#counter sniping

[stealth-skills]

Countersnipers of the USN SBP FSO during the security of the Victory Parade in Moscow.

May 9, 2023.

[ld-fc]

do these ppl actually play their own game? y tf is widow gettin nerfed while mei of all fuckin ppl is gettin buffed? can we actually be so fr right now

[charliemwrites]

There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

[augustinewrites]

when the kids had first moved into the apartment, the first thing you and satoru sat them down and established was that you were not going to be their new parents. satoru, and eventually you, were just their legal guardians. 

then a year later, megumi had shyly asked if you’d come to his mother’s day lunch at school. 

after that, everything you’d said that first night had gone out the window (especially after tsumiki had given satoru a mug that said ‘my dad is rad’ with his face on it).

and you were both okay with that, because they were cute kids, and over the years you’d grown to love them like they were your own. everyday you spend with your little family is a special one, especially days like today.

instincts, perhaps, are what prompt you to get up much too early on sunday, a day where you typically sleep till…well, at least 8am. but there’s noise coming from the kitchen that concerns you. 

satoru has no such instincts, still snoozing away next to you. you shake his shoulder, hoping to pass off responsibility for whatever’s transpiring to him, but he simply nudges his face deeper into his pillow. 

so you take your own pillow and smack him with it. 

he wakes up with a start, eyes still heavy with sleep as he looks around. “what? what’s happening?” 

you point to the door, where the sound of the record player’s soft tunes are accompanied by something almost foreign to your household.

it takes him a minute to process the sound, but once he does, he looks just as confused as you feel.

“is that the sound of laughter coming from our two moody teenagers?” you ask, genuinely bewildered. “do you think they’re laughing at each other?” 

satoru sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “i think we should probably get out there. someone’s definitely holding them at gunpoint.” 

he slides out of bed to grab and hand you your robe, very obviously hiding something behind his back while trailing out of the room after you. arms crossed, you step into the kitchen to see the two teens working together to set up the table.  

“what is going on here?” you ask, eying the mess on the kitchen counter and prompting them both to turn around. “i hope you both know that i’m not cleaning this up.”

“of course not, babe. it’s your day,” your fiancée tells you, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a bouquet of flowers into your hand. 

“my day? so that means you’ll be cleaning up?”

“obviously not. that’s what the two freeloaders are here for. as for how i’ll be treating you today…”

the kids roll their eyes as he pulls you in for a longer than necessary kiss, stealing your breath away. megumi coughs loudly, prompting you to pull apart so you can start breakfast.

like every year, your spot is already set up with a plate of fluffy pancakes, eggs, and a steaming cup of coffee. 

“what, nothing for me?” satoru pouts as the kids load their own plates up and get settled at the table. 

“you’re not our mom,” megumi huffs. 

“yeah, but i’m your—”

“don’t call yourself daddy or i swear to god—”

you hide your smile behind your mug as you glance between the two. it wouldn’t be a family meal without satoru and megumi’s petty snipes. 

it also wouldn’t be mother’s day without gifts. satoru would never let them hear the end of it if there wasn’t. 

there’s a very…abstractly wrapped book from megumi, a perfectly knitted sweater from tsumiki, and classic ‘do the dishes’ coupons and the promise of a spa day.

“we really are grateful for you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the backs of each of your fingers before entangling them with his own. “i could never do this without you.”

“well, it’s a good thing you’ll never have to,” you tell him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before slapping a coupon onto the table. “except when it comes to the dishes.”

(and after he gets sealed, you realize you’d never thought you’d have to do any of it without him.)

[pb524830]

more than that

pairing: paige bueckers x oc word count: 9.6k c/w: sexual content, language synopsis: paige and laila have been friends (or more) for quite a while. but friends with benefits can become much more than that. a/n: had this little puppy in the archives, and someone sent me an ask saying it's their birthday. figured i haven't put out something of this length in a while! want to preface this by saying i'm aware ivy's don't give athletic scholarships. also that paige is a little insane and a lot stupid. anyway, since it's the off season and we won't get basketball for a while, just trying to keep everyone fed. :)

“Five.”

“No.”

“Okay, ten.”

“Still no.”

“Fifteen?”

“Paige, what makes you think that going any higher is going to make me want to take you up on this bet?”

Paige wrinkles her nose, then shrugs. “Bro, I just have a feeling you’re very, very wrong.” I roll my eyes at her. “When have I ever been wrong?” I ask. It’s a reasonable question, with a very obvious answer. She points at me accusingly. “You got a 98 on your calculus test. You were wrong then.” I scoff. “Well, I’m not wrong this time. Coach Auriemma will one hundred percent not let me onto the bus for an away game.”

Paige pouts. She’s dressed in full Husky gear today, a gray hoodie thrown over a pair of sweats. Her hair is tied back in a bun, but the two front strands dangle in front of her clear, blue eyes. She’s seated next to me in the booth at a local diner, and I have a full view of her side profile; sharp jaw, upturned nose, high cheekbones, perpetual smirk. “It couldn’t hurt to try…” she mumbles, reaching for her milkshake. 

I hold my hands up in defeat. I’m currently visiting Paige, and her, myself, and Azzi came out for a quick bite after practice. “Do whatever you want, Paige,” I sigh. She kicks me under the table. “You’re a bad sport. And if you’re so sure he won’t let you, then take me up on the bet.” Azzi groans and drops her head to her hands. “You two fight more than Paige and I do. Honestly, Paige, you need to quit forcing Laila up to Storrs for visits just so you can annoy her.” 

Paige frowns at Azzi. “I don’t annoy Laila,” she protests, draping an arm around me and pulling me into her side. She smells clean, like soap and shampoo. “Yes, you do,” Azzi and I respond automatically in unison. “Well, I don’t know why you want to act like you’re not annoying. You do annoying stuff,” she tells me indignantly. I raise an eyebrow at her. “Like what?” I demand. 

“Well, first off, you kick in your sleep,” she starts. My eyes widen. “Bitch!” I gasp. “You hog the blanket,” I counter quickly. She snorts. “That’s because you sleep in a ball.” I smack her side, inching out from under her arm. “I do not! I sleep like a normal person,” I protest. She settles her arm back around me and drags me back into her side, smirking at me. “Of course you do, Laila,” she says patronizingly. 

“Anyways,” she says, turning to Azzi. “I’m not forcing Laila to come up here. She’s grown. She chooses to come visit me, even though I apparently ‘annoy’ her.” She jabs a finger into my side, and I push at hers. “Whatever. New Haven’s just boring,” I snipe. “Nah, I think you’re secretly in love with me,” Paige teases. I pull a face at her, but my face still grows warm and my stomach still twists.

The truth is, Paige isn’t too off base. The two of us have known each other forever, since high school. She played basketball for Hopkins, and I played volleyball for Wayzata. We’d met at our school rivalry game, and she’d pretended to hit on me off a team dare. The rest was history. 

“... honestly, she should just transfer at this point,” Paige is saying matter-of-factly. I gape at her. “What, to UConn?” Azzi makes a similar face. “From Yale?” she demands. “From Yale?” Paige mimics her. “Yes, from Yale.” I drop my head to Paige’s shoulder, pulling out my phone. “Peace and love, babes, I’m not transferring out of Yale,” I tell her. She snatches my phone out of my hands. 

“Who you texting?” she teases. “My friends, bro,” I snatch it back from her. She rubs her fingers along my shoulder soothingly, trying to catch a glimpse of my face. “Why your friends got you smiling like that, huh?” 

“Paige, quit looking at my phone,” I mumble absentmindedly, grinning at a TikTok my teammates sent me. “Paige, quit looking at my phone,” she mimics again. Azzi throws a fry at her. 

“Why not? You could come play volleyball here,” Paige complains. I shoot Azzi a look, like, ‘really?’ Azzi sighs. “I’m gonna get more ketchup. You deal with her,” she tells me. Paige glares at her. “I don’t need to be dealt with,” she says indignantly. “Anyway, you should transfer,” she continues, taking my phone away again. I sigh, looking up to meet her clear, blue eyes. “Are we actually having this discussion?” I ask tiredly. She looks appalled. “Yes, bro,” she says, as though it’s obvious. 

“Paigey, why on Earth would I transfer from Yale?” She gives me another ‘duh’ look. “We have volleyball here, too,” she says. I blink. I always forget that Paige is this huge, superstar athlete, and that her sport will be her career. “Okay, but volleyball isn’t my future,” I remind her gently. “It’s just something that’s putting me through school. You know that.” Paige wrinkles her nose. “I always forget about law school.”

I laugh lightly. “I really wish I had that luxury.” Paige turns to look down at me, eyes roving my face, before she tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, her fingers nimble. “I miss you, though.” My heart stutters. Just friends, just friends, just friends.

The truth is, I haven’t been ‘just friends’ with Paige Bueckers in a long time. We met when we were about fourteen years old, and we got close super fast. A little too close. She was my first kiss. Well, we’d done a little more than kiss. But we were young and stupid, and we didn’t realize it was perfectly normal to like other girls. We hadn’t spoken of it since.

That wasn’t to say that I hadn’t thought about it. Of course I had. Every girl or guy I’d ever dated, I’d compared them to her. His hands didn’t feel as good on me as Paige’s did. She didn’t kiss like Paige. He didn’t sound like Paige, she didn’t feel like Paige. It was a vicious cycle. It took me a long time to admit that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want anyone who wasn’t Paige. 

I inch out from under her arm slowly, ignoring the flash of hurt across her face. Thankfully, Azzi comes back before I have to respond to what Paige said. “Is she done?” she asks me. I groan. “Is she ever?”

_________

“He said yes?” I ask incredulously. “Bro, Coach is my guy, I gotchu!” Paige crows, jumping up and down on the bed. “I don’t have anything to wear, Paige!” I complain. “You can just borrow my clothes,” she suggests. I give her an ‘are you serious?’ look. “You literally leave in an hour, I don’t even have time to do laundry-” Paige cuts me off by grabbing my hand. “Dude, it’s not that deep. We’ll figure it out. Just pack what you have, and we’ll go.”

“I have school,” I protest weakly. Paige shoots me a look. “You were supposed to be here a week anyway. Coming on the road is better than being in an empty apartment for two days, bro.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know, Paigey…”

“Laila, please? You love coming to my games anyway.” I ponder for a moment, twisting my mouth. “I really, really want you there,” she says, softer this time, pulling me in by the waist and looking up at me earnestly. My breath catches. She smirks. “Fine,” I relent.

__________

The bus ride to Villanova is long and bumpy. I find myself falling asleep on Paige within the first thirty minutes of the ride, tucked into her side with an arm thrown around me, all under a blanket. 

Every time I’m with Paige, I try my best to be present, and in the moment. Not just because I only see her once every couple of months, but because if I think about the future, I think about the past. Our past. 

You could say I’m a masochist for crawling back to Storrs whenever Paige calls with an ‘I miss you’ or ‘Can I see you?’ You might say I’m weak. You’d probably be right. But with Paige and I… it’s different. It’s always been different. And if keeping Paige in my life means being in love with her in private, I guess it’s just something I have to put myself through. 

I’m woken up by a soft noise in my ear. It’s Paige. She sighs breathily, frowning in her sleep. I watch her as her breath whistles through her parted lips, lashes fluttering. Her tongue darts out to wet her mouth. Then, she lets out a slight moan. And another, head tilting back.

I squeeze my hand where it’s resting at her thigh. “Paige,” I whisper urgently. “Laila,” she sighs, still asleep. “Paige, wake up,” I say, louder this time. I squeeze at her thigh again. Her eyes flutter open, lips still parted. Her eyes take a second to focus on me, before she rasps out, “Fuck.”

“What?” I ask, concerned. She shakes her head, leg shifting slightly. Suddenly, my hand is inches away from…

“Could you just… move your hand?” she asks groggily. I blink. “Why..?” I wonder aloud, before it dawns on me. My eyes widen. “Are you..?” She bites her lip, eyes trailing to the ceiling. And although I know exactly what’s happening, my hand doesn’t move. Instead, it inches to the waistband of her shorts like it has a mind of its own. 

“Do you need..?

Her eyes snap back to mine, widened, the blues of them darkened by her pupils. “Laila, what?” She asks, voice still hoarse. It doesn’t help the fluttering in my chest. I hesitate. “I just… if you need me to, I can-”

She groans, her hand coming up to trail down her face. “You better be fucking serious right now, Laila.” I bite my lip, watching her jaw clench. “Do you need me to?” I ask softly.

Her response is quick. “Yes. Fuck, yes, before I change my mind.”

“Okay,” I whisper, dipping my hand into her panties and moving closer.

“Shit, you’re wet,” I mumble into her ear, dipping two fingers into her folds. She hisses softly.

My thumb finds her clit and I circle it lightly, watching her eyes flutter shut and her tongue dart out to wet her lips. “Is that good?” I whisper softly, pushing in and out of her. She’s so wet that they slide in and out ridiculously easy. I bite my lip as she nods quietly, brow furrowing. Her lips part as I go deeper, head tipping farther back.

“Shit,” she hisses.

I swallow hard. “Hush,” I mumble, looking around. The truth is, I want to hear her curse, and moan, and whimper, and whatever it is she wants to do. If I could fuck her, like, really fuck her, not on a bus…

I savor the thought, leaning next to her ear to whisper, “Open your eyes.” She obliges, eyes shooting open to rove over my face as I fuck her with my fingers. I bite my lip, pinching her clit hard, once, before plunging in deep. “I’m gonna-” she starts huskily, teeth digging into her bottom lip. I keep her eyes locked with mine, circling her clit hard before I feel her pulse beneath me, breath shuddering out as she finishes.

I work her through her orgasm, lip between my teeth. She doesn’t break eye contact, her blue eyes nearly blown black, eyes trailing between my own and my lips. “I forgot how good you were at that,” she whispers. I breathe out shakily. “You should go clean up,” I tell her, feeling a pit open in my stomach.

“Nah, let me get you first,” she says back, casual as can be. My heart stutters. “What?” I whisper. She leans closer, lips pressed against my ear. “I know how wet getting me off makes you,” she says, voice sultry and soft. “Paige-” I start wearily. She ignores me, reaching under the blanket to ease my fingers out of her. “Suck,” she murmurs. I huff lightly. She raises her eyebrows expectantly, and makes a ‘hurry up’ motion with her finger. I glance around, placing my fingers in my mouth quickly, then nearly groan at how good she tastes. I let my eyes flutter shut as Paige pulls my fingers from my mouth and places my arm under the blanket before she pulls my leg over her lap.

“Paige, you don’t have to-” “I want to,” she interrupts me, locking her eyes with mine. “Just shut the fuck up for a minute, dude.” I laugh breathily as her hand teases the hem of my shorts, fingers ghosting the inside of my thigh. “You think you can make me come in a minute?” I mumble, lips pressed against her ear. I feel her low chuckle more than hear it. “I’ve made you come in less,” she reminds me quietly, fingers sinking into me.

I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut, as she works me with her fingers, her thumb pressing at my clit. “Fuck,” I hiss as her fingers go deeper, curling ever so slightly. “Shhh,” she soothes. “Look at me,” she whispers. “I can’t,” I mumble into her neck, feeling my cheeks warm at the thought of watching her face as she gets me off. Her fingers find a spot that’s especially deep and I whimper into her skin.

“Come on, Laila, you can’t be making that much noise,” she murmurs to me. “Sorry,” I whisper. My eyes roll back when she circles my clit hard, once, twice…Then she starts talking to me.

“So quiet. Such a good girl.” I gasp lightly.

“Are you close?” I hum in response to this.

“You’re doing so good, I promise.”

“Almost there.”

“Yes, that’s good. You’re so good, baby, so fucking good.”

“Look at me, please.”

I pry my head off of her shoulder to take in her face. She bites her lip, eyes trained on my mouth. I part my lips ever so slightly. “I wanna watch you come,” she whispers. It sends me over the edge. I feel my orgasm shudder through me, soft and unassuming, but curling my toes, and my fingers that have somehow moved to the nape of Paige’s neck, sending my eyes rolling back into my head. Paige soothes me through it, patting my back, circling my clit, and it takes me a minute after she’s taken her fingers out of me and stuck them in her own mouth, before pulling me back into her side to realize what we’ve done.

I also realize that this is the first time in almost eight years of knowing each other that Paige has watched me finish. Whenever we… experimented, it was always with the lights off, drunk in the back of a car or in one of our bedrooms. 

She’d certainly never called me ‘baby’ before. 

Hm.

________

That’s when Paige and I truly went from friends to friends with benefits. Probably not the best idea, considering this long standing and apparently never ending crush I have on her. At first, it was just small things. At dinner, she’d put her hand on my thigh, and I’d excused myself to go to the bathroom. I hadn’t expected her to follow, but she’d pinned me against a stall door and kissed me to within an inch of my life. Gasping for breath, I told her we would finish this in the hotel room later that night. She’d made me come on her fingers again before forcing me to my knees to eat her out.

Tonight, we're back at the hotel after an afternoon game, a few of the girls chilling in mine, Azzi, Paige, and Aubrey’s hotel room. The hotel does have a pool, and I’m feeling particularly devious at present. I throw on one of Paige’s old Hopkins tees - it’s loose on me. Paige is six feet tall on a good day. I’m barely pushing five foot four.

I have on what has to be the world’s skimpiest black bikini underneath the shirt, and I shoot Paige a quick text before slipping out of the hotel room and heading up to the rooftop pool. Paige is out on the roof mere minutes after me, clad in black shorts and black sports bra. Shit, she’s hot. I catch the sharp angle of her jawline as she strains around, looking for me. 

“That was fast!” I call. Her eyes land on me, and her hand reaches up to scratch her neck. “Shit, you said you had a surprise. Got me all excited,” she shoots back, sauntering up to me. “So, you gonna keep that on, or…?” she trails off, tugging at my shirt. I stand up, chest pressed to hers, before shoving her back a little, my hand grazing her bare stomach. “Get in first,” I tell her, smirking. She whistles, low under her breath. “Whatever you say,” she murmurs, licking her lips. She backs up, taking a second to slide into the pool with a soft splash. I walk slowly to the edge, easing her shirt off of me and tossing it to the side. “Shit,” she grins. “Have you always been this fine?” She swims to the edge, tugging at my calves to try and pull me in. I take a seat at the edge of the pool, her head between my knees.

She swims closer, spreading my legs further apart so she can rest her hands on my thighs, then inches them back to cup my ass. “You know,” she murmurs. “I didn’t have any dessert tonight.” I sigh, tipping my head back and leaning on my arms. “Oh, yeah?” I mumble. Her fingers pull at the strings of my bikini bottoms, nimbly untying them. She breathes against my bare cunt, and my head lolls back down to look at her.

Her face is pulled into a shit-eating grin as she licks a long stripe against my pussy. I groan out loud. “Fuck, Paige,” I moan, when her tongue dips into me, and her lips suck hard on my clit. “Oh, that’s so good,” I breathe, tilting my head back and letting her work at me. 

“Damn, you look so good like this,” she tells me. “You think so?” I laugh breathily, meeting her eyes again. “Your tits,” she says, slurping loudly. I whimper, biting my lip. “In that top. Shit, you have no idea,” she finishes. She places wet, sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over my cunt, sucking hard at my clit, flicking her tongue at my entrance.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” I moan out, winding my hand into her hair to press her closer.

She laughs into my cunt, and the vibrations coax another mewl out of me. “I know,” she says, voice smug. I moan again, louder this time, before clamping my mouth shut. “I should probably- oh, fuck- be quieter… oh, my God, Paige,” I stutter, throwing a hand over my mouth. Her hands squeeze at my ass, and she looks up at me, eyes earnest, lips glistening with my arousal. “Why the fuck would you be quiet?” she asks, sinking her tongue in deep without breaking eye contact. Fuck. “Someone- someone might hear,” I gasp out. “Shit. I was lowkey counting on that,” she says. Then she smirks.

It sends me over the edge. My thighs quiver around her face, and I moan out, “Paige, fuck. Oh, Paige, yes. Don’t stop, please. Please, Paige, yes, yes, yes…” My back arches as I balance myself on my hands, throwing my head back as my climax crashes through me. Paige quickly ties my bathing suit bottoms back on as I catch my breath, then pulls me into the pool to connect our lips in a bruising kiss.

I smile against her mouth. “Your turn.”

__________

“Fuck, we’re late.”

I hear Paige’s agitated voice early the next morning, then feel her hands on my shoulder shaking me awake. “Laila, wake up,” she says, her tone urgent. I push myself up groggily, watching her shove our clothes into a suitcase. “What..?” I mumble. “We have to be on the bus in five minutes, or I’m gonna get my ass handed to me,” she replies. I groan. “Fuck. Why didn’t they wake us up?” I wonder, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and jogging to the bathroom to wash my face quickly.

I throw my laptop and chargers into my backpack and swing it over my back, tossing Paige the plastic baggie with our toothbrushes. The two of us rush to the bus, barely making it on. I volunteer to put our bags under the bus while Paige grabs us seats. When I climb onto the bus, I see Paige arguing in hushed tones with Azzi. “What’s going on?” I ask.

Azzi is snickering. “Just asking why these headasses didn’t wake us up,” Paige snipes. Azzi laughs even harder, elbowing Aubrey next to her. Aubrey grins up at us, looking like she’s also trying not to laugh. “Y’all had a… long night last night. We didn’t want to wake you,” she laughs. My cheeks warm immediately and Paige gapes. “Motherfuckers,” she mutters, taking my hand and leading me to the back of the bus.

“Use protection!” Azzi calls after us. I have to physically restrain Paige from lunging at her best friend by pushing her into the seat, and climbing over her into the window seat. “Behave,” I instruct. She makes a face at me, diving under the blanket to rest her head on my lap. Her legs dangle over the armrest on the other side, too long to prop up against the seat itself. I uncover her face, pushing the blanket away, and meet her clear blue eyes staring at me. 

“What?” I ask, combing my hand through her hair. I part it down the middle to start a crown braid. She closes her eyes, humming. “Nothing,” she mumbles, sighing contentedly. I return my attention to her hair, braiding it away from her face on both sides, then letting it loose at the ends, securing the twists lightly with the rubber bands. 

I look back at her to see her gazing at me intently, again. “Dude, do you want a picture?” I ask sarcastically. She smirks up at me. “No, I want to fuck you again.” My mouth falls open slightly and I smack her on the forehead. “Quit it,” I command, tone hushed, brows furrowed. She sits up, the blanket falling off slightly, and looks around us, checking to see who’s watching. “I bet the bathroom’s empty,” she sing-songs, tugging at my hand.

I pull my hand away, smacking her again, on her shoulder this time. “You are not fucking me in the bathroom of this bus,” I snap. Paige sighs, leaning back and spreading her legs. For some reason, the way she sits really does something to me. I tear my eyes away and curl up against the seat, focusing on the air above her. “Actually, you’re right,” she starts, placing a hand on my thigh. My eyes shoot to hers, and her hand squeezes, fingers long enough to span my thigh and wrap around partially. “Right about what?”

She shakes her head, licking her lips. “I don’t want to fuck you in that bathroom,” she says, moving closer. She places a feather-light kiss on my jaw, then pulls away ever so slightly. “But I do want to fuck you on my bed,” she murmurs, then lands another kiss on my neck. My breath hitches, my hand landing on her stomach and bunching the fabric of her tee-shirt. “And in my car.” Another kiss.

I bite my lip, trying my best to act like this isn’t affecting me. “And in the shower.” This one lands on the corner of my mouth and my lips part unwittingly. “In the pool again would be nice,” she suggests smugly, squeezing my thigh again. “I’d take my time, too.” My breath whistles out from between my lips, and she plants a kiss on them before pulling away quickly. “How many times you think I could make you come, Laila?” she asks, breath whispering against my lips. “You’re a fucking tease,” I bite back. She grins at me, satisfied, and sits back, legs still spread wide apart. “It’s so funny how bad you want me,” she chuckles, closing her eyes.

For some reason, it hits home. And it reminds me that this is all just a game to her, that I’m pining after her like I have been for nearly eight years now, and that she just sees me as an easy fuck at worst, and a friend at best. The truth lies somewhere in between. This game we’re playing, that for some reason, I thought was a good idea - or knew was a bad idea and didn’t care - it’s dangerous. I can’t let myself get caught up in it.

“Fuck you, Paige,” I spit, then climb over her. “Yo, what-” I hear her confused protests and feel her hands catching at my arms. “Laila!” I hear her call, but I make my way to the front of the bus, plopping down next to Azzi.

“Pretzel?” she asks. If she notices my distraught face, she doesn’t mention it, and I’m suddenly grateful that I’ve known Azzi just as long as I’ve known Paige. I take the bag out of her hand gratefully, and I’m silent the rest of the ride home. 

_________

“You have to fucking talk to me-”

“I really don’t.”

“Laila, it was a joke, I’m sorry.”

“No, this was a mistake. The bus, and-and the hotel room, and the fucking pool. God, I let you fuck me in a pool? That’s so unsanitary, Jesus.”

“Is that really your problem right now?”

“I don’t know what my problem is, Paige,” I spit, whirling on her.

“Maybe,” I hiss, “my problem is that you are not mature enough to be friends with benefits.”

She scoffs. “Oh, I’m not mature, huh? That’s what this is?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” I tell her firmly. “Because now everything is about sex for you, isn’t it?’

“We both know that’s not your problem, Laila.”

“Fuck all the way off.”

“Obviously I want you, too. Otherwise I wouldn’t be following you to bathrooms or fucking you in pools or whatever the fuck else we’ve done. You’re being fucking stupid.”

“Do not call me stupid. And don’t psychoanalyze me.” 

“Why not? Are you afraid I might find something you don’t like?” Paige’s tone is harsh.

“What could you possibly find?”

“That maybe you like fucking me!”

“Fuck off!”

“You like fucking me, and you’re not mature enough to admit it. We both know that’s it. And now you’re running away, because you do that with all your fucking problems.”

“Fine. I like fucking you. Is that what you wanted to hear?” I snarl, throwing a tee-shirt at her.

Paige’s eyes go dark and she stalks towards me, shoving me against a wall by my shoulders. “Was that so fucking hard?” she demands. Then she crashes her lips to mine and I find myself moaning into her mouth, hands burying into her hair while hers roam my body, gripping my ass, spanning my back. I walk her backwards, shoving her onto her bed. “This is the last time I’m letting you do this,” I tell her, but I reach for the hem of my tank top and pull it over my head, anyway. She shrugs off her shirt, too, tossing it to the side, and pulls me onto her to let me straddle her waist.

“You’re all talk,” she mumbles against my lips, letting me push her onto the bed so that she’s lying down, and squeezing my sides when I kiss down her neck, sucking at her collarbones, biting at the skin above her breasts. “Are you going to fuck other bitches while I’m in New Haven?” I demand. “Maybe,” she shrugs. “Why do you care?”

“Don’t,” I snarl, gripping her ponytail tightly and pulling. She moans lewdly. “Fuck, okay. Yeah. I won’t.” I lower my lips to hers again, grinding my hips against her own. “Good,” I murmur. I climb off of her to wrestle out of my shorts and panties, dropping them to the side so that I’m completely naked in front of her.

She sits up on her elbows, drinking me in. “Fuck,” she whispers. I lean down over her, cupping her face and kissing her fiercely. “You’re overdressed, Paigey,” I remark casually. “Do something about it,” she murmurs back. I pull her to her feet and let her strip, too, biting my lip as she reveals her broad shoulders, toned arms, defined stomach, her long legs. I push her back onto the bed, and climb up to grind my wet cunt against her abs. “Shit,” I gasp, as her skin meets my clit. She adjusts our legs so that we can slot against each other, and I whine at the way her wet pussy feels against mine.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” she mumbles. “Oh, God,” I moan, throwing my head back slightly, balancing myself on her stomach. “Feel good?” she asks, thrusting up against me. “Yes,” I mewl, moving my hand to her shoulder, the other tangled in her hair. Her hands move to my ass, squeezing, then trail up and down my torso, squeezing at my side. She takes one of my breasts in one hand and kneads it skillfully, tweaking my nipple. I meet her eyes, their blue irises challenging, and lean forward to take her breast in my mouth. They’re small, but perky, and I maintain eye contact with her as I place sloppy kisses around her nipple, licking at it shamelessly. She smacks my ass, grinding me down further, and I moan purposefully loud against her skin. “Fucking whore,” she says, but her tone is smug, her eyes glazed over with pleasure.

“Shit, you feel so fucking good,” she hisses out when I change the angle that we’re scissoring at. I have a higher vantage point, and I grind my hips down slower, using one hand to lift my hair and the other to squeeze at my breast. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” I whine, knowing she likes it when I’m so vocal. “Look so pretty when you ride me like this,” she murmurs, squeezing harder at my ass. “You like riding me?” She asks, smirking. I cock my head, grinding faster, and her eyes flutter shut. “Do you like it when I ride you?” I counter, innocent as can be. 

“Shit!” she gasps, and I feel her come apart against me, her pussy pulsating and dripping into mine. I grab her face, forcing her to look at me as she climaxes, and the blue of her eyes is nearly enveloped by the black. “Is that a yes, Paigey?” I coo. Her eyes roll back, body still shuddering. I’ve stopped moving my lower body, content with watching her finish. I push her mouth to mine in a punishing kiss. “God, I wanna record you when you come,” I whisper, and she laughs against my mouth.

“You got a filthy mind, Laila,” she teases, her voice raspy with exhaustion. Then her hands are gripping at my waist, and pulling me against her so that my back is pressed to her torso. “Filthy mouth, too,” she murmurs, lips pressing against the skin of my neck. My head lolls back against her shoulder as her hand trails downward down my stomach. “Oh, yes, Paige,” I moan as her fingers sink into me slowly. I spread my legs wider, and she pumps them in and out. “Yes, just like that,” I sigh. Her other hand comes up to squeeze my breast again, fingers moving faster, hand twisting my nipple. “Mmmm, fuck, don’t stop,” I tell her, biting at her earlobe. 

I whine out as she pinches my clit, back arching. “Fuck, you like that?” she murmurs, doing it again. She plunges in deeper, faster, alternating between toying with my clit and fucking up into me with her fingers. “Yeah, you like that,” she answers her own question when I open my mouth and a moan falls out.

“I’m close,” I force out, gripping at her thighs. “You gonna fucking come?” she asks, pinching my clit again, but harsher this time. That does it. I shatter with a scream: “Fuck, Paige!” and she coaxes me through my climax as it crashes through me, fingers circling my clit. I collapse against her, completely spent but completely satisfied. 

I feel her laugh reverberate against my back. “And you were tryna tell me you don’t like fucking me.”

____________

“Who is he?” Paige’s voice sounds loudly through my phone speaker.

“Girl, what? It’s three in the morning, who the fuck are you talking about?”

“This dude in your post. He’s touching all up on you. Who is he?”

“What post, Paige?” I mumble groggily.

“Instagram, bro, keep up.”

“I promise you there is no one groping me on my Instagram, now go to sleep.”

“Hold up,” she tells me. I hear rustling on the other side of the line and I groan.

“Right here. Second slide. Guy’s got his hands on you and shit.”

I wrack my brain, too lazy to go look. “Is he blonde?”

“Yes. I know you got a thing for blondes-”

“Fuck off, Paige.”

“But you are so out of this dude’s league.”

“Thank you, Paige,” I mumble tiredly.

“I’m serious, who is this guy?”

“He’s from my International Turmoil and Conflict Resolution class, Paigey. His name is Luke.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a class for my major. Don’t worry, he asked me out and I turned him down.”

“He what?”

“Dude, keep up,” I whine, burying my head in my pillow.

“Did you fuck him?” she demands.

“What the fuck?” I shoot back, too tired to deal with her bullshit.

“I’m coming down there.”

“Huh?” Then the line clicks. She can’t be serious, right?

It turns out she is very, very serious. I’m awoken the next morning by a loud banging on my apartment door. My teammate Kara peeks her head out of her room and sees me running to open it. “Are you expecting someone?” she asks sleepily. “Not that I know. I got it, though,” I tell her.

I open the door to a very frazzled and tired-looking Paige Bueckers. She holds her car keys in one hand, and her backpack is balanced on one shoulder. Her hair is down, and she’s dressed in a muscle tee and sweats. I blink, then gape. “Can I help you?” I demand.

She shoves into my apartment, dropping her backpack and keys on my counter before taking my face in her hands and swallowing my lips with hers. I gasp lightly, and she slips her tongue into my mouth. “Fuck, I missed you,” she groans. I let her back me towards my room, lips still devouring mine. “Do you always look this sexy in the morning?” she mumbles against my mouth, opening the door to my room. She pushes me onto the bed, towering over me.

I recover from my shock at this point, and place a hand on her stomach to halt her. Her muscles contract under my fingers as she catches her breath. “Paige, what are you doing here?” I pant out. She weaves her hand into my hair, pulling me back by my scalp before smirking at me. “I already told you. I missed you.” I raise an eyebrow. “You drove an hour because you missed me?” I demand. She leans down, ghosting her lips over mine again. It takes everything I have not to pull her to me and kiss her senseless. “I drove an hour to fuck the shit out of you, but you’re holding me up.” I shove her away, huffing. “You cannot just show up-”

“Would you have said no?” she counters reasonably, plopping next to me and pulling me into her. I hesitate. “Well, no, but-” “Exactlyyy,” she crows. I shove her away again, standing up. I tug at the hem of my shirt (her shirt, fuck me), pushing the waves of my hair up out of my face. “You’re wearing my shirt,” she observes, sitting criss-cross. I frown at her. “And?” She grins. “I want it back.”

I feel myself getting really pissed now. “You’re not funny,” I bite. She leans back on her hands, eyes roving up and down my body, her bottom lip tucking itself under her teeth. “A’ight, leave it on then,” she says, her voice low. I run my hands through my hair again and scoff. “Dude, what the fuck?” I snap. She looks taken aback. “You think you can just show up here and-and get in my pants? What’s wrong with you?” I demand, my voice rising.

Paige blinks. “You want me to buy you coffee first, or..?” I groan, covering my face with my hands. “No, Paige, I want you to be fucking normal.” She pulls a face at me. “What do you mean, normal?” 

I pace in front of her, crossing my arms, then uncrossing them. “We were friends before this, Paige. And we did normal friend stuff.”

“This is normal friend stuff.”

“Are you fucking joking?”

“I’m deadass.”

“This is not normal friend stuff. Are you high?”

“I wish.”

“Do not get cute with me right now.”

“I don’t know why you’re acting like you’re not the one who started this.” Paige’s tone is cold.

“Excuse you?”

“Maybe my memory’s a little off, but you’re the one who offered to finger me on the bus, right?”

“Because I thought you could handle it. This is supposed to be friends with benefits. That means we keep being friends. And we watch fucking movies and go to fucking parties, and you treat me like you’ve treated me for the past eight years, Paige. I’m not just some fuck-buddy”

“Well, I’m sorry, Laila. I’m so fucking sorry that I can’t treat you normally, because the second I see you, my brain goes blank. All I can think about is fucking you. I’m sorry that the second I thought someone else had their hands on you, I couldn’t see straight-”

“You don’t own me.”

“You’re still mine.”

We’re chest to chest at this point, breathing hard. Her eyes are locked on mine.

“What are you saying, Paige?” I whisper.

Her eyes dart away. She licks her lips. “Paige?” I push. 

“I’m sorry, Laila,” she whispers, eyes darting back to mine. “I should’ve stayed in Storrs.”

Then she’s walking out of my room, and I’m chasing her into the hallway, watching her grab her bag and her keys and walk out of my apartment door.

I cry so hard that night that my head hurts.

_________

“Laila, you have to come out of there.”

I suppose I should show some appreciation that Azzi and Ice drove all the way from Storrs to see me. “No, I don’t!” I call back. “You have to eat, at least.” Azzi sounds tired. “I have a lifetime supply of hot chips in here.” “That is not real food!” Azzi exclaims. The truth is that my eyes are too puffy and my head hurts too much from crying to leave my room right now. 

“Please, just talk to us?” Azzi pleads. I hesitate. “Okay. Come in.” I hear the door click open, and shift in bed to watch the two of them file in. Ice takes one look at me and immediately takes a seat on the bed, pulling me into her. I feel my eyes well up with tears again. “What happened, baby?” she asks, rubbing my side soothingly.

I sniffle. “Nothing. I just hate,” I hiccup. “Fighting with Paige.” Azzi rolls her eyes. “What did she do this time?” she demands. “She didn’t d-do anything,” I say, voice hiccuping again. “She just, like, came down here… and then there was yelling, and…” I trail off, shaking my head as tears drip down my face. “What are you guys even doing here?” I ask, my voice choked. “You have to have practice or something.”

Azzi plops down on the other side of me. “You are important to us,” she tells me gently. She hesitates. “And Paige isn’t doing too hot either.” I roll my eyes. “Paige will find some other poor girl to lure into bed.” They’re both silent. Azzi opens her mouth and closes it. “Laila,” she starts quietly. “Azzi,” I respond absentmindedly, picking at my nails. “You know that you’re the only girl Paige has slept with more than once, right?” I take a moment to register her words, blinking. “What?”

Azzi nods, squeezing my arm. “She’s not really too experienced in this area.” I snort. “She seems experienced enough to me,” I mumble sarcastically. Azzi shakes her head. “What I mean is, if she’s hurt you, or said something she shouldn’t have, she really didn’t mean to.” I sniffle again. “Well, what she said was basically that she doesn’t value me as a friend anymore and basically just sees me as a booty call.” “Come on, Laila, that’s not true-” Azzi starts.

I stand up, suddenly angry. “No, it is true. And it’s so frustrating because even before we started whatever this is, I still wanted to be around her. All the time! I missed her and her stupid laugh and her stupid fucking jokes. How can she not see that I’ve been in love with her for the past eight fucking years?!” I’m yelling by the end, breathing hard. Then I slap a hand over my mouth. Azzi and Ice’s eyes are wide.

“You’re… in love with Paige?” Azzi asks. “Fuck. No. Yes? Please don’t say anything to her,” I rush out panickedly. Azzi waves me away. “But you are?” I hesitate. “I… yeah. Yeah, I am.” “Oh, thank God,” says Ice. I blink. “What?” Azzi snorts loudly, then starts chuckling. Then the chuckling turns into laughter, and I’m even more confused than before.”Oh, God, you’re both stupid,” she gasps through her giggles. I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at her. “Explain yourself,” I bite out.

Ice is laughing, too, covering her mouth. Azzi finally calms down, wiping at her eyes and giving me a look. “Laila, Paige is head over heels for you,” she forces out, still shaking with mirth. I gape. “Are you high?” I demand. Ice butts in. “No, she’s right. Paige is so down bad for you it’s not even funny.” I scoff, feeling my chest tighten. “If Paige did like me like that, she would’ve done something about it way back in high school.”

Azzi cocks her head. “Didn’t you just say you’ve been in love with her for eight years?” I hesitate. “Yeah…” “And you didn’t do anything about it in high school, did you?” Azzi reasons. I open my mouth, and shut it. “Well, no, but-”

“You’re coming back to Storrs with us,” Azzi says firmly. My mouth drops open again. “What? No, I have school-” “It’s a Saturday,” Ice interrupts. Azzi crosses her arms. “We will carry you out of here,” she tells me wearily. I shut my mouth. “Just let me pack,” I mumble.

______

I’m sitting on Azzi’s couch, waiting for her to get back home. She had promised me that I wouldn’t have to talk to Paige until tomorrow before going to practice. Luckily, Paige doesn’t room with Azzi, so I would have no chance of running into her there. I’m watching New Girl on the TV, clad in one of Paige’s USA Basketball t-shirts (I really need to buy my own clothes), when I hear the door click open. 

“That was quick,” I say to who I think is Azzi, eyes still on the screen. 

“Laila.” I freeze.

I scramble off of the couch, turning around. “Paige,” I breathe out. She looks awful, probably not much better than I look right now. Her eyes are swollen and tinged red, her hair messy and covered by the hood of her sweatshirt. Her cheeks look sunken in. “What are you doing here?” I ask, shuffling my feet before crossing my arms over my chest self-consciously.

She laughs hollowly, her eyes sweeping over me. “Feel like I should ask you that,” she rasps out. “Yeah, um, Azzi brought me up,” I explain. “Paige, are you okay?” I ask. “Me? I’m chilling,” she replies drily. “You didn’t respond to my texts,” I say softly, tracking her with my eyes as she takes a step towards me. I stay planted.

“Was tryna give you your space,” she murmurs, moving even closer. “What’s going on with you, Paigey?” I ask, concern lacing my tone. She’s inches away now. “I wish I could tell you,” she breathes out. “Let me help, please,” I murmur, meeting her eyes. She licks her lips, her chest nearly flush against mine. “Do you have any fucking idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?” she whispers, eyes darting between my mouth and my eyes. My heart stutters. 

She sighs, leaning her forehead against mine and closing her eyes, cradling my face with her hands. “Paige, please, just talk to me,” I beg softly. She shakes her head. “I’m not good with- with feelings, Laila.” There’s a hammering in my chest. “I just know that I want to be around you all the time. And it’s been that way since we’ve known each other.” Her breath is warm against my face, tinged with mint.

“Then in high school, we were, like… you were my first kiss. And I realized that I didn’t want to kiss anyone the way I kissed you.” “Paige-”

“And then on the bus, when you asked… fuck, Laila, I was dreaming about you. It’s always you.”

“Then it was just any excuse to touch you, to feel you, hold you, kiss you. I thought if it was just fucking, it wouldn’t mean anything. And I know it didn’t to you, but it did to me.” 

“Paige-”

“You don’t have to say anything-”

“Paige, I’m in love with you.”

I watch her brow furrow, feel time stop, before her eyes snap open. Blue, clear, watercolor eyes.

“What?” she breathes.

I swallow, hard. “I’m in love with you,” I whisper. 

She shakes her head. “Don’t play with me,” she whispers back, voice cracking.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My eyes sting. “I’m sorry-”

Her mouth crashes to mine, kissing me feverishly. I respond in kind, throwing my arms around her neck, kissing her desperately. “Say it again,” she mumbles against my mouth. “I love you,” I gasp as she backs me into the wall. “Good,” she bites, nipping at my lip, shoving my legs apart with her knee as she continues kissing me hungrily.

She grabs my hips harshly, pushing me down onto her knee. My breath stutters at the sudden friction against my clit. “Not that I’m not enjoying this,” I pant. “But just to be clear…” She bites her lip, grinding me down against her knee, before attaching her lips to my neck. “Oh, God,” I whimper. “Yes, Laila, I’m in love with you, too,” she whispers against my skin. “Okay, good,” I laugh breathily, entwining my fingers in her hair. 

Paige pulls back from me and I whine at the loss of contact between my legs. “How pissed do you think Azzi would be if I fucked you on her couch?” she asks. I raise my eyebrows. “Reasonably, very.”

She grabs my hand. “We’re going to mine, then.”

It doesn’t take long for us to ride the elevator up to Paige’s, but it feels like eons. The second we’re through the door, though, she has her hands on me again, tugging my shirt off. “Quit wearing my clothes,” she chides, tossing the garment to the floor. “You always take them off anyway,” I snipe. She places her hands on my ass, gesturing for me to jump.

I do, and she immediately connects our lips again. “Remember… how I said… I wanted to fuck you in the shower?” she asks between kisses. “Do it,” I pant, kissing her harder. It isn’t long before our clothes are strewn about her room and she’s shoving me into the shower, following close after. I run my hands up and down her torso, smirking up at her. Her body really is perfect, lean and long and toned. “Have you always been this fine?” I ask, mocking the question she asked me in the pool. She kicks my legs apart. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” she asks. “Why don’t you make me?” I murmur.

She responds by smirking and swiping two fingers down my folds. I gasp, head smacking against the tile of her shower. “Shit.” She slides her fingers in easily, long fingers wrapping around my throat to bring my eyes back to hers. I whimper as she pumps her fingers in and out, thumb teasing at my clit. “Can you take another one?” she asks. I moan softly, biting my lip. I already feel so filled. “Yeah, you can. Take it,” she continues, adding a third.

I fall against her as her third finger stretches me out, gripping at her shoulders and groaning. “Holy, shit, Paige,” I force out, biting hard at her shoulder. “You’re doing so good, baby. Come on. Just a little longer,” she coaxes, pushing me back against the shower wall and cupping my face, drawing my eyes to hers again. “You gonna come? Gonna come on my fingers?” she asks, smirking. I shake my head, trying to hold back. “Come on, baby. Let go for me,” she coos, kissing me softly.

I moan into her mouth as my orgasm washes over me, and she swallows every noise I make hungrily. “So pretty when you come,” she mumbles against my mouth. I pant hard, pulling away from her to lean against the shower wall. “Shit,” I breathe out. 

Her arms circle my waist, pulling me away from the wall and into her as she looks down at me. “Damn, I love you,” she says, grinning. I smile tiredly, reaching up to loop an arm around her neck and bring her lips to mine. “You’re okay, I guess,” I giggle, kissing at the corner of her mouth. Then I press a kiss to her jaw, her neck, her clavicle.

I wrap my lips around her breast and suck hard, tongue flicking at her nipple. Her hands find my shoulders as I drop to my knees. “You don’t have to…” 

I cock my head, licking my lips. “But you’re so pretty when you come,” I say innocently, echoing her words. Then I sink my tongue deep into her cunt.

______

“Come back to bed.”

“In a minute.”

“Please, baby.”

“Don’t get cute. It’s not gonna work.”

“I’m cold, though.”

I throw a blanket at Paige. “There.”

She pouts from where she’s sitting on the bed. “You’re no fun.”

I place my pen between my teeth, typing a question out quickly onto my laptop and leaning down to scribble a note for myself hurriedly on a legal pad. I feel Paige’s hands land on my shoulders, soothing up and down my arms. She presses a kiss to my temple. 

“You work too hard.” I shake my head. “Not hard enough.” The pressure of being in my junior year and about to apply to law school is really getting to me. “I think you need a break, baby,” Paige whispers in my ear. “Just lay down for a minute.” I yawn, scribbling another note to myself on a Post-It. “Okay, just a minute,” I relent.

I let Paige lead me to the bed and guide me to her chest, my ear pressed to her heartbeat. “I love how dedicated you are,” she mumbles, “but sometimes, you work so hard that it worries me.” I hum, feeling my eyes flutter as she inches her hand under my oversized shirt, rubbing soothing circles on my bare back. “Have to go… Harvard Law,” I say in between yawns. “Shhh… don’t put so much pressure on yourself,” she whispers. “You put pressure on yourself,” I mumble back sleepily.

“Nothing is worth your sanity,” she says firmly, stroking my hair with her other hand. I shift so that I can look up at her, smiling tiredly. I meet her blue eyes, fringed with long, blonde lashes. “You’re so pretty,” I smile up at her. I feel her laughter rumbling in her chest. “You’re tired,” she responds.

“No, really,” I mumble, letting my eyes trail over her face. I trace the tip of her nose with my finger absentmindedly. “Thanks, Laila,” she chuckles low under her breath, grinning down at me. My eyes flutter closed and she shakes me awake immediately. “Hey, hey, you gotta do skincare first. Or you’ll give me shit for it tomorrow,” she urges, rolling out from under me. I reach for her absentmindedly, then sit up, yawning again. Paige disappears into her bathroom, then re-emerges with my toiletry bag in hand. “You should just leave your stuff here, bro, I’ll clear a drawer or something,” she remarks as she walks towards the bed. I watch her lithe figure approach. “You’re, like, really tall,” I observe.

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You think so?” She muses. I nod thoughtfully, letting her wet a cotton pad with makeup remover and swipe it on my face, removing the remnants of blush. “I like that about you,” I say matter of factly. She wipes the pad over my mouth and I stick my tongue out at her, bringing my knees to my chest. She takes out the jade roller and begins applying serum to my face with it. I raise my eyebrows, a little impressed.

“Oh yeah? What else do you like about me?” Paige asks slyly. I tilt my head thoughtfully, wincing when she pats cold moisturizer onto my face. “I like your eyes,” I hum, tracking them as they rove over my face. “Your shoulders,” I say, my voice softer now. “My shoulders?” she asks, laughing slightly. I shrug. “You have a nice laugh,” I add. She fights a smile, closing my various containers and placing them back into the bag. 

“Really? ‘Cause Azzi says I laugh like a horse,” she tells me. I pause for a moment. “Actually, a little,” I admit. “Oh, my God. Y’all are so fake,” she protests, smacking me with a pillow. “But it’s so infectious,” I continue indignantly, holding my hands up to defend myself. “Like, when you laugh, I want to laugh,” I say earnestly.

Paige wrinkles her nose. “You’re corny,” she teases, flopping back onto the bed. I scoot around to face her, sitting criss-cross. I grab the pillow from her hand and smack her with it. “I can’t help it,” I tease back. Paige looks down at me, inching her hand under her shirt and resting it on her stomach. “You want to know something?” she asks quietly, her blue gaze piercing.

I nod, shifting closer. “Promise you won’t freak out,” she says. Of course not.” She hesitates. “You know how… back in high school, we would, like, experiment? Or whatever?” I nod, urging her to go on. “I had a crush on you then, too,” she admits sheepishly. I snort out loud. Then I snort again, feeling a chuckle emerge, and then I start laughing. “What is funny?” Paige demands.

I shake my head, waving my hands in front of me in a calm-down motion, still laughing loudly. “No, it’s just…” I sigh with laughter, wiping at my eyes. “That’s funny that you say that because you had me with that stupid pick up line you used,” I force out, quieting my laughter. She raises her eyebrows. “No shot ‘you’re the only ten I see’ worked on you, Laila. That’s crazy,” she says, completely deadpan. I flop down onto the bed next to her, wiping away my tears and calming myself down.

“I probably just thought you were hot,” I admit, turning on my side to face her. She mimics me, turning on her own side. “Didn’t know you had a thing for white girls,” she smirks. I groan, smacking her as she pulls me into her by my waist, her arms wrapping around me and sneaking under my shirt again. “Do not put that on me,” I mumble as she presses her mouth to mine, feeling myself grin stupidly into the kiss.“You should have said something,” Paige whispers. I toy with the hair surrounding her face. “You should have said something,” I accuse. She scoots closer, pressing into me further. “We were so stupid,” she mumbles. I nod, laughing lightly. “I would have been with you in a heartbeat back then,” I tell her quietly. Her eyes flicker between mine, breath hitching. “And now?” she asks. I shake my head, biting back a smile. “I’m still all yours, Paige Bueckers,” I whisper. She kisses me again, softly, insistently. “Corny,” I hear her mumble again, and I laugh against her lips.

[revasserium]

i carry your heart with me - Zoro with an s/o he meets during his travels

i carry your heart (with me)

opla!zoro; 1,776 words; fluff, a bit of angst, and then fluff again, fem!reader, implied smut but none actually written out (i know, maybe next time lol)

summary: whipped!zoro is whipped.

a/n: this is painfully self-indulgent. but if u wanna read about zoro being grossly in love... here you go.

he meets you in a city of gold — golden leaves and golden apples, golden wheat and golden cattle. he meets you with your golden voice, a sound like liquid sun; he meets you with your gold-spun dreams, and somehow, he knows you’re the one.

he’d never known a song could sounds so beautiful till he heard you sing for the very first time. he doesn’t blame the jostling crowds of men at the bar as they try to push just an inch closer to the stage, their eyes hazy with candlelight and greed.

but later that night, after too many drinks and a few good hours of usopp regaling their best adventures, zoro kisses you and thinks himself the greediest of them all.

“come with us,” he says, with the sun setting fire to the evening sky.

“come with us,” he says, murmuring the words against your skin, cloaked beneath the darkness of night.

“what would i even do on a pirate ship?” you’d asked, laughing as he ghosts his lips along the column of your neck, content with the thought of drowning himself in the texture of your bitten off sighs.

“dunno, you can sing… we’ve been looking that.”

you pull away to stare at him, and somewhere behind the glassy glaze of your eyes, he finds oceans that he’d never sailed, oceans the depths of which he thinks he could spend the rest of his life trying to explore. but he saw something there that night he’d seen the very first time he’d caught your eyes — the glimmer of want like lamps behind a submarine’s windows — and in them, he sees a thirst for adventure that mirrors his own.

a thirst that he’s tasted on the open salt breeze, in the wild, uncertain whomph of unfurling sails against the backdrop of a dawning sky.

you hum against the skin of his shoulder and he lets his fingers track an indulgent trail along the length of your spine.

“can i at least sleep on it?” you ask, laughing as he sighs huffily and makes to roll away from you. you pull him back with another kiss and he lets himself be properly lost for the first time in what feels like centuries.

in the morning, you find the bed empty and the sun beyond your small bedroom window is cracking over an eggshell dawn. the wind is warm, but the ground is still chilly — the sky is the shade of a fading bruise and by the time you reach port, the grand pirate ship with the sheep’s head mast is no longer there. you sigh, wrap your shawl more tightly around your shoulders and wonder if he’ll ever think of you again.

he does, though he wouldn’t get the chance to tell you for years and years and years.

“i thought you said you’d convince her?” sanji asks over a freshly rolled cigarette and two tankards of barrel-aged beer.

zoro shrugs, “i tried.”

“shoulda tried harder, then.”

zoro grunts, taking a long swig of his beer and wincing as he glances between sanji and the glass.

“what’dyou put in here?”

sanji’s grin goes lopsided as he waves a hand vaguely through the air, “oh, just somethin’ with a bit more bite. looked like you needed it.”

and for once, zoro doesn’t snipe back. instead, he stares at the tankard for a long second before drowning the entire thing in a few forceful gulps.

just then, luffy rounds the door into the kitchen and grins at the two men at the counter.

“whatcha talkin’ about?”

sanji jerks his head towards zoro, “just about zoro’s lost love.”

“she ain’t lost. we know exactly where she is.”

sanji opens his mouth but pauses as he realizes there are two things zoro could’ve denied and he’d only denied one.

luffy grins, “oh i know. i convinced him to let her go.”

sanji frowns, “wait what? weren’t you the first one that said we should ask her to join?”

luffy nods, still grinning, “sure! yeah, her singing’s the best i’ve heard, but if she’s not ready, we shouldn’t force her. she’ll find us though, someday. and she’ll just join the crew then!”

there’s a kind of childish, miraculous certainty with which luffy says things that always leaves strangers baffled. but his crew knows him better — they know that his blind trust only seems blind because he puts his trust in things that other people might not yet be able to see.

and he doesn’t strike out this time either, even though it’s years before any of them would meet you again.

though meet you, they do, but this time, it’s amidst canon-fire and wood dust and the incoherent shouts of retreating marines.

zoro sees you first, flying through the air on a thick length of rope, a small instrument strapped to your back, landing light on the deck like a ghost or a daydream. you’re different now, your limbs a bit longer, your hair a bit lighter, twisted back with a strand of golden ribbon so bright it might’ve stolen light from the sun itself.

“its — it’s you!” luffy is a bit breathless and there’s a dark soot smudge across his cheeks, but he’s smiling all the same.

“yeah, i heard you guys were looking for a musician?”

zoro wipes down the length of his swords, his eyes never leaving your form as he makes his way to you.

“so, guess you slept on it, huh?”

you turn towards him, and he’s once more held still by the look in your eyes. there’s a fierce, feral fire there that threatens to ignite everything it touches, and when you smile, zoro feels the burning inside him just as strong as before, as if he’s held a piece of you in his chest all these years and the proximity to you has finally set it ablaze.

“yep. i did. and here i am.”

luffy laughs and claps you on the shoulder as sanji lights up a post-fight cigarette, grinning toothily at you as he asks if you’d like anything to eat or drink. and soon, the rest of their growing crew joins you as you’re pulled away from zoro for what nami had termed a proper straw hat initiation.

he thinks he’d never appreciated music until you’re the one playing it — later that evening, he lets himself be carried on the moonlit tendrils of your voice as it dances over a soft melody of strings and the ever present lullaby of the drowsy sea.

and then, even later, when he finally gets you alone enough to press his mouth to yours, he thinks that your skin smells of a thousand untold stories, collected in the curve for your neck and the bend of your hips, arresting his senses like so many exotic perfumes from distant lands. he maps a constellation of wants and unsaid words into the long, sinuous expanses of your thighs and re-teaches himself the meaning of greed as he kisses a line up your stomach, back up to your lips to find you smiling.

“hey,” he says, reaching down to run a finger along the high of your cheeks. freckles. you didn't used to have them before.

“hey yourself, stranger,” you say, adjusting your body slightly so he can lay down next to you.

neither of you remark upon the lingering ghost of a night long past, the shapes of your bodies curled into almost identical shapes, the darkness wrapped around you like a promise that’s made to be broken.

“how’d you even find us?” zoro asks, letting his thumb trace absent circles into the soft of your kiss-bruised shoulder.

“weren’t you listening at dinner? i was ‘rescued’ from another pirate ship by the marines and —”

zoro scoffs, “i’ve hung around usopp long enough to know bullshit when i hear it.”

you quiet, though it’s not an unpleasant silence by any means.

“you wanna know the truth?” you ask, shifting to pillow your cheek against his chest.

he nods, “yeah, that’d be nice.”

you bite your lips, “i went looking for you. the morning after you left. but by the time i got to the docks, you guys were already gone.”

“hm.”

you let out a long sigh, “why’d you leave?”

you shift to look up at him; he glances down to meet your eyes. there’s no accusation in your voice, just a simple curiosity. and somehow, that stings more than zoro would ever admit.

“you… you didn’t seem like you were ready.”

he clears his throat and looks away, luffy’s words echoing back through the years.

“and… we knew that you’d find us eventually.”

when he looks down this time, your eyebrows are cocked and there’s an indulgent smile on your lips.

“well, guess you were right.”

you shift again to curl into his side and he adjusts slightly to slot his body more comfortably against yours. he remembers wondering how two bodies could be made separately and still fit so perfectly together like this. and here and now, he wonders how that might still be true after so many years.

he grounds himself in the rhythmic cycle of your breaths.

“zoro?”

your drowsy voice stirs him from the edges of his dreams and for a moment, he doesn’t remember when or where he is — if he’s back in the golden village lying in your tiny, warm bedroom, or if he’s on the going merry, with you tucked perfectly against his side.

“yeah?”

“will you be here in the morning?”

“mm. yeah. i will.”

the blankets rustle, the world around you shifts, like a camera with a mismatched lens, and for a second, just a single second, time bends back on itself, and zoro feels one moment superimposed over another. a fracture, a singularity, a temporary double-exposure.

and then, the film flickers and time unwinds itself, and he can hear the soft shushing of waves against the merry’s hull.

“do you promise?” you ask, curling your fingers against zoro’s chest as he turns towards you to pull you closer into him.

“yeah,” he says, his voice already thick with the syrup of sleep and dreams, even as he leans down to drop a kiss into your hair —

“i promise. ‘m not going anywhere.”

feed me opla!zoro reqs pls i beg

[moonstruckme]

Hi I love your poly marauders fics so much!! Is it possible for you to write one where the reader has to go to the doctors but she absolutely hates the doctor and needles. Totally fine if not 💗

Thanks lovely!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Remus has strong-armed you into looking at your ankle again. Almost literally strong-armed you, with James as his lackey, your curly headed boyfriend keeping an arm wrapped around your shoulders that’s as affectionate as it is binding. Remus gnaws on his lip as he prods at your swollen leg, making quiet sounds of discontent at whatever he feels. 

He looks up at you, brows knit together. “The swelling hasn’t gone down at all, dove.” 

“It will soon,” you say faithfully. “It’s only been a couple of days.” 

“You should at least be able to walk on it by now.”

“I can,” you reply. “It doesn’t feel great, but I can walk on it.” 

He gives you a deadpan look, and you can feel James’ silent chuckling against your side. “That’s not what I mean,” Remus says. “I’m sorry love, but you need to get this checked out.” 

You open your mouth, but Remus reads the argument in your face before it passes your lips. 

“By a professional,” he clarifies. 

You huff, crossing your arms in front of you. “What’re they gonna tell me that I don’t already know? Rest, elevate, etcetera, etcetera.” You roll your eyes. James begins to sweep his thumb back and forth on your shoulder, trying to pacify you. “There’s no point in going into some cold office for that.” 

“Unless it’s more serious than we think,” Remus counters. His eyes are worried, but his mouth is set in a firm line. “If you’d only twisted it, it wouldn't have swelled up this badly. And even if it isn’t that bad,” he goes on, bulldozing over the protest that comes to your tongue, “at least they’ll be able to give you a real compress. These bandages get too loose, which probably isn’t helping with the healing.” 

“It’ll heal if I give it time,” you say stubbornly, pulling your leg from his grip and starting to rewrap it yourself. “Stop worrying so much.” 

“Dove.” It’s his no-nonsense voice. “Our deal was that if it wasn’t getting better after three days, you’d go get it looked at.” He ducks to make you meet his eyes, softening when he finds them. “It’s time, sweetheart.” 

You’ve just finished rebandaging your ankle and are deliberating between arguing more or just sitting in silent opposition when you hear the rattle of Sirius’ keys. Remus rolls his eyes (out of habit at this point, you think) when he kicks in the door. 

“You’d think I was eighty, hungry at five thirty in the after…whoa.” Sirius trails off as he senses the sober mood in your home, and his eyebrows pinch when his gaze lands on you. “What’s got you so riled up, lovebug?” 

James hugs you tighter to his side, impervious to your sulking as he rubs your upper arm roughly. “She’s gotta go to the doctor,” he says. 

“Aw.” Sirius pouts, coming the rest of the way towards you to drop a kiss on your head. “Ankle’s not doing so well?” 

“If anything, it’s getting worse,” Remus sighs. 

“Is not,” you snipe back. 

“It’s not going to be as bad as you think, baby.” Sirius squats in front of you, taking your hand in his. “Let’s just go now, yeah? Get it over with.” 

Even Remus looks surprised at that. “Alright,” he says after a second, “yeah, that’s a good idea.” He stands, and so does Sirius, pulling your hand upwards with him like you’ve any likelihood of following it. 

You look at James for help. Even he seems resolved, but his eyes reveal more sympathy for your plight than the others’. “I know you’re nervous,” he says softly, hand brushing your cheek to slot a strand of hair behind your ear, “but do you really think we’re gonna let anything bad happen to you?” 

You sigh, and when James stands you let him take you with him, his arm around your waist to support some of your weight as you limp out to the car. Sirius forgoes his usual place in the passenger seat to sit with you and James in the back, the both of them providing silent support by way of half-hugs (James) and a steadying hand on your leg (Sirius). It’s very difficult to be cross with people who are showering you in affection, but you manage. You sit sandwiched between them with an immovable frown on your face, spiraling deeper and deeper into your thoughts until suddenly you look up and the car has stopped. 

Remus has turned around to face you from the driver’s seat. “C’mon, dove,” he says, and you notice that you’re the only one with your seatbelt still on. You take a breath, finding that your throat has become clogged with tears you didn’t feel coming on. You bite down on your lower lip, hard. 

“Angel,” James sighs, and your guilt for putting them through this almost rivals your anger at them for putting you through this. He unbuckles your seatbelt himself, hauling you up against his side. Your face is hot with shame and unshed tears. “It’s a thousand times worse in your head than it’s actually gonna be, my love.” 

Remus looks genuinely apologetic as he reaches over from the front seat, rubbing your knee. “I hate that you’re having to do something that makes you so anxious, sweetheart, but you’re in pain. We can’t make it better all by ourselves.” You meet his eyes, and he pushes his advantage, giving your knee a little squeeze. “Let’s just go inside, I’m sure it won’t take long. Okay, darling?” 

“Okay,” you assent, following Sirius out of the car and allowing him to tug your arm over his shoulders, helping you hop towards the door. “Sorry I’m making this so difficult.” 

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Sirius insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. James and Remus are both quick to agree. They’re laying on the affection rather thick, and any other time you’d be irritated by the delicate flower treatment, but right now you appreciate it. “We all have things that freak us out a bit,” Sirius goes on. “Remember when James saw that baby snake behind our place?”

“Ugh.” James shudders. “We agreed not to talk about that. I still think we should move.” 

Sirius grins at his boyfriend’s misery, lightly bumping your hip with his. “There you have it, lovely. We’ve all got our things. So don’t worry about this, yeah? We’ll stay with you, and afterward we can hunt down Remus’ comfort chocolate.” 

Remus huffs but doesn’t protest. Later, he’ll bring the chocolate out of hiding to give it to you himself.

[rosygaze]

i think we’re alone now

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader

synopsis: you and eddie are experts at hiding your relationship but your friends would say otherwise.

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, secret relationships, cursing

word count: 3.2k+

masterlist

Lucas Sinclair was excited.

The entire year he’d been on the bench waiting patiently for a turn on those hardwood floors. He was there every practice, training just as hard as if he was even close to being on the starting lineup. He was there for every game, feet tapping with anxious excitement whenever his coach would look his way. Only for him to call the teammate beside him.

Any other person would’ve been discouraged by the second game but Lucas was determined. Something in his gut told him that today was the day.

The game was just about to start any minute now and the air inside the gym was electric. Lucas bounced on the balls of his feet in an attempt to keep his body warm and ready for action. He turned and saw his friends sitting on the bleachers right behind him.

Max, Dustin, Mike, Erica, and Steve all sat beside each other. Dustin gave him a toothy grin and two thumbs up and Max smiled at him in a way that made his heart race. Robin was off on the other side, sitting with the rest of the band. The one he was most surprised to see was Eddie. His feelings towards the basketball team weren’t exactly a secret. The only thing the Hawkins Tigers and the Hellfire Club had in common was their equal hatred for each other.

Somehow, you convinced the Dungeon Master to come tonight. Stating that it was only fair that Eddie supported all of his “little sheepies” no matter what. Whatever magic spell you cast on him worked, but that didn’t stop Eddie from looking completely bored and annoyed though.

Speaking of, Lucas noticed you weren’t here. He craned his neck but he couldn’t spot you anywhere. You hadn’t missed a game the entire year so he was a bit worried.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure running through the doors of the gym. Lucas sighed when he saw you hurrying to join your friends. You were mumbling your apologies to the other audience members as you awkwardly shuffled in the small walking space.

Instead of taking the nearest open seat beside Dustin, Lucas watched you continue your shuffling until you reached the open seat beside Eddie. The metalhead’s previously annoyed demeanor melted away as soon as he laid eyes on you. Lucas’ brow raised when he saw the two of you greet each other with wide smiles and soft glances.

He had never seen Eddie smile that way before.

When you were able to pull your attention away from Eddie, you looked in his direction and gave him a big wave. “Go Lucas!” You yelled, not caring about the weird looks you got for cheering on a benchwarmer. Eddie was looking at you the same way Lucas knew he looked at Max whenever she sniped at a mouth breather.

Before he could think about that any further, a loud whistle cut through the air.

Game time.

Robin Buckley was bored.

Tuesdays were always quiet at Family Video. Everyone was too busy with their jobs or school to take the time to choose the perfect movie for the night. She was stuck watching the clock, willing for 4 P.M. to come faster. Steve wasn’t even here to keep her company today. How else was she going to make the time pass if she couldn’t annoy her favorite dingus until closing time?

All of a sudden, the bell rang and you walked into the store.

“Hey, Robs.” You greeted.

“Finally! An actual human being!” Robin shouted into the empty store. Her voice echoed through the aisles of videotapes. You laughed.

“Figured you might be lonely so I thought I’d visit.” Crossing the entrance, you stopped in front of the counter. “Also, I needed to return some tapes.”

“Give it here.” Robin patted the countertop and you plopped your paper bag on top of it. You watched Robin take the tapes out and stack them into a pile. She typed your name into the computer and looked at your stack, taking inventory. Robin’s eyes narrowed when she realized that three of the tapes weren’t showing under your name. “Some of these aren’t in your file.”

“Oh, I forgot.” You slapped a palm on your forehead.  “Those are Eddie’s.”

“Eddie’s?” Robin’s head snapped up. She heard how your voice sounded softer when you said his name.

“Yeah, he heard that I was visiting you today and asked me to bring over his tapes too. Said he didn’t want to pay the late fees again.” You waved your hand in the air dismissively.

“Hmm.” Robin turned back to the computer to hide the knowing smirk growing on her face.

“Something wrong?” You checked on your tapes, thinking that you’d broken something on your drive here.  

“Nothing.” She said quickly and a bit too high-pitched for her liking. One last hit to the ‘Enter’ button and Robin gave you a big smile. “You’re all good.”

“Thanks, Robs. You wanna watch a movie? Your boss won’t mind if I stick around right?” You pushed yourself up onto the counter.

“Nah, he won’t care. Just bat your eyelashes at him and he’d probably hire you on the spot.” Robin blinked at you furiously in a terrible attempt at looking flirtatious.

“Haha.” You said, dryly. “Go pick us a movie or I’m leaving.” Your arm extended, pointing at the aisles.

“Yes, ma’am.” Robin saluted at you. Her gaze glanced down to your wrist. “Nice bracelet.”

“Thanks.” You shook your wrist, showing off your little collection.

Robin wasn’t talking about the pink bangle or the dainty gold chain. She had her eyes set on the black leather band that clearly didn’t belong with the others. The same black leather band she had definitely seen on Eddie’s wrist last week.

Dustin Henderson was impatient.

It had been 20 minutes since Eddie said he would pick him up from the library. He watched every car that passed by with hawk eyes but there was still no sign of the beat-up van that his older friend loved to drive. When another mini-van zoomed past, Dustin rolled his eyes and put the walkie up to his mouth.

“Eddie, this is Dustin. Where are you? Over.” He released the button but only got static in response. He pressed the button again. “I swear to god if you forgot about me, you’re on your own for the next session!” Dustin hissed into the walkie.

An elderly woman passed by, giving him a curious look. Dustin smiled at her politely. When she was out of hearing distance, Dustin yelled into the walkie again.

“Eddie, what the fu-”

“Slow your roll, Henderson. I’m almost there.” Eddie’s gruff voice crackled through the speaker. In the distance, Dustin could basically hear rubber burning as Eddie sped down the pavement. Not even a few seconds later, the white van came barrelling down the quiet streets of Downtown Hawkins.

Dustin stomped over to the van and threw the door open. “Took you long enough.” He grumbled and slid into the seat.

“Got caught up with something.” Eddie stepped on the gas.

“Yeah? What’s their name?” Dustin joked.

“Your mom.”

“Dude!” Dustin’s mouth dropped open.

“Walked straight into that one, bud. Sorry.” Eddie smirked and reached over to ruffle his curly hair affectionately.

“Because of that little comment, I’m picking the music today.” He aggressively turned on the radio and was immediately bombarded with the familiar tune of ‘Like a Virgin’. He furrowed his brows in confusion. “Were you listening to pop radio?”

“Maybe I was. What’s it to you?” Eddie took his eyes off the road for a second to give him a challenging look, Madonna’s voice echoing against the metal walls. Dustin held his hands up. “Nothing! I think it’s pretty cool for you to expand your music tastes.”

“Yeah okay, kiss ass. I got tapes over there.” Eddie stretched a finger and pointed at the dashboard.

Dustin opened the dash and saw the small collection of tapes that Eddie had hidden. He gathered them up and put them on his lap, scanning through the different plastic cases. One tape stood out to him. Among the sea of black and red tapes, was a singular pink tape. He picked it up and saw the handwritten scribbles on the front—a cluster of hearts surrounding two sets of initials in the center.

Eddie’s. And yours.

Dustin smiled. He was about to open the case when Eddie grabbed one of the tapes.

“Too slow! I’m playing this.” Eddie opened the plastic case with one hand and shoved the tape into the radio.

“Hey! I said I was gonna pick!” Dustin crossed his arms and glared at daggers into the side of his head.

“You’ll like this one. Trust me.” Eddie tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beats that were slowly creeping in. He was right, though. A minute into the song and Dustin was banging his head along with him.

Nancy Wheeler was frustrated.

This was the third time this week that her car had broken down. The past two times she could get it to work again but this time it wouldn’t budge. She sighed and swiped her hand across her forehead, wiping away the sweat that built while she tried everything to get the damned car to start.

Nancy paused, taking a minute to think. Jonathan was way too far and on the other side of town. Robin didn’t know how to drive so she was out of the question. She wouldn’t even dare ask Steve for help.

Wait.

She took in her surroundings and realized that she couldn’t be more than a 10-minute walk from the local car shop where a certain Eddie Munson worked. Nancy’s luck just might be turning around. She grabbed her purse and her keys and walked quickly along the side of the road until she saw the sign for the car shop.

Once she was close enough, Nancy all but ran inside and looked for her friend’s familiar head of hair. Instead, she found you sitting on the hood of a car with a book in your lap. You looked up when you heard footsteps coming in and gave Nancy a big smile.

“Hi, Nance!”

“Hi,” Nancy was happy to see you of course but a bit confused to see you here. “Are you having your car fixed?”

“Nah, I’m just visiting Eds.” You closed the book in your lap, marking the page with your finger.

“Oh,” She thought it was a bit weird. You and Eddie were friends but she’d never seen the two of you alone together. “Where is he by the way? My car stopped working and I left it on the road.”

You hissed at her predicament. “He’s just getting something in the back but he should be out any second now.”

As if on cue, Eddie came strutting out of the back office with two Coke cans in hand. “A can of Coke as requested, m’lad- Oh hey, Wheeler.” Eddie cut himself off when he saw Nancy.

“Hey…” Nancy trailed off.

“You need something?” Eddie handed you the soda can. Nancy, ever observant, noticed how his fingers lingered against yours for a second too long.

“Uh, yeah. My car broke down and I need a tow.” Nancy jutted her thumb behind her.

“I’ve been telling you for weeks that you needed to let me take a look at her. Now, look what’s happened.” She rolled her eyes at Eddie’s cocky tone.

“Yeah, yeah. So, can you help me or not?”

“Course I can! Lemme start the truck.” Eddie whipped out the keys from his pocket. He turned back to you. “I’ll be back in a jiff. You’ll be okay here?”

“Mhmm,” You nodded. “Go help, Nance.”

He nodded at you and walked towards the truck. Nancy noted how you stared after Eddie’s retreating form. Looking down, you shyly brushed your hair behind your ear. She was about to ask you what was up between the two of you when she was cut off by the sound of the engine spurring to life.

“Chop chop, Wheeler! I don’t have all day!” Eddie slapped his palm against the metal door and stuck his head out the window, his loud voice ringing through the garage.

Nancy rolled her eyes again.

Steve Harrington was drunk.

Or at least he was getting there.

Yes, his King Steve days were long gone. And yes, he would rather fight a demogorgon again than spend another minute with Tommy H. and Carol, but he did miss the occasional party game sometimes. Which is why he occasionally held parties for his little group of misfit friends.

Steve had his hand in the air, the ball gripped loosely in between his fingers. He shook out his wrist to relax the muscles. His eyes were target locked on the cup and he threw the ball. It made an arch in the air before missing the cup by inches, the ball bouncing off the edge of the table and clattering to the floor.

“Damnit!” He exclaimed.

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this game.” You joked, fiddling with the ball in your hand. You’d taken Eddie’s place when he excused himself to get his “special stash” and Steve was losing to you. Badly. You threw the ball again and it landed perfectly into the cup.

Steve groaned. “And I thought you were going to be bad at this. Isn’t this your first time playing beer pong?”

“Yup. Now, drink up.” You smirked. The drink burned Steve’s throat as it went down.

“I’m gonna get you.” Steve pointed at you.

“You beating his ass?” Eddie had finally rejoined the two of you, metal lunchbox in hand.

“To a pulp.” You beamed at him.

Steve glared at you and grabbed the ball. He shook out the cloudiness that was starting to tunnel his vision. By sheer luck, the ball went into the cup. “Ha! I got you. Now, you drink up.” He pointed a finger at you.

Almost instantly, Eddie grabbed the cup and chugged the drink. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He met Steve’s confused look and shrugged. “She doesn’t like alcohol.” Eddie looked at you and you smiled at him gratefully.

Steve knew that move. He’d seen enough happy couples in his life to know how to tell when two people were together. There were the subtle touches, the lingering looks, always finding a way to be near each other. Drinking for your partner during beer pong because they don't drink themselves

No. Steve was no idiot. He knew exactly what was going on when you and Eddie slyly slid out of the room when you thought no one was looking.

Eddie stood close behind you and whispered in your ear to follow him. His warm breath made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You looked around at your friends and checked if anyone had seen him but they were all too busy with their own conversations to notice. Eddie had slipped out of the room first. You counted to ten before leaving the room yourself and closing the door behind you.

Once you got outside, the cold Indiana air bit your cheeks. Eddie stood a couple of feet away from the door where he knew the two of you wouldn’t be seen if someone would come out. Even in dark with just the blue pool lights from the Harrington pool, you saw how Eddie’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw you. He opened his arms and you all but ran into them.

Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist and you were pulled flush against his chest. You nuzzled into him, feeling warmth return to your body. He kissed your temple with an exaggerated ‘mwah’. You braced yourself on his shoulders and looked up at him.

“Hey there, beautiful.” Eddie said, ever the smooth-talker.

“Hi.” You replied.

“You looked so hot playing beer pong.” He played with the hem of your shirt.

“Well, I learned from the best.”

“Yeah? And who’s that?” He furrowed his brows but the playful glint never left his eyes.

“My amazing, talented, and handsome boyfriend.” You tugged on the ends of his hair by his chin. You watched the corners of his lips tug up into a smirk.

“You have a boyfriend? Shit. I was gonna ask you out.” Eddie pretended to be devastated, pouting those full lips and everything.

“I’m taken, sorry.”

“Lucky guy.” He wiggled his brows and made you giggle. The sound made him pull you even closer to him. Not wanting a single inch of space between you.

“I think I’m pretty lucky, too.” You cupped his cheek and rubbed small, affectionate circles with your thumb. Eddie leaned into your touch and pressed his lips against the pad of your thumb.

“I missed you.” He pressed his forehead against yours.

“We were literally in the same room a minute ago.” You smiled despite your teasing.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t touch you.” He sounded so sad that it made your heart pang. When you and Eddie finally got together a month ago, you’d decided to keep it a secret from your friends. Not because you didn’t trust them. No, you’d trust any of them to save your life from interdimensional beings.

There was just something about your relationship with Eddie that you wanted to keep to yourselves. You two were living in this magical bubble. As if you two were the only people in the world. You wanted to hold onto that magic for as long as you could but you both knew that the bubble had to pop at some point.

“We should just tell them.” You whispered.

“I know. I’m surprised they haven’t found out already.” Eddie dropped his head to your shoulder and nuzzled his face in your neck.

“It was nice to just keep things to ourselves though.” You scratched his scalp lightly.

“Yeah. The hiding was kinda hot too.” He kissed your neck. A shiver ran down your spine and you were sure that Eddie knew since you could feel his smug smirk against your skin.

“Settle down, Romeo. Our friends are here.” You slapped his shoulder playfully.

“I’ll just have to wait until we get home then.” Eddie tickled your sides, making you squeal. His heart soared. He knew it was way too early in your relationship to be thinking about the L-word but he knew that was something he was starting to feel for you. When he finally relented, you were out of breath. Eddie noticed your hair had gone messy from your wiggling and he brushed it away from your face. With your cheeks cupped in his big hands, he looked into your eyes. “We’ll tell them.”

“Soon.” You nodded.

Eddie ducked down and pressed his lips against yours. You sighed in relief, feeling any sort of tension leave your body the second he kissed you. His hands tilted your head so he could deepen the kiss. Kissing Eddie just felt right.

Being with Eddie was right.

You brought your hand up to hold Eddie’s wrist, squeezing it three times slowly. Three times to say the three words you were too scared to say out loud just yet. It was way too soon anyways. You’d tell him one day.

Behind you, the party raged on. Pop music was blaring from the speakers. The soundtrack for the tender moment between you and your boyfriend. When the lyrics came in, the two of you chuckled into the kiss.

I think we’re alone now….

There doesn’t seem to be anyone around…

[fookinfandoms]

Angel of the Morning | Tangerine 

pairing: tangerine x female reader

plot: Part Two to All in a Days Work! 

Not edited, I’ll do it later.  

warnings: language, mentions of blood, violence, they’re assassins idk what you expect tbh, Smut! Unprotected* P in V, dirty talk, rough seggs.

taglist: @jonnae17 @caotica-e-quieta @ashyyslashy @imslimshadey @or1on-writes @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @sweetangerinee @marv3lwhor3 @m00nkn1ghts @hello1276​ @revenstaz​ @deceitfuldevil​n @piechans @stickyllamapersonatree​​ @dangoo1o @idk-what-to-name-this127​ @stevebuckysdoll​ @crystal-jack-asripines​ @isuwhw818 @noz4a22 @dogsandrocketsocks​ @rowen-mp3​ @ivedonemywaiting13​ @queenofstarsanddarkness​ @miraosu​ @mistonk​ @white-wolf-buckaroo​ @rickiisrad​ @duuckyfuzz​ @piechans @chanooopy​ @potentially-kinetic​ @adrienette715​ @feralforfruit​ @mushywutty​ @blackparacosm​ @sugarpenchant​ @justshutupmars​ @cuddlyklaus​

 The bar was lowly lit, the occasional drunk pondering around the place like it was heaven. It smelt of an old wood and spilt alcohol, the occasional stickiness of the countertop making your drink look less appetising. A dingy place like this meant no cameras, no security and no angry men with guns. 

It was nice. 

You were still in France, having left Paris for a smaller and less populated area. Your payment was successfully in your account with next to no issues, and a plane ticket back home had been booked with your name on it. So why were you even here? 

You knew why, and you knew he had tracked you down. He wasn’t as clever as he thought. He was alone, that you knew for a fact. It was unusual for the fruity twins to be separated, which is why you weren’t in the least bit worried. If he wanted to, he could’ve sniped you from the building across the road, hell, he could’ve paid a drunk to slip something in your drink.

But he didn’t. 

Instead he had pinged your phone to your exact location. He had styled his hair a little differently, and he even tucked his shirt in a little tighter than usual.

Tangerine was nervous. 

Your smirk into your drink as a familiar body took to the seat next to yours, his hand raising to order a scotch and another beer. He stood out like sore thumb, his accent sounding stronger as he gives a thumbs up to the bartender. 

“Been waiting long darling?” He gives you a quick glance, his eyebrow quirked with his usual cockiness. 

You turn your head, taking in the assassins appearance as he slides the new beer to in front of you. He gets comfortable on the stool, his arms resting on the counter as he faces you.

Holding up your current bottle, you shake it a little, showing there was only a few sips taken. “Not long at all.”

“S’good then, how’s my intel?” He chuckles at his own joke, watching as you take a look around at the dimly lit building for any listening ears. You lean forward, your eyes narrowing with a humorous glint.

“How’s the head? You retort, your hand raising to flick at his forehead. He winces at the feeling, knowing he had no way at hiding the bruise that currently resided on his skin. 

“You can ask me that later,” Tangerine quipped, noticing the way your eyebrow raised at the innuendo. “Don’t you worry.”

“Later huh?” You elbow at him gently. “And here I thought you were going to take me into a back alley and put one in the back of my head.” 

“Haven’t decided against it yet,” It was clear he was joking at the way his lips curved into a small smile. “Besides, whose to say Lemon isn’t waitin’ around the corner with a frying pan right now.” 

“Because Lemon is currently sitting in room fourteen of hotel étoile, and he’s just ordered room service,” It was your turn to smile at his shocked expression, and Tangerine didn’t know what to think. How easy were they to track? How did you know about the room service. “What? You think I’m the only one here who can be traced? Please.” 

He sits there with his mouth slightly open, wondering if he should contact his brother and rearrange his stay. But as you begin to chuckle next to him, Tangerine knew that you weren’t a threat, nor did you have any hits out on the two of them.

He exhales loudly, his head quirking to the side as he takes a sip of his scotch. Tangerine had read your file, of course you would’ve done your research before staying put in such an open location. You had the whole situation under control before he had even stepped foot in the bar. 

Clever. 

“Why didn’t you go home?” The Englishman chooses to change the subject much to your enjoyment, and you shrug at him in response. He takes another swig at his drink as you finally answer.

“Guess I needed some vitamin C.” Tangerine chokes on his scotch, immediately wiping at his chin with the back of his sleeve as you wink at him. Maybe it was the beer talking, or maybe it was the last few days finally weighing in on the two of you.

You had been thinking about the fucker with a 70’s pornstache since you had left him on the kitchen floor. 

Maybe it was the way he looked underneath the flickering neon signs, but god he looked good. The pulsing adrenaline he had left in your veins when you were both tussling in the kitchen, sure -  he had left a nasty bruise on your stomach, but you had given him a few more reminders on his own. 

The two of you talk for awhile, Tangerine having taken his jacket off to cover your bare shoulders during your second beer. He didn’t seem as bitter about the whole frying-pan-to-the-forehead ordeal than you thought, choosing to see the humour in it now more than anything.

You almost felt guilty, but considering he and his brother were only offered a quarter of what you were paid - you would’ve been stupid to refuse the job.

He talks about his brother, and it warms you seeing how highly he spoke of him. Having a partner was something you never considered - let alone a sibling, so it was clear the two of them had a serious bond. Tangerine was careful with what he admitted, just as you were with your own backstory.

You told him how you had been in the job since you were eighteen, having been handled by Xan and his team since the moment you became Angel. 

You told him where the name had come from, mentioning how your first ever job was pretending to be an Angel in a Christmas play in order to take out the king pin who had organised the event. It annoyed you at first, until you realised there were people out there with alias such as Tangerine, so you really couldn’t complain.

He laughed loudly at that, bringing up the nickname you had given the two of them upon first meeting. The ‘Fruity Twins’, it had irked him at first, but he realised then he would let you joke about anything at his expense if it meant he saw you laugh. 

Tangerine was now showing you his tattoos, having noticed you observing them when his had pinned his sleeves back. You asked about various scars surrounding them, nodding along as he told you about every job that had caused them.

He pointed at one on your collarbone, and you told him it was actually from your childhood, and any scars from work were hidden behind clothes. 

He didn’t miss the hint with that one.

A wide grin falls upon his lips as he notices your eyes lingering on his ring clad fingers, his hands tensing under your gaze. “If you want to get out of here love, all you have to do is ask.” 

You feel your skin heat up at question. Tangerine studies the way your lips turn upward as you think over his words, and it isn’t until you look into his eyes that Tangerine’s blood begins rushing in all directions.

It’s always the eyes. You don’t break eye contact, it was nearly impossible when he stared into your soul with such a darkened gaze. He shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here. The two of you were supposed to be at each others throats.

So why did you want him in yours so bad?

You should be with anybody else but him. You weren’t scared by any means, hell, the mere thought of the man was enough to excite you, let alone having him in front of you eye fucking you like you were his last meal - And how could he tell you that you were the only thing on his mind the entire time you two were apart? 

Lemon blamed the concussion, told him he was thinking with his cock and not his brain, but Tangerine knew he had to see you again - even if you were dangerous.

The two of you should be taking each other out, no doubt paying off someone else’s bounty. You were the last person he should trust, just as he was the last person you should be taking back to your hotel.

You nod at him. Tangerine stands, holding his arm out for you as your free hand pulls his jacket tighter over you. He keeps you close as you leave, his arm wrapped around your waist in a gentle grip.

It felt like hours as the two of you walked in a comforting silence. He let you lead the way, not knowing where it was that you were staying. Tangerine wanted so badly to press you against any nearest surface and kiss you, to feel you against his body like you had done to him in that kitchen. 

But he was a gentlemen, and he knew it would be more comfortable to throw you on a bed than it would a bricked surface. 

It was nice walking the streets, rarely did you get to enjoy another countries quiet time, let alone with someone at your side. Deep down, you felt that Tangerine felt the same, noticing the way his hands would squeeze at your sides as you walked. 

By the time the two of you had found your hotel and entered the elevator, Tangerine was already beginning his playful touches. His fingers began sliding from their position on your hip to your rear, his hand cupping your cheek as you pressed your floor.

He kept his attention on the doors as you squirmed a little, feeling the goosebumps on your skin with every gentle touch. 

You see him smirk in the corner of your eye, and you match it, pulling your hand forward to glide over his crotch slowly. Tangerine’s smirk immediately disappears, and his head whips to yours as you give him an innocent smile. 

“Are we playin’ dirty love?” He mumbles down at you, his eyes closing a little as you apply a little pressure to his clothed cock.

“Are you complaining?” You ask. Tangerine shakes his head eagerly, cursing aloud as the elevator doors open to an empty hallway. 

You find yourself pressed against your rooms door before its even clicked shut, his lips hungrily meeting your own. Your mind instantly is taken back to a few days ago, revelling in the way he pushes into you like you were going to disappear.

The hair above his lip tickles at your skin - and you had nearly forgotten the feeling. It was unusual, but not uncomfortable. His calloused hand cups your jaw, tilting your head so you’re at a better angle to match his pace. 

Tangerine pulls away for a gasp of air, his free hand sliding his jacket from over your shoulders to meet the carpeted floor. You’re panting, your chest rising quickly as the larger man props his arms against the door above your head.

“Been thinkin’ about these lips all week darling,” He groans, his own breath coming out laboured. “You been thinkin’ ‘bout me?”

You nod, choosing not to speak. You were worried you would end up telling him to strip then and there. Tangerine didn’t exactly look like someone who liked taking orders.

Maybe he would learn. 

His lips press back to yours, his tongue gliding along your lips in a silent beg to let him in. He groaned against your lips, your skin feeling soft and warm against his own, and Tangerine pulled you away from the door. His arms rope around the small of your back, warmth pouring over you in a wave that suffocated you so perfectly.

He parts from you again, the air leaving your lungs in a small sigh. He eyes you, his blue eyes roaming over you in a clouded gaze. You feel his rings pressing into your skin, and Tangerine leans down once again, leaving you to release a soft moan as he bites at the skin on your neck. 

Your hands press against his broad chest, scratching at the material of his shirt as he continues nipping at your throat - no doubt leaving marks. The heat in your lower stomach grew with every kiss, the throbbing ache between your thighs beginning to dominate your thoughts. 

It wasn’t like you to let someone control a scene, so as Tangerine was distracted with the zipper of your dress, you push him away, letting him fall to the bed below. He sat upright immediately, his breathing just as erratic as yours. 

He’s about to speak when you’re on him again, pushing him down and straddling his broad thighs. His hands reach under your dress instantly, his fingers dancing with the flesh of your ass and the lace of your panties. 

“Fuck,” He curses through clenched teeth. Tangerine couldn’t get over how beautiful you looked, your lips swollen and your clothes askew. “I want you so fuckin’ bad.”

You chuckle down at him, your eyes half lidded. “Yeah?” You whisper softly, flashing the fruit a sweet smile. You grind against him, biting your lip at the groan that escapes his lips. “How bad?”

“God,” He keens, feeling his cock straining against his pants. “K-Keep movin’ like that Angel.” 

“Who would’ve thought you would be so needy.” You tease, and it was then that you saw the gears turn in Tangerines eyes. 

You had already bested him once, made him feel smaller than anyone had done so in a very, very long time. The bruise on his forehead was a reminder every time he had woken up this past week. He wasn’t going to let you control this time too, not if he could help it. 

He was good with his hands, you’ll give him that. Tangerine had grabbed at the waistline of your dress, tearing at the fabric until it pooled around the blankets at your side. Your eyes were wide at the action, whereas Tangerine’s eyes were on your bra covered breasts. He had a quick glimpse of them before when you had hidden a usb in there, and the man grinned as you sat upright.

“Do you have any idea how much that cost?” You gasped, staring at the designer name in pieces. 

He sits upright with you, your chest now pressed against his. He grins at your expression, knowing you weren’t entirely as pissed off as you attempted to show. “You’ve got a million in the account love, I’m sure you can buy more.”

Asshole. 

You don’t respond, knowing it’ll be an insult more than a complaint. Tangerine glides his fingers over the bare skin of your back, and your eyes close at the feeling. “What to do with you hm?” He mutters, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. 

He wanted to be rough. He wanted to take you then and there.

But you just felt so good like this, touching him and grinding against him like he was the last man on earth. 

He continues his exploration on your skin before he’s cupping your face, kissing you a little softer than before. His moustache again tickles at your cheeks, causing you to grin against his lips. He’s quick to soften your sounds, nipping at your lip to grant his tongue entrance. 

You’re gripping at the ends of his shirt, pulling at the fabric and loosening it. Your hands slip under, and it was your turn to run your hands over the hard muscle that lay beneath. “Take it off.” You mumble in between kisses.

“You could rip it?” He jokes, pulling away to meet your unamused expression. He shrugs, pulling his shirt up and over his body. The fabric joins his jacket on the floor, and you don’t hide the raised eyebrow as his tongue darts out as he attempts to kick his shoes off.

“You’re not as scary as your file makes you out to be,” You reach behind you, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the ground. “You’re just a little softy aren’t you?”

Tangerine’s eyes immediately land on your breasts, his head jerking to the side as he exhales. “There’s nothin’ little about me love.” He leans forward, taking a nipple into his mouth before you can reply.

Yeah. 

You could feel him beneath you. 

It’s definitely not a gun in his pants.

Your hands wound their way into his hair, tugging as he bites at the skin of your breast. “Fuck.” Your head falls back with a moan. 

He decided then and there that he could listen to your pretty noises forever. 

He wants more.

As beautiful as you looked on his lap, Tangerine was done letting you believe you had the upper hand. His cock was hard in his pants, almost straining against the rough material in a need for release. With a gasp, you find yourself thrown onto your back, Tangerine’s hands on either side of your head as he pins your lower half beneath him. 

“That’s better,” He releases you for a quick moment, however keeping his eyes on you as he unbuckles his belt. “Bit quiet there Angel, you alright?”

You nod, not able to stop yourself from ogling at the view above you. Various scars covered his abdomen, a tattoo resting on his pec, a familiar bruise resided on his hip, disappearing towards his back.

Your doing, naturally.

“Look at the mess you’re making love,” Tangerine nods towards your panties, chuckling at the way you squirm under his gaze. “What a fuckin’ sight that is.”

He goes to lean forward, when you grab his shoulder, shaking your head. He gives you a confused look, and you curse loudly. “I want you, now.” 

“And you’ll have me,” Again he goes to kiss above your pubic bone, scratching his chin along your lace underwear. “Just want a taste, that’s all.” 

“Mmf - please, just fuck me already.” God you wouldn’t blame him for mocking you, who were you right now? You barely recognised your own voice. 

“What’s the rush?” He taunts, that cocky voice of his stronger than ever. “Not that I’m complainin’, begging looks good you.” 

“And you’ll good on me,” You groan as Tangerine rips your underwear, lifting your ass slightly to pull it away. “Stop ripping my fucking clothes.”

He sniggers, drinking in your now naked state. Your pupils dilated, lips swollen and skin flushed with heat. 

An angel.

The corner of your lips twitched, your tongue swiping over the skin as you nod towards Tangerine’s crotch. “Need help?”

His zipper was undone, the bulge of his cock flush against his underwear. He shakes his head, taking the time to stand and remove his pants completely. Before you could say his name, the man was back on top of you, his palm spread on your throat before grasping at your hair as you moaned at the sensation. 

Tangerine wanted to watch you come undone. He wanted to watch your eyelashes flutter as you hit your high and screamed his name. He wanted his name to be the only thought on your mind. “So beautiful,” He sighs against your throat, groaning as you grind against him like a broken record. “A real fuckin’ angel.”

His cock rests against your thigh - thick, hard and throbbing. You part your legs, letting him rest between you more comfortably as his own hard thighs cover yours. Your hips roll into his, and you grinned at the delicious sound he let out as his tip swept over your cunt. 

Your skin burned under his touch, and Tangerine tilts his head, mumbling your name against your cheek before bringing his lips to yours once more. You sigh into his mouth, the sound disappearing under his own groans. His cock bumps over your slit and your hips shift, brushing his head through your wetness as Tangerine reaches down with a free hand, lining himself up. 

Your head hits the pillow as he slides in, and it felt like the air had been taken from your lungs as you felt the mouthwatering burn of his size. He curses loudly as his hips snap against yours in a hard thrust, bottoming out.

“Fuck,” He grunts with a lick of your lips. “D’you feel that? D’you have any idea how fucking good you feel? Squeezin’ me l-like -“

You clench around him, cutting him off from his rambling. Tangerine repositions his arms before he slowly pulls out, revelling in the soft whines leaving your swollen mouth at the action. He let you enjoy his teasing thrusts for a little longer before he began thrusting harder, your words becoming incoherent as his pace quickened.

His pounding is hard and definitive, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his shoulders in an attempt to hold on. He just feels so heavy and he makes you feel so unbearably full.

“O-Oh god.” Your eyes squeeze shut, and Tangerine kisses at your cheek - an almost sweet action in comparison to the assault he’s hailing on your pussy.

“Just me Angel,” He grunts, a playful tone behind his usual gruff voice. “Just me.” 

Tangerine finds a steady rhythm, his thrusts bringing his hard body flush against yours in a dire need to feel your heat. One thrust lands just perfectly, a loud moan forcing its way out as he laughs against you.

“Yeah?” He taunts as he mimics the sound, noticing the way you just manage to roll your eyes at him. “Oh we can’t have that now.” His voice was merely a whisper as he says your name, a shudder running through your body as you clench around him, causing his own hips to shudder in return.

He fucked into you at such a pace that you knew he had ruined you for anybody else. It was his goal, to mark you and leave you wanting everything he could give. Tangerine felt you squeeze around him again, the lewd sounds of his cock pushing into your soaked cunt making his thoughts clouded. 

His finger just glides over your clit as you come undone, cumming on his cock with an arched back and raise of your hips. His eyes widen at the sight, a charmed smile on his cheeks as your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Good girl,” He laughs down at you, continuing his thrusts. “Aren’t you just gorgeous.” 

Tangerine’s breathless, his attention solely on the way you shake beneath him, your breasts bouncing as you climax. He can feel the own pulse of his dick throbbing as you squeeze around him, and as his name leaves your lips in a silent prayer he too comes undone. He cums inside of you with a final snap of his hips, his body shuddering as he curses loudly. His head rests against your shoulder as he stills, his grunts like music to your ears. 

He rests on you gently before pulling out, the immediate empty feeling making you sigh as he rolls onto his back beside you. “Fuckin’ hell.” His breathing was sharp, a slight sheen on sweat on his chest. 

You just stared at him in a comfortable silence as you attempted to find your bearings, watching as Tangerine grabs your hand, entwining his fingers with yours. “You with me?” 

You nod at him with a smile, and he chuckles, a cocky grin finding it’s home. “S’good, because we aren’t done.”

“What?” You almost whine, and he sits up, gripping at your waist and dragging you closer to him. 

“Head darling,” He looks at you like you’re the one not making any sense. “Gotta give you somethin’ to ask me about in the mornin’ yeah?” 

[yawnderu]

Stray - Chapter I

Chapter II

—Oh, mother... 

Bruised knees sunk slowly into the worn-down mattress, making sure to not wake up the sleeping woman. The moon shined through the old, tainted windows, giving the knife in her hand an almost demonic glow. 

—Can't say it was a pleasure. 

In a swift movement, the knife was plunged into the neck of the sleeping woman, dragging it across in a messy line, making eye contact with the now wide-open eyes of her own mother. As fast as it all went down, it ended. A smile painted across her young face, seeing the life fade away from the same eyes that used to look down on her. 

She woke up in a cold sweat, gasping and grabbing for anything she could find on her nightstand, feeling around until she found it- a small bottle of pills. With trembling hands, she took one, two, three pills, counting them multiple times as well as she could in her frantic state. She put them in her mouth, trying her best to swallow them with her limited saliva only. 

As she starts to look around her room, panic starts slow down. I'm safe. I'm in a military base, protected by a bunch of people with guns. No one can ever break in. I'm okay. I'll be okay. 

She reassures herself, repeating it over and over again in her head like it's a mantra, carving it out in her brain with as much care as possible. She turns on the light on her bedside table, grabbing the knife she keeps under her pillow as well as her phone. Shaky hands struggle to turn the flashlight on, quickly jumping out of bed and crouching down as she shines the light under the bed, knife ready in her other. Nothing. It's okay, I'm okay.

Her breathing slowly calms down, heartbeat not pulsing in her throat anymore as she checks the locks of her quarters a few times, making sure everything is locked before making her way to the bathroom, where the shower curtains are always kept open. It's okay, I'm okay.

With everything checked, she goes back to bed, looking underneath one more time. Nothing, still. She sighs as she sits in bed, holding her head on her hands, the cold sweat making her feel sticky and disgusting. She tries to ignore it and go to bed, but at some point, she can feel herself sticking to the bed, thin sheets clinging to her skin. 

''Fucking hell.''

She sighs as she stands up, knife on a secret part she personally added to her pajama pants as she leaves her room, making sure the door is locked a few times before leaving to the communal area. The lights are on, surprisingly. She opens the door and almost decided to go back until she realized she wouldn't be able to sleep at all without a warm drink. 

''Ghost.''

She says, trying her best to sound as calm as possible, still not fully relaxed from the time she woke up, and the man with the skull mask making it even worse for her. 

''Stray.''

You could sense a hint of annoyance in his voice. They have been on each other's throats ever since she joined the 141, with him thinking she was not ready to be a part of their missions. She had proved him wrong multiple times, yet he was way too stubborn to let go of it and apologize. She wasn't innocent either, taking every single chance she took to brag about the cool things she did better than Ghost. Dropped a sniper first? Brag. Threw a knife to a man who was going to shoot them down? Brag. Sniped someone down before him? Brag. 

She walked past him, setting the tea kettle to prepare a warm drink. She simply stared at the sink as the water was warming up, feeling his stare on her the entire time. She didn't want him to see her like this, all weak and pathetic, as she says. 

''Want some tea?'' She asked softly, her voice slightly shaky and she still didn't dare look at him. 

''No.''

He replied shortly- clearly not interested in engaging in conversation with her. She nodded her head, grabbing a singular mug and a bag of chamomile tea from the counter. Her shaky hands struggled to pour the water in the cup, trying her best to be as accurate as possible to not make a mess and embarrass herself even further.

As she finished making her tea, her shaky hands grabbed at the mug and sat on the table, as far away from him as possible. It was too much- his piercing gaze on her, the nightmares, the way her clothes felt like clothes at that moment, everything. She was zoning out until she felt a burning pain on her hand-having spilled a little bit all over it. She hissed softly as she looked down at her hand, quietly examining the damage and hoping he didn't see her mess up. 

''Bad night?''

It was the first time ever he asked her a question unrelated to work, besides an "are you fuckin' daft?" whenever she did something stupid and his piercing gaze was there to see it. She simply nodded her head, still not daring to look at him as tears were staring to pool under her eyes and her leg started to shake. 

''Why do you hate me?''

She asked in the gentlest voice he's ever heard from her. It's usually screams to him, bragging about things she did, and annoying teasing. Nothing is ever good coming from her, at least from her voice. Simon knew she was a damn good soldier but would simply never admit it. He stared at her small frame for a few seconds, thinking about the right thing to say, knowing she was vulnerable. He couldn't find anything.

''I don't.''

And it wasn't a lie. Simon didn't hate her- he didn't like her, either, but he didn't hate her. Besides her annoying behavior, she had never done much to make him hate her. Cold eyes stared down at her as he got up, walking over to her slowly before crouching down to her height, examining the burn before sighing softly. 

''Get up. We're goin' to put some cold water on it.''

There was no hint of annoyance in his voice, no... nothing, really. His voice was calm as he spoke as he guided her to the sink, putting her hand under the cold water, relieving her physical pain. The warm bare hand holding hers relieved a little bit of the psychological one. 

[stealth-skills]

Razvedyvatel'naya Gruppa «Rusich» DDM team - Russian-Ukrainian War, 2023

[gretavanlace]

Animosity

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, unprotected sex, aggression, arguing, name calling, digital penetration, dirty talk, pet names, etc.

Porn without plot. Arguably an extended blurb, but we have much to celebrate! so my gift, on the eve of Starcatcher, is smut. I love you all! Shout out to this crazy hot request!! Thank you, anon…we adore you and your beautiful mind ❤️

“So, you’re just going to walk away from me? Like what I have to say means fuck all? Like I mean fuck all?” He sinks further back into the couch, crossing his arms like a sullen, bad-tempered child.

“No, Jake,” you snipe right back. A cruel, dismissive edge sharpening your tone until it slices through the anger-choked air in the living room like a rusty steak knife yanked from the back of the drawer. “I’m just sick of listening to you run your mouth about shit that doesn’t matter. I pissed you off. Fucking enthralling story, can you tell it again?”

“You’re tired of listening to me, or you want me to tell it again?” His boots slam down on the coffee table just to pluck at your nerves further. “Make up your fucking mind, sweetheart.”

Christ, you don’t know that you’ve ever been this furious with him, though you really can’t even remember why. It’s been all day. Back and forth. Bitter bickering. Button pushing. Poking and poking, until it feels like the energy between the two of you could break apart with fevered electricity.

“Fuck you.” Is all you can summon. It hisses out of you as you spin on your heel to find solace in the kitchen…the closest room where he isn’t.

With more force than would ever be necessary, you’re throwing open the refrigerator door, fingers wrapped around a bottle of water, when you feel his arms wrap around you, tugging you away from the task at hand with a quiet grunt low in his throat.

The bottle clatters to the floor with a bouncing thud, as you’re pressed against the counter. You’ve hardly had a blink to register, but his hand is fisted in your hair and squeezing against your scalp until it stings like delicious fire. “Fuck me?” He hums, soft and saccharine. “But you seem so angry with me, kitty cat. Seems like maybe you might even hate me. S’that what baby wants? A little hate fucking?”

“Jake, stop!” you snap, with an elbow digging into his stomach, unwilling to let go of your upset even though your thighs are clenched and aching to spread wide for him.

“Have you forgotten your safe word?” The heated query growls into your ear, though he already knows what the answer will be.

Your teeth are clenched - but with wrath or lust, you can’t be sure, “No.”

“Fucking use it, then.” His thigh is between yours now, shoving your legs open further apart exactly the way you’d longed for just moments ago.

“No.” You repeat, once more, even nastier than before. It physically pains you to give him the upper hand, but you love it, too. Fuck, how you love it.

“Oh,” you can hear the smug, cocky, fucking smirk in his tone. “So, my angry little kitty cat wants to be stroked. Is that why you’ve been so goddamn irritating all day? Pretty girl wants to fuck?”

You arch your back, pressing against him in the hopes that he’ll just go ahead and shut up. That he’ll go ahead and destroy you right there at the counter like a whore. Like his whore.

Your silence won’t do for him, and a swift tug at your tangles tells you so, before his voice rasps into the night. “Is that it? Does pretty girl with her pretty wet pussy want to fuck?”

The feverish nod against his clutch comes before you can stop it.

“Say it.”

Oh, fuck you, Jacob. Smug little bastard who can’t let the opportunity to make you taste his victory, pass.

“Hmm-mm,” you moan out, shaking your head, lips squeezed into an impossibly flat line to bite back the flurry of obscene pleas that threaten to tear out of you.

“Okay,” he’s taunting now, and you know you’re in trouble before you’ve even felt his fingers creeping beneath the hem of your panties. “But look at this. You’re dripping. Don’t you want to drip, all filthy and gorgeous, all over me? All over my cock?”

“Yeah,” it shivers out of you with a wanton desperation that should make your cheeks flush with shame. Instead, your entire body flushes with need.

He stands firm and sickeningly sexy “Then say it. Do as you’re fucking told, kitten, and I’ll make you feel good, promise.”

Every ounce of fight drains from your body as you relax down against the butcher's block countertop, and you know without a doubt you’ll need to be careful not to rake tracks into the wood once he’s buried inside you. Careful not to claw marks where you shouldn’t. Careful not to live up to the pet name he only trots out when he’s feeling particularly nasty.

“Say it, baby.” He presses, petting your hair so gently you sigh.

“Pretty girl wants to fuck,” you’re nearly panting between words, but you can’t help it, nor do you care to. Let him hear what he does to you. Let him bear witness to the depravity he sets free to boil through your veins. Let him see.

“Good girl.” He slips the pad of his finger over your slick clit, groaning at how swollen you already are. How ready. How fucking needy. All for him. “Say it. Who’s my good girl?”

“I am.” Your hips are circling and rocking into his touch…you need more, more, more. “I’m your good girl.”

“Yeah, you are.” He nods, forehead resting at your shoulder. “Such a good girl. So, why do you insist on being so fucking bad? Naughty, mouthy little witch. Fucking heartless.”

His touch teases at your entrance, waiting, gentle and nearly still, until you fuck yourself back onto them, slipping him inside with a roll of your hips. “Oh, fuck yes, kitten…just like that. Baby thinks she’s just gonna take what she wants, but she’s wrong…” his voice is quiet, yet melodic. He’s almost singing to you, teasing you, baiting you along with a blissful, bullying, air.

“Whose pretty pussy is this?” He rasps, toying with you.

“It’s yours, Jake.” You purr, arching and trembling. “That’s your pretty pussy.”

“It’s yours, Jake.” He mocks, all high pitched and airy. You half expect him to pull your hair and call you names. To shove you down and skin your knees…and you’re not ashamed to admit, you wouldn’t hate it.

“Tell me you want to feel my fingers inside your greedy, soaked cunt.” True to his role, he snatches your head back by the strands of your hair still locked in his grip. “Tell me you want me to finger fuck you until you cum all over the kitchen tile.”

Your will power has vanished, as though it never existed to begin with. Where is all that fight that once burned in your belly? “I want it…” you’re breathless, whining like a slut, spread out on the counter, tongue sweeping out to curl against the wood because you just need to fucking taste something, anything.

You carry on, happy to complete your pornographic request, if only to make him as weak for you as you are for him. But, he is weaker for you, always…you just can’t ever seem to see it. Instead, his palm covers your mouth, strong and sure.

“It’s cute that you think I really want to hear it. Adorable, even, kitty cat.” He sounds hateful, but you hear the devotion behind the facade, he’s happy to be here with you, wrapped up close, no more angry, blistering space between your bodies.

“I’ve listened to you enough today, don’t you think?” His teeth sink into your earlobe until your knees buckle with a whimpered hum.

“Oh, now you’ve got nothing to say?” His accusation is gritted out between the clamp of his teeth at your ear, sending blazing chills down your spine to curl your toes against the frigid ceramic. “You wanna stay quiet now? Alright then, whatever you want, baby girl. Quiet it is. I’ll help you with that…”

His grip is suddenly iron clad around your throat, squeezing until your gasps rasp and your eyes roll back. His opposite hand is at your mouth, fingers sliding against your tongue, nudging into your throat until you’re silencing a gag.

It doesn’t matter, he feels it. “Be glad it isn’t my cock, shutting this pretty mouth up. Be grateful you aren’t fucking swallowing me and praying I’ll let you breathe.”

You aren’t grateful at all. In fact, you’d give just about anything to be on your knees for him…

And he knows it.

Like a cat in heat, you slink further down, presenting and preening. You want more. You need more…

And he knows that, too.

“C’mere,” it growls out of him, low and rumbling like a feral animal descending upon stalked prey - and before the shudder has even finished shaking through your taxed system, he’s gathering you up in his arms.

Small in stature he might be, but the strength in his grasp has never failed to amaze you. Now, as he jerks you around until you’re caged in his embrace like a writhing doll, is certainly no different.

“Are you sorry, kitten?” He hisses, manhandling you as he throws a dining chair away from the table and spins it just so. “Are you sorry for making me throw you around like the insubordinate little fuck slut you are? Are you sorry for making my cock so hard? It aches for you…it wants its pretty, pretty baby, with her pretty, pretty cunt.”

Down he lumbers, positioning himself on the chair with you, held up away from his lap, watching with rapt attention and a watering mouth as he violently tugs his pants open without care.

And then, there it is, his beautiful cock. Flushed and pulsing. Flexing fiercely and bobbing in the air so pink, so thick, so slick at the blushing crown, so fucking captivating. You can’t take your eyes off of it, and why would you ever want to?

His hands are ripping at you, tearing your panties off ruthlessly until the silk burns across your skin leaving strawberry pink welts in its wake…pulling at the neck of your tshirt until it, too, gives way to his madness and rips apart enough for him to unleash his mouth against your breasts.

It’s a flurry of perfect teeth burying their way into your nipple, the delicious pressure of his lips and tongue, wet, warm, and sucking, as your fingers twist in his hair, crushing him closer to you. His moans are muffled and unidentifiable against the goosebumps he has raised upon your skin.

“Jake, please.” You’re rocking at the air, as still, he holds you away from his lap. “Please please please…”

“That’s it, kitten.” He sounds self-satisfied and disgustingly content with your despair. He’s such a prick when he gets this way, and fuck if you don’t absolutely live for it. “Beg for my cock like a whore. Beg for me to fill your sweet, slutty, cunt. God, look at you. Fucking gorgeous.”

But, rather than beg, out comes the pout he can never seem to resist. “Give it to me.” Your puckered bottom lip tucks between your teeth as you stare down longingly at the prize your body longs to swallow up. “Fuck me, Jake…fuck your kitten. Please, baby?”

“You fuckin’ brat.” He snaps, but his arms loosen, allowing just a hint more freedom to your movement. “Spoiled little thing isn’t playing fair.” He tugs your mouth open and licks against your tongue.

“Go on, then,” his palm, warm and insistent, cracks your ass cheek, hard and firm. Milk chocolate eyes dancing wildly when you suck in a sharp gasp. “You want it so badly? Fuck me. Kitty wants some dick? Kitty can fucking work for it.”

Your hips lower without hesitation and rock this way and that until the tip of his cock is resting at your entrance. “C’mon, kitty cat,” he coaxes like the arrogant prince he likes to pretend to be. “Fuck me.”

Without preamble, without thought for angle, or the consequence of pain, you sink down around him all at once. Sucking him in, hot and snug, tightening around him with a wail of relief as your head tips back until you're crying out to the ceiling.

His face is hidden between your breasts, mouth searching, tongue lapping at your skin as he groans and murmurs your name. “You feel so good, baby girl. So fucking good. Too fucking good. Fuck…fuck…”

Back and forth his pretty face nuzzles, his mouth searching out places to mark you, sucking bruises into your tits as you shove them further in his face, silently begging him to brand you.

But as he grows louder, he begins fighting back to the surface, shaking off your riptide in favor of that delectable dominance he favors “Faster.” He orders, both hands taking hold of your throat just hard enough to make you writhe. “Do it, baby. Come on…” there’s that teasing, coaxing tone that sets your entire body alive in white hot, licking, flames. “Come on. You know how to do it. You know how to fuck me, c’mon.”

Harder and faster you ride him, clutching at the back of his chair for leverage until your knuckles are ghost-white and your nails are screaming, threatening to snap off in the wood.

“Good girl…” his grip is twisting so gently around your neck as your keening moans vibrate into his palms. “Good fucking girl. Say it.”

You know what he wants, and so he shall have it. “I’m a good fucking girl.” They are hardly words at all, more like breathless whines, but they do just fine for him.

“Yes, you are, kitten, yes you are.” Now one of his hands is at your cheek, cupping it as agonized tears streak into his palm…you’re just so fucking close. “And you’re gonna be a good girl and fuck me until I cum, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” it’s ineloquent and cut off by a shaking moan, but you’ve never cared about anything less.

“Yeah, you are. Make me cum, kitty cat. Come on, make me fucking cum…”

This time, it's his words that drift off into incoherent, desperate whines that flip your stomach and trip you over the edge. You finish, hard and fast, lulled by the obscenities tumbling off of his filthy tongue.

“Please, baby…” he’s clutching at you now, thrusting up to meet you so forcefully you absently worry he might tip the chair over, toppling you both to the floor. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna, oh fuck…”

His teeth catch your shoulder through the tattered remnants of your shirt, gnawing at your flesh as grunts and wails and growls of release seep into your skin.

Finally, though you wish it would never end, his arms fall slack, swinging at the sides of the chair, as his mouth soothes over the bites he’s left you with.

“God damn, baby girl…” he laughs softly, kneading softly into the screaming muscles of your thighs. “Thought you were gonna fuck it right off.”

“Shut up,” you giggle, quiet with exhaustion. “Take me upstairs and take care of me? I’m sleepy.”

Without a word, you’re gathered up in his arms. You know you’ll be tenderly deposited at the foot of the stairs, to navigate them on your own, with your hand held in his…but that’s perfect, you’re always happy to let him lead the way.

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[animentality]

And yes. These are all characters from my demon summoning assassin novel, 7 Deadly Habits of the Modern Demon Summoner.

Which is COMPLETELY FREE to download on the free Kindle app (available for iOS, Android, tablet, etc. on the app store) from February 22nd to February 26th!

eBook only, but if you download it for free now, and like it, then you can always buy the physical copy to have on your shelf :D

Link here.

Full description below. I'd appreciate a reblog/signal boost, because I don't want anyone to miss grabbing the book while it's most accessible. But also vote on which one you think is the worst, because I promise you, they are much, much, much worse in the actual novel.

Anyway. Thanks for listening. Sorry to bother. But not that sorry.

Transcription in case the photo does not load:

Twenty-three-year-old CEO Don Francisco wants one of the richest women in the world dead. Which one? Daphne Oakland: actress, model, heir to the Oakland financial empire, and unbeknownst to the general public, talented demon summoner. But since Francisco isn’t nearly as rich as the established Oakland family, he hires the only assassin he can afford: Sebastián Monterey, a down-on-his-luck, struggling demon summoner, the cheapest and lowest ranking one there is.

But Monterey is nothing like Cisco expected. He’s high-spirited, reckless, relentlessly cheerful …and worse, he’s a bit of a slut. The CEO is horrified to find out that Monterey has not just one, but seven angry exes in the killing business, who will stop at nothing to get in the way of an already impossible hit. Not only do they have personal reasons for wanting to see their former lover dead, they also have professional reasons: they are all currently employed by the Oakland family members!

To make matters worse, Monterey finds out the Oaklands are each protecting a demon ritual artifact for Daphne. When brought together, all 7 can be used to summon a demon more powerful than any currently contracted on earth. If he is to carry out this hit at all, he’ll have to interfere with the summon by stealing every artifact, and maybe even summon the demon before Daphne can.

But that's only if none of his exes kill him first!

And here's some lovely art of the MC, Rey, which I commissioned from the talented @marcissistv (Twitter).

[whohasthecards]

Hangman meets this Nick-Goose guy at the bar (not a joke)

Jake rested his chin on his cue stick as he stared curiously at the pair at the bar.

The famous Admiral Beau “Cyclone” Simpson and some skinny blonde guy were hanging around. He never knew that the Admiral could smile. Sure, the guy was fair and respected all around the base, but he was stoic. He shrugged and went back to his game. 

By the time he sunk the 8-ball in, he looked up and the Admiral was gone. He handed the cue stick  to the next guy about to play and went up to the bar, knocking on the counter.

“Ma’am, a cold beer, please,” He said flashing Penny a smile, she rolled his eyes and handed him his drink.

“Stop calling me, ma’am, I’m not your commanding officer, Lieutenant,” Penny grouched before smiling.

“Aye aye, Captain,” Jake said flashing a wink and Penny rolled her eyes in response.

“Damn, Pen, not checking IDs, you’re getting sloppy or soft,” The mystery man said and Jake turned to get a better look at him.

He blinked before realizing that Roo-Roo Bradshaw was somewhere in the Pacific Ocean and a good 30 years younger than the man.

“Shut up, Nick, he’s a grown aviator,” Penny sniped back, hitting the man with a towel as he batted it away.

“Damn straight,” Jake said, taking a sip of his beer.

“Ahhh, so you are getting soft, you’ve always been soft around aviators,” Nick said, giving Jake a wink.

Penny blushed and gave Nick another hit with a towel before another customer called her away.

“Piss her off enough and you’ll get thrown overboard, even if I gotta do it alone,” Hangman said, flashing Nick a sharp grin.

Nick gave a low whistle, “Damn, son, no wonder she’s soft on ya, you probably remind her of me and the boys back in the day.”

Jake frowned at that.

“Nevermind that, I’m Nick or Goose, choose what you want,” Nick, Goose, said, reaching out his hand to shake.

“Jake,” He replied, shaking his hand, looking the guy up and down, seeing the grey on his temples. “You used to be an aviator?”

“Old men, can’t be on active duty?”

“The Navy would be too busy worrying about paying for your back pain.”

Goose honked out a laugh that made his callsign make sense.

“I was a backseater, RIO, then after I left I became a civilian flight instructor,” Goose said. “Single-seater?”

“Yep,” Jake said, finally deciding to sit down beside the older man. “Lucky guess?”

It was Jake’s turn to be scrutinized as he was looked up and down, “Nah, I just know the type, do you prefer Jake or Hangman?”

Jake’s lip twitched down before he settled on a blank mask. He used to have no shame regarding his callsign, so who gives a shit if he misspelled a couple words here and there. Until.

“All you do is leave good men hanging! Goddamn executioner of your own squad!”

“Hangman! Smoke in the ai-”

“Lieutenant Jacob “Hangman” Seresin, you did everything you could, dismissed.”

He took a deep breath that was more shaky than he’ll ever admit, “Jake’s good,” he said, flashing a smirk as he took another sip of his drink.

The older man’s eyes softened and he gave Jake a small smile.

“How about you?” Jake asked, realizing it was polite to reciprocate the question.

“Eh, either is fine, they’re both the same to me,” Nick said, shrugging. 

“Doesn’t Goose remind you of the thrill of being in a jet?” Jake asked, swirling his beer bottle around. 

“Nah, reminds me more of hanging around the boys,” Nick replied. “Still see them, but it ain’t the same as it used to be. Plus, I think I’ve had enough excitement for this life,” Nick said chuckling, leaning back and both men wincing as they heard his spine crack.

“You’re showing your age, old man,” Jake muttered, looking at him worriedly, wondering if he was about to keel over. “You hangin’ in there, gramps?”

Nick chuckled, “Not that old, brat, I have a son your age. He’s 27.”

“How old do you think I am?” 

“Hmmm, 21?”

Jake squawked in offense, “You’re actin’ like this my second time drinkin’ or somethin’!”

Nick raised a brow at him, “Is it not?”

Jake glared at him and all Goose saw was the same pout on his son’s face when he withheld the cookies from him.

“ ‘M 23,” Jake muttered.

“See? Not that far off, no need to get your feathers all ruffled, birdy,” Nick said, honking out a laugh.

Jake grumbled, but Goose could see the smile behind the sip of the beer bottle.

—

“Mav, did the Navy bio-engineer you and Ice’s DNA to create a son we don’t know about?” 

Mav paused, looking at his phone to check if this was Goose he was talking to. “Not that I know off,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“Kid, tall, blond hair, green eyes, naval aviator, technical flying style with some of your style, has your social skills too,” Goose added the last part thoughtfully. 

“Is that a compliment to the kid or an insult?”

“....Anyways, you made sure you don’t have some kid we don’t know about, right? Because if you gave me a nephew and didn’t make me his godfather I will ground you, no jets for a month.”

“Let me check with Ice.”

—

“Hello my sweet-precious-baby-mini-me,” Goose crowed to the phone as his son groaned on the other line.

“Dad, I am taller and bigger than you.”

“You still get your good looks from me, honey, how’s the deployment going?”

“The other pilots are shitheads, the amount of ego here is astounding.”

“Naval aviators,” Goose said, shrugging before realizing his son can’t see that. “There’s never a shortage of ego, say these pilots are younger than you?”

“Some of them are, some of them are older,” Bradley said slowly, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Good, you’ll have enough practice then.”

“Practice!? Practice for what!? Dad?”

“All good things come to those who wait, Brad-Brad.”

—

Hey gramps, I’m being’ deployed to Top Gun, Hard Deck?

Sure, Jakey

—

Gramps flew with pops? Goose and Maverick ejected. Goose got an honorable discharge. Holy shit.

Bradshaw was Nick’s son?

Is that why he was angry?

—

Hangman was face to face with Bradshaw, anger coursing through his veins. Doesn’t he understand? If they couldn’t fly like Maverick, they would all end up dead. Dead. 

Is he angry because of hop 31? Pissed on behalf of his Dad? But, Nick wasn’t angry at Pete, right?

You can find out.

“Come on, take a walk with me, son.”

No. Nick doesn’t deserve that.

“You have a family Bradshaw,” Jake said slowly, watching as Bradshaw’s hackles raised up even higher.

“Yeah, kid is simultaneously too hesitant and reckless at the same time, and I thought my wingman is the reason I’m gray…”

“You’re almost 60 gramps, that’s the reason why you’re gray.”

“Don’t let them lose you because you can’t think straight. Feelings ain’t matter here, not if you want to live,” Jake gritted out, shoulder checking the other man as he left the room.

—

They’re alive.

He saved them.

Thank fucking god because in all the hours he spent on stand-by in his jet, he still didn’t know what the fuck to say to Nick if he came back, but his brother and son didn’t.

A selfish part of him wondered if Nick would still care if they both died.

Probably not. Thank god he wasn’t a complete fuck up.

—

The celebration died down and he was walking back from his long-ass debrief. Getting reamed for launching without orders.

He felt his phone ping with a text.

Come over for dinner when you’re onshore.

Jake gave a small smile at that as he sent back a reply.

—

“Hangman! Hangman! Lieutenant Seresin! Jake!” 

It was the inverted version of Mav calling out for Rooster during that first day in the tarmac. Except Jake was already turning around once Mav said Lieutenant.

“Jesus, Mav, calm down, I hear ya, I ain’t goin’ anywhere yet, pops,” Jake said, raising his hands up as he flicked his toothpick to the side of his mouth. “Don’t stretch your legs too far tryin’ to keep up with me,'' Jake said, smirking.

Mav rolled his eyes upwards as he put his hands on his hips, as if asking god for patience. Heh. 

“I wasn’t able to talk to you one-on-one after the mission, kid, how are you?” Mav said, eyes softening as he looked at Jake up and down.

Jake felt self-conscious, as he straightened up instinctively, which was dumb because surely Mav wouldn’t notice that he was eating less. That he felt more tired each day. That he doesn’t know what kind of man he is.

“I’m fine, Mav, just thinking,” is all Jake could say.

“Don’t think too hard, kid, you might hurt yourself,” Mav said, giving Jake a smile, but there’s a glint in his eye that told him he meant it.

Mav’s an ace.

“Do you think about it, often?” Jake blurted out.

Mav furrowed his brow, “Think about what?”

Killing people.

No, not now.

“Nothing, nothing, sorry, pops, long day, just thinkin’ about how much the big bosses lectures on and on and on,” Hangman said, cringing at the babbling he just did.

Mav frowned, looking unconvinced, but gave a grin when command’s lectures were brought up, “I just learned to tune it out and forget. After you hear the first one, it all sounds the same, anyways.”

Jake barked a laugh at that, “You’re a menace, Mav.”

Mav grinned at Jake’s laugh, shoulders relaxing as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

“Anyways, I’m here to ask if you’re free tonight? My family and I are having dinner together and I want you to join in,” Mav said. “Some of the other Daggers will be there.”

He felt a pang of regret when he realized he’d have to decline, and it must have shown on his face, when Mav gave an understanding smile.

“Have plans, already, huh?”

“Yeah, a,” grandpa, family, mentor, father-figure-, “friend invited me for dinner, I haven’t seen him in a while, and yeah. I wanna hang out with ya pops and the squad, cross my heart, it’s just that I already got plans, and-”

Mav cut him off with a chuckle, “I get it, kid, don’t work yourself up, there will always be next time. Just promise me I won’t have to bail you out of jail tonight and you have fun.”

Jail with Nick? What a joke.

“Aye, Aye, Captain!” Jake said, giving Mav a salute, smirking as Mav shooed him away.

“Yeah, yeah, go on, brat, don’t cause trouble, you hear me!?”

“As if you can talk.”

—

Jake took a deep breath as he turned off the ignition of his truck, grabbing the beers he brought. He ain’t gonna come to a dinner empty handed, and Nick was more of a beer guy, rather than a wine guy.

He went up to the door and knocked.

“Hangman?”

“Mav?” Jake said, blinking his eyes in shock.

“Jakey! You made it, kiddo,” Nick greeted warmly, gently pushing Mav away to envelop Jake in a tight hug. Jake closed his eyes and leaned in, burying his eyes on the older man’s shoulder, trying to reciprocate the hug despite his hands being full.

“Here, let me take that from you, buddy, and you two can catch up for a little bit,” Mav said when Jake pulled away from the hug, taking the beer from his hands.

“It’s okay, pops–”

“How come Mav gets pops, but you call me gramps?” Nick said, pouting as he slung an arm around Jake’s shoulder.

“Because,” Jake said dumbly, still a bit shock at seeing Mav.

“Ahh forgot to tell ya I invited my former wingman, Mav and of course you’ve heard of my son, Brad-Brad,” Nick said leading Jake to the kitchen. “Some other guys will be coming, later, some of them are part of Mav’s squad.”

“We’re well-acquainted Goose, heck, the kid even told me he couldn’t come to hangout with us because he had plans with a friend,” Mav said grinning at the two of them.

“Awwww, so you do see me as a friend, huh, Jakey?” Goose cooed, ruffling Jake’s hair as Jake pushed him away.

“I didn’t know you were invitin’ me to the thing I was already invited to!” Jake protested, blushing.

“Hey Dad, where’s the— holy shit, Hangman, you came?” Bradshaw Jr. said, walking into the kitchen. “Mav said you said no, did something happen?” Rooster asked, furrowing his brow.

Jake finally had a side by side view of the two Bradshaw’s. Definitely related. Should have figured that out years ago. 

“Ohhh good that you’re here Brad, here’s the baby brother I promised you years ago,” Nick said, steering Jake by the shoulders to push him towards Bradley. “You’ll love him, play nice, okay?”

“That is a pain in my ass, grown-ass man,” Bradley said, blinking slowly as if he couldn’t understand what was happening. “How the hell did you two even meet?”

“Oh, I found him in a bar acting like a mixture of Mav and Ice and I just gotta keep him,” Nick said casually.

“Baby brother-?”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted, kid,” Mav said, taking a sip of his beer. “Wait til Ice sees you.”

“Ice?”

“Iceman,” Nick said. “Tom-Tom, Tommy, Tomcat, you will probably be calling him gramps.”

“I am not calling the COMPACFLT, gramps,” Jake said, jaw-dropping.

“No, you will be calling my brother, gramps, Jakey, plus they already expect it, they have heard many stories about you.”

“You talk about me to the Iceman!?” Jake said, his pitch rising an octave.

“And me, and everyone else, I was wondering why I haven’t heard about this aviator kid Goose here was talking about, started thinking he adopted an air force kid or something,” Mav said grinning. “He only really called you Jakey.”

“Or Jake-Jake, Jay, Baby J –” Bradley started, smirking at a flushing Jake.

“THAT’s enough,” Jake said, pushing at Bradley to cut him off, but Bradley just laughed.

“Boys enough. Bradley, stop teasing your brother. Jakey, no pushing,” Goose said wagging a finger at them.

“Yeah, yeah, dad,” Bradley said, rolling his eyes.

“Also, we need to make a custody contract, Goose, I want partial custody of these two,” Mav said looking way too serious as he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper.

“We need to wait for the other boys to show up first, I have a feeling Cyclone or Iceman would be calling dibs,” Goose said grinning.

“What?” Jake said, confused.

“It means, you’re stuck with us now, Jake-Jake,” Bradley said, ruffling the blond’s hair.

—

“You named your kid, Bradley Bradshaw?”

“I wanted a little Brad-Brad.”

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Sorry for posting it as late as I am… life happened! 😂

Part 1 | . . . | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20

“How about it?” Eddie asks Will. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Yes, please,” Will whispers, and together they all walk through.

“Close it, El,” Steve says into the walkie. “And rest. We’ll be back soon.”

A few minutes later, Nancy pulls up in Steve’s Beemer, Jonathan, Robin and Barb in the back.

Robin’s out practically before the car is stopped. “What did you do?” She screeches, hands fluttering around his side.

Steve catches her hands. “I’m okay,” he says quietly, resting their forehands together. “Hurts like hell, but that’s a good thing. I’ll be okay.”

“We are never separating again, I swear,” she grinds out.

He kisses her forehead. “You know why we can’t promise that, Robs. But I’m okay. Right now we’ve gotta get back to my place and call Joyce.” He turns to Nancy. “Can you drive back? We’ll share the passenger seat. Will and Eddie will share a seat, and Jonathan can keep an eye on Barb.”

Nancy nods, and they all load into the car.

Robin keeps sniping at Steve, but he knows her by now, knows this is how she cares, and lets her. “I’m not sitting on your lap,” she says.

“We don’t exactly have all the room in the world, and I’m not sitting next to you, that’ll hurt my side worse.”

“And me sitting on you won’t?” She demands. “I could crush you!”

“Robs, c’mon. You don’t weigh that much. Look, right here, between my legs. Does that work for you?”

“Does it work for you?”

“Robs,” Steve says, trying hard not to laugh. “We’ve gotta get back. It’s a ten-minute drive. I’ll be fine for ten minutes.”

“I’m patching you up as soon as we get back.”

He does finally laugh, pulling her onto his lap. “I expect nothing less.”

They get back to Steve’s house with no trouble. Jonathan goes to call his mom, Eddie sits with the kids, and Steve, Nancy, and Robin set Barb and Will up on the couch with blankets and water before Robin pushes Steve into the bathroom. “Kit,” she demands, and he gestures to a cabinet as he sits on the counter.

“Y’alright, Robs?”

“Fine,” she says mildly, and he sighs.

“You’re pissed about me getting hit?”

She puts her hands on the counter, on either side of his thighs. “You had a bat,” she says quietly. “Eddie had a gun. A ranged weapon. What happened?”

Steve shrugs, taking off his shirt as she opens the kit. “It snuck up on us. We were focused on Will. I saw his eyes go wide and swung with the bat before I knew what was happening, then once I realized, I just… kept going. Forgot Eddie was there with the gun. I’m used to no one besides maybe Nancy having any real long-range weapons.”

“You went into protection mode and forgot you’re not the only one who can do that,” she murmurs, apologizing when Steve hisses at the antiseptic. “Just… You’re not gonna live forever, dingus, but I’m not ready to live without you.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching her eye. “I might not live forever, but you got me forever, okay, Robs? Just know that I’m always going to try to protect you and the kids.”

“I know,” she sighs. “I just… I’m just worried. You showed your true colors in the bunker when you pulled all the attention onto you in the hopes I’d be spared, and you didn’t even know me yet.”

Steve chuckles. “And now I do know you, and it just got worse?”

“Exactly.”

“Hey.” He puts a hand on hers, stills it. “I love you.”

She rolls her eyes, but ultimately smiles. “Yeah, I love you too, you idiot.”

“Hey-”

“You absolute buffoon-”

“Hey!” But they’re both laughing, leaning into each other, finding happiness even in the end of the world.

Nancy knocks on the bathroom door. “Is there another first aid kit anywhere?”

“Where’d you put the bags?” Steve asks Robin who, in turn, addresses Nancy.

“Check the bags in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” she says, then a pause. “Steve? Are you okay?”

Steve closes his eyes, leans his head back against the wall. “I’ll be alright, Nance. Don’t worry about me.”

“Too late,” she says, not without humor.

Steve opens his eyes when he feels Robin’s hands on his thighs. “You alright?” She asks softly.

He shrugs, manages a smile. “Do I have a choice?”

“Always,” she says fiercely. “And I don’t care if we’re friends, I’ll ruin it if you want me to. I’ll make her-”

“Robs,” Steve says, almost laughing. “She hasn’t done anything yet, remember?”

Robin stills. “Oh. Right.” Then she shrugs. “I’d do it anyways.”

“Christ, I love you,” Steve laughs. “‘M okay, Robbie. Thanks for patching me up.”

“Always,” she murmurs, not looking up at him. Somehow it’s the most sincere she’s been all day.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Detour 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The burly blond leads you through the airy lobby, our valise in one hand as he drags your rolling bag with the other. He doesn’t pause at the counter, instead tossing out and order as he passes, “Darcy, we have a booking for the Berkano suite.”

A woman looks up over the desk and smiles, her lips painted bright pink as she wears a pair of thick black glasses. “Got it!”

She scribbles in an open book with a pen. Is this village so outdated they haven’t even a proper booking system? They haven’t even asked for a deposit. You’re certainly not a criminal but it’s standard business procedure.

“My card,” you step up and slide it across to her.

“Ma’am,” the blond stops by the wide staircase and faces you.

“In a moment,” you wave him off, “I’m not in the habit of existing on charity.”

“Oh, thanks, uh…” the woman, Darcy, looks at your card like she’s never seen one before. You suppose she doesn’t often see that exact type. She lays it on the page of the book and copies the number and your name beside the suite number. “Here ya are.”

She hands the card back and you arch your brows before twisting on your tall heel. You strut over to the wait brute and gesture him onward.

“There we are, sir.”

“Ma’am,” he drawls again.

“Ma’am,” you scowl.

He scoffs as he turns and lifts the rolling suitcase as he starts up the stairs, “apologies, I didn’t get a name.”

You roll your eyes as you set up after him. You keep a hold of the thick railing as you take careful steps in your stilettos. He easily outpaces you and turns back to watch your deliberate ascent, almost mockingly at the top of the step.

“Thor, if you’re curious,” he offers his name as you come up beside him, “so you would be…”

You huff and recite your name. Hopefully, you won’t have use for his. You check your watch pointedly and he chuckles.

“Ah, city folk, always in a rush even when you have nowhere to go.”

“Oh, I do have place to be,” you insist, “tomorrow, the mechanic will patch my axle and I will drive to the city and trade it in for a proper rental.”

“Mmm, sounds like a good plan,” he remarks and points you to the left, “go on. Number 2117.”

You take his directive, if only to be away from him. You will shut yourself up in the suite and shed the weariness of the day. Why did you think this trip would be anything but stressful? This is why you stick to first class and all-inclusive resorts.

“This one here,” he says as you come up to a door. 

There’s a hand-carved wooden plaque next to the door with the number inscribed; 2117. On the door itself, is an odd emblem wrought in iron; it resembles a B but is pointed where it should be curvy. He stops and lets your suitcase stand on its own as he reaches to his belt, pulling for a key attached to a retractable cord.

“I’ll have Darcy bring you the keys,” he offers as he sidles closer. You step back and watch him unlock the door. “Anything else, my lady?”

“My lady?” You glare at him, “wonderful service.”

“I wasn’t being–”

“Sir, I can handle it from here,” you grasp the handle of the round valise and the suitcase. As you try to rip them away, he doesn’t let go. He’s strong and you’re effort barely affects him. “Please, you’ve done enough.”

He snorts, “you are rather charming.”

You shake your head and yank on your bags again. He lets them go so you stagger. You steady yourself and snarl under a curled lip.

“As are you,” you snipe back, “good evening, sir.”

“Thor,” he intones.

“Whatever,” you snap and drag your suitcase through the door.

Before you can kick it shut, he pulls it closed behind you. You shake your head at him and drop your valise on the side table beneath the oak-framed mirror. A single night will be more than enough for you.

Off the entry of the suite is the door to the bathroom. You flip on the light as you peer inside; it’s large with a round tub in the corner, jets embedded in the sides; a pair of porcelain sinks and a long mirror behind them; a shower booth set into the wall with a transparent glass door; and the toilet beside the cabinet of towels and complementary lotions and soaps.

You shut the light off and proceed further into the room. The suit is divided by a centered wall; a long sofa sits against one side, a television mounted on the wall across from it and two arm chairs placed at an angle on either end of the sofa. A low table in the center of the sitting area and side table just beneath the TV, a vase of flowers atop it, along with the phone, and a kettle and pair of porcelain mugs.

On the other side of that, is the small kitchenette, a small fridge, a single cupboard, an ice bucket on the short counter, and a toaster oven on the shelf above. The other shelves hold a set of sparkling crystal glasses and a matching decanter, along with a large clear jug.

You pass through to the bedroom area. On the opposite wall, a pair of sliding glass doors open onto a balcony. There’s a table outside with two chairs. The bed is a king and is made up in luxurious bedding in a shade of charcoal. The suite melds together shades of white, iron, and some blue hues. 

There is a wardrobe against the dividing wall and night tables on either side of the bed. A chaise stands along the end of the bed and a velvet pouf in the corner. There’s a vanity against another wall with little bulbs around the mirror and a tall-legged seat before it. It is acceptable for the night.

A knock comes at the door and you sigh, expecting the same blond nuisance. Of course, he can’t just leave you be. It isn’t as if your disinterest isn’t radiating off of you. You go to the door and swing it open sharply.

It isn’t him. Thank the lord. It’s the girl from the front desk. Donna? You already forget.

“Here are your keys, miss,” she hands over a keyring with brass skeletons and a matching tag, “oh, and Thor said you were a fan of wine.”

She offers a full-bodied bottle of Chardonnay. This man must believe all the stereotypes. You are hardly a Chardonnay enthusiast, you prefer red to white.

“How thoughtful,” you drone.

“Dinner is in an hour. Just down in the dining room. Tonight is roasted hare.”

“Dinner?” You echo.

“Oh, yes ma’am, all guests are welcome to join.”

“Do you have room service?” You wonder.

“Not exactly, ma’am, but we offer three meals a day downstairs. Just turn left as you’re coming down the stairs and it’s right through the door between the lion statues.”

“Mmm, is there anywhere close by I might get a bite. Privately?”

“Um, there’s a cafe in town but it closes early. And Hank’s eatery is a bout a twenty minutes drive, out by the old lumber mill–”

“Dinner in an hour,” you check your watch, “mmm, I’ll think about it.”

You take the wine and spin, elbowing the door shut. It isn’t your first choice but it will do the job.