“Why not you?” Crowley stirs a cup of tea with a flick of his wrist. The spoon spins itself in the air. “As you are in a dorm not currently competing, you won’t be distracted with training. Nor will you be biased with your investigation. You have nothing to lose and all to gain by finding the culprit.”

Assuming there is a culprit. Something tugs at your stomach but you can’t quite place what. 

Unfortunately, your choice is obvious. “How am I supposed to even start with this?”

Crowley’s golden eyes shimmer beneath the dark veil of his mask. You suppress a shudder.

“You won’t be alone. I’ll provide you with extra help.”

…

“Absolutely not.” Leona growls, crossing his arms. 

Heat flushes to your cheeks. You are less than pleased with the arrangement as well, but at least you had the decency to not say anything to his face.

Crowley flaps his arms around, scattering dust around your dorm’s lounge. “Now Kingscholar, I thought you’d be pleased to have some help!”

“So you’re giving me the magicless herbivore to work with? The one who stepped on my tail?”

“Hey! I am here too.” Grim protests.

Your face flushes. “I am sorry for that.”

Leona’s tail flicks. It seems like everything you do at this school leaves behind a trail of unfortunate accidents. The orientation, the chandeliers…

“Kingscholar,” Crowley says. “You said it yourself; Whichever dorm wins this year will be looking marvelous to the recruiters. Your team can’t focus with these cases popping up.”

“If they can’t focus because some idiots trip over themselves, that’s their problem. Which is what I should be doing back home with my men. Not playing detective with wannabe mages.” 

Grim’s fur puffs up in anger. 

Crowley leans back, tapping a long metal claw on his cane. His tone shifts. “What good will it do if you do win under these conditions?”

“Huh?”

“Say Savanaclaw wins. The recruiters scout prospective students, only to find out that half the tournament participants were unable to play due to their injuries. How do you think they’ll respond, knowing that your victory happened because the best players weren’t on the field? How well do you think your student’s capabilities will be viewed if that happens?”

Leona's tail swishes. You wish you could sink back into the dusty couch and hide. A long moment passes, until Crowley’s shoulders relax and he smiles brightly like nothing happened. 

“In any case, solving this case benefits the both of you! I expect you both will do your best to resolve it as quickly as possible.”

“Alright, whatever,” Leona stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll do it. Can I go?”

Crowley claps his hands together. “Excellent! I’m counting on both of you.”

“Aren’t there 3 of us?” Grim says.

Crowley is out the door before you can say much else. Leona rolls his eyes and jabs a finger in your direction.

“Herbivore. I’ll cooperate, but don’t expect me to babysit you.”

Telling him you have a name isn’t the best idea, you suspect. “You won’t have to,” you say instead.

“Good.” He slinks out of your dorm, slamming the door behind him. 

"Dean you need to pull over right now...I-I think I am going to be sick" You say this while holding back vomit not wanting to make a mess in Dean's precious car. He chaotically but very carefully veers onto the shoulder of the road and you get out in just enough time and Dean holds your hair back as you throw up onto the pavement.

"Oh, honey..." he says rubbing your back and carefully kissing the top of your head.

Sam and Cas look rather worried and also step out of the car to check on you. Thoughts swirl in Sam's head that you might be pregnant and he hands you a water bottle. He is so neurotic that he has your cycle schedule so him and the boys can help you (as a PCOS girlie this head canon is so cute to me) and he knows you are late by a little less than a week. With how stressed you've been with constant hunts you quite honestly didn't notice that fact.

"So Dean...you may have another baby to account for..." Sam jokes and then proceeds more seriously, "Their period is late. Let's go stop at a drug store and get a pregnancy test."

You immediately run into the drug store bathroom with Dean. Luckily its a single stall because Dean insisted he be right there with you. You piss on the stick and wait the excruciatingly long 2 minutes before you see that yes, you and Dean are in fact having a baby. Dean hugs you and tries to mask how hard it makes him that he finally successfully bred you.

"Oh hello there...you are so hot baby." You say that as you sink to your knees as a thank you for breeding you.

"Honey, you don't have to do this, I don't want you to get sick again....my cock might trigger that" You proceed to unbuckle Dean's belt as a silent reassurance that you completely are fine and want to. You shove his boxers down enough to free his leaking cock. You take him in your mouth and somehow push all his inches into your mouth no problem.

"You know I love to take my time with you but we better be quick before Sam and Cas think we are up to no good...which we are but they don't need to know that."

Dean cums down your throat and you swallow his load and smile up at him with your pretty doe eyes. Once you stand up and get your bearings he kisses you hard and licks up the little bit of his cum that dribbled out of your mouth.

Cas and Sam bought you a little plushie while they waited for you to come out from the bathroom and wonder what the hell is taking you so long. They have ears so they unfortunately know how badly Dean wanted to knock you up and they hope the loud sex will be way less frequent now that you are finally pregnant (we all know that is not true Dean is even more horny now which says a lot considering its Dean we are talking about).

"So I am in fact pregnant, can't wait for them to meet their uncles!" you share with Sam and Cas and they give you a big hug.

Dean being Dean completely forgot to buckle his belt again and Sam clocks it as Dean scrambles to try and put it back on properly.

"Oh god, y/n you are better than this." Sam teases, "Dean is a horndog so I blame him."

"What are you doing here?" Bucky growled, pushing you back against the wall. You pressed into his hold, but it didn't give an inch, metal and flesh both tight with tension, hands locked firmly on your upper arms. You shoved at him again. "If you don't stop that you're going to bruise," Bucky said, and you glared at him.

"Then let go of me," you shot at him, and Bucky's fingers tightened minutely before letting go entirely. He shoved up and away from you, backing up and taking a deep breath, his jaw tight.

"Doll, I don't have time for this right now," Bucky said, strain evident in his voice, and your heart clenched.

"Well fuck you, I was having a great time at the party, I don't need this either," you quipped, hands against the wall to press away from it, sliding behind your back instead at one hard look from Bucky.

"You're not s'pposed to be here, and you know it baby. I told ya t'let me handle this one, I don't want you on Valentina's radar."

"Bucky, you're crazy if you think everyone's not on her radar."

"Still, don't need to be giving her reasons to go lookin' at ya," Bucky grumbled, and you sighed. This time you did push off the wall, but only to reach forwards and wrap your hands around Bucky's arm, sliding up to his shoulder, pushing gently until he turned around, looking down at you.

"You're so damn protective, you know that?" You smiled softly, leaning up on your toes to kiss the underside of his jaw, feeling it hard beneath your lips.

"Someone's got to be," Bucky muttered, and let you trail a series of kisses up his jaw and down his neck, until you were meeting the collar of his shirt.

"Mm, oughta be careful with these kisses, wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything, would we, Congressman?" you teased, licking at his Adam's apple, teeth scraping against the scruff of a beard he'd sported tonight.

Bucky groaned, one hand finding your hip, the other burying deep in your hair at the back of your head, both guiding you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, feeling the long line of Bucky's dick against your stomach.

You moaned loudly, quickly cut off by Bucky's lips, shushing you in between kisses. "Baby, shh, it's a blindspot, they can still hear us if you're too loud." You reached down, palming his dick quickly but gently, a loud noise tearing out of Bucky in surprise.

"You were saying, Congressman?" You grinned, as Bucky glanced around, pressing you deeper into the corner. You could see the tops of a few people's heads under the railing next to you, but only just. If they looked this way a little too long or hard, they might see something...and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you at the thought. Bucky pressed into you further, slipping his thigh between yours, giving you something to rest against as he took your head in his hands and pulled you into his kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, meeting him kiss for kiss, your body rolling on thigh, against his torso, pushing your chests together.

"Please, fuck me, Daddy," you whispered into Bucky's ear, feeling him shudder and nod, one hand already leaving its place supporting your neck to travel between you. He tore at his belt, quickly getting it undone and his pants unzipped, his cock falling heavy out of his briefs.

You salivated at the sight, and you whined lightly, desperate to get your mouth on him. Bucky seemed to be in the same mind, because he ground out, "On your knees, babydoll, get it good and wet."

Your eyes fluttered closed at the first touch of his dick to your tongue, heavy and salty, and you breathed in excitedly, taking more of him into your mouth. You suckled gently at first, then harder, making yourself nearly choke on his cock, until Bucky pulled you back by your hair.

"Easy doll, don't make this end before your favorite part," Bucky chided, looking down at you fondly. You were of half a mind to disagree, you loved almost nothing more than his cum down your throat, but Bucky grinned, sensing your mood. "Does that mean you're ready?"

You popped off his dick cleanly, a thick ring of your dark red lipstick staining the base of his cock and part of his balls. You smirked to yourself, before you were lifted up and off your knees, spun around, and shoved against the wall. You were bent forwards with your ass out, your face pressed against the cool marble, your hands held at the small of your back in Bucky's metal one. His other hand flipped up the skirt of your dress, smacking your ass when he found it bare of panties.

"Naughty girl," Bucky said approvingly, hand massaging your ass. "Gods you must be drippin' baby," he grunted, hand sliding between your legs to press into you, coming back covered in your slick. You could feel him slicking up his cock with your juices and you bit your lip hard to hold back a moan.

Bucky began teasing you with the head of his dick. He circled it around and around your clit, leaving you with shaking legs and a heaving chest when he pulled away.

"Don't you fucking dare leave me like this, Congressman," you hissed, and Bucky grabbed your arms, pulling you up and spinning you around, slamming you back into the wall again. He bent down and picked you up, your legs spread over his arms, one of your hands flying to your mouth to stifle your gasp, the other going to his shoulder to steady yourself.

"Never gonna leave you anywhere, babydoll," Bucky murmured before sliding his cock into your open and waiting pussy, burying himself to the hilt immediately.

Your back arched, your breasts pushing into Bucky's face, smothering him as you adjusted to being full. You slumped back down to the wall but Bucky followed you, keeping his mouth on your tits, sucking a mark between them.

You grasped his hair, holding on firmly while Bucky began to pump his hips, dragging his dick back and forth against your walls, clenching desperately to keep him inside you every time he pulled out.

Bucky's lips met your own in a messy kiss, spit and tongues mixing together until you were sure your lipstick was everywhere, but you didn't care, you just wanted more, more Bucky, more everything.

Bucky adjusted his hold on you, pulling your ass away from the wall so just your upper back was against it, your hands scrambling to hold onto Bucky's neck, but he had you, fully, in his arms. He fucked you hard then, bouncing you on his dick, until you were nearly crying with the need to come.

"Daddy please," you gasped, curled forwards and wrapped around Bucky's shoulders, begging into his ear. "I needa come, gotta come, please!"

Bucky just adjusted his hold once again, wrapping your legs around his waist and cradling you against him as he pushed you up against a pillar.

"Now, baby, come now," Bucky ordered, hips moving powerfully again, deep and fast, right where you wanted him. You couldn't hold back your orgasm if you tried, it was intense and hit you right away. Your cunt clenched, tightening around Bucky's cock, forcing him to fuck you harder to stay inside you, and you bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out.

Bucky sighed heavily, his own orgasm triggered by your bite, and he flooded your cunt with his cum, fucking it back into you until you were shaking from overstimulation.

Gently, very gently, Bucky helped you uncurl your legs, placing them back on the ground. He rubbed circles on your thighs, getting blood flowing again as you fixed the skirt of your dress, making sure it hung properly. Bucky helped adjust the top, before you cleaned up his suit jacket and buttoned his pants, letting him do the belt.

Bucky gathered you in his arms, pulling you into his chest, letting you regulate your breathing and just be for a moment. With a kiss on the top of your head, Bucky gently pulled away, swiping at a line of your lipstick on your chin.