#“actually can i get five more of these little blonde bitches” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ashen-char · 22 days ago

Text

if it's not you (i don't wanna talk)

ship: anora x reader (gender neutral)

content: no warnings except ani being a disney adult <3

summary: security!reader and ani have been hooking up. gaining her trust is hard after vanya.

word count: 1600+

Ani takes a long, pissed-off drag of her cigarette, standing outside of HQ with little more than her puffer jacket over her shoulders. The rest of her clothes are typical work attire for the erotic dancer, mesh stockings, high sparkly pleasers, a tight red dress with loose straps that accentuates her figure but comes off with a single motion during her routine. As she exhales a plume of smoke, her eyes lock with yours. You're standing barely ten feet away, stationed by the entrance with your arms crossed as you check everyone who goes in and out. Life as part of HQ's security detail has gotten a lot more interesting after you and Ani started hooking up. Right now, you try not to let your gaze flit over her body, clearing your throat and staying on task.

For her part, Ani also doesn't let your illicit affair slip, talking to Lulu as if you're not even there. "What a fucking waste of time, Lu!" Ani spits, turning to her best friend and fellow dancer who's leaning back against the brick wall, vape poking out from her mouth. "Did you notice the way those assholes have been acting all night? Not tipping for shit, and sure as hell didn't wanna go into a private."

"Fuckin' cheapskates. Tell me about it, girl," Lulu agrees. "I convinced this old dude back to room 6 and for what? Barely enough cash to cover my cab fare home!"

"You'd think they could show a little appreciation, y'know? Buying overpriced drinks and getting sloppy drunk, but not a fucking dime to show for it," Ani scoffs, accent sharp and biting. "I forgot how much this place sucks. Two weeks away and I'm already bitching."

"If he didn't take you on that Disney World honeymoon, you should sell the ring and go yourself, at least," Lulu offers.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Maybe if Jimmy stops being such an asshat about the 'long leave' I took."

They've been swapping this cig and vape as they talked for the last ten minutes, something you had to start counting since Jimmy told you to limit the dancers' smoke breaks to 15 minutes, tops. If you give Ani some extra time to cool off on the down low, no one had to know. She still had that faraway look in her eye sometimes, after coming back from her 'failed marriage' as Diamond would call it.

Your footsteps crunch on the pavement as you approach the two, clipboard in hand. Ani stands up straight at the sight of you, and you hate the way she tenses up, jaw set. You miss the stolen flirtation, the steamy glances she'd throw your way, and the touches you'd let graze over Ani's skin when no one was watching. Miss the way she'd laugh at your jokes even if no one else heard them. Miss the way she'd roll her eyes but melt into your touch whenever you held her.

"Five minutes 'til you have to go back in, Lulu. Think Jimmy mentioned one of your regulars is coming?" A little white lie. You wanna talk to Ani, wanna get things sorted after the last time you two 'hung out'. She's been avoiding being alone with you since last Tuesday, when you left before she woke up, so you haven't had the chance to explain. Explain that it was a family emergency, explain that you didn't plan on leaving her, explain that her bed is one of the few places you can actually rest and relax.

Fuck. You're so sprung.

"Oh, Peter?" Lulu giggles, already fixing up her skirt and her hair at the mention of her regular. "Alright, I'm heading back in. You coming with, Ani?"

Ani's arms cross over her chest, something you can tell is a defensive posture but hopefully Lulu only takes as the same annoyance at the Headquarters cheapskates. "Nah, I'll just finish this," she tells her friend, flicking off some ash from her cigarette and giving Lulu an 'I'm fine' smile. "Go on ahead, I'll see you inside." The blonde accepts this easily, flashing you a polite goodbye as she enters through HQ's double doors.

A beat. Ani isn't looking at you, apparently having decided that the glowing ember at the end of her cig is fascinating. She passes it to you wordlessly but doesn't wanna be the one break the silence. Fair enough.

You sigh. Taking a quick drag since she offered, your words come out with the smoke into the hazy air. "Can we talk? I know I fucked up, but-"

Even that is enough to make the stripper scoff, a bitter laugh escaping her cherry red lips. "Talk?" Anora shakes her head. "Last time we talked, you left." An accusatory finger jabs at your chest, the pointed acrylic of her nail digging in and making it hurt almost as much as her hateful tone. "Before the crack of dawn. Without. A. Damn. Word." Her voice rises with each word, and you glance towards the door to make sure no one overheard.

"Listen to me. I had an emergency. Family shit." Her bitter expression softens the slightest bit, going from a grimace to a frown. "Not that I gotta explain myself to you, since you made it plenty clear we're just fooling around but... I'm not the type to fuck around on a woman I care about."

"Care about?" Ani nods, all sarcastic as she nods and finally, finally looks up into your eyes. "Don't make me fucking laugh, OK? I don't have time for this. I got shit to do. Break's almost over."

"I'll tell Jimmy your break just started now," you barter, but she just laughs, stubbing out her cigarette on the wall and turning on her heel. "Don't run away."

Before you realise it, you've grabbed her elbow. Anora stops. She didn't have to, your touch is barely holding her there, and she could stomp away easily if she really didn't want to hear you out. It tells you she wants to hear this. Wants some assurance that this isn't it, this isn't all you see her as. "Run away? You're the one who ran off, you jackass." And you hate the implicit comparison in that, hate that she's seeing you like her immature dirtbag of an ex.

"I didn't mean to. I should've told you, I know. I didn't think about how it'd look." It's not an explanation but it'll have to be enough. "And I do care. I thought I made that obvious."

She looks at you for a long moment, staring, searching for something in your eyes like she's desperate to believe you. That you really do care, in some fucked-up small way.

"Oh yeah? You care?" she says, in that higher voice she puts on whenever she's mocking whatever poor soul got on her bad side. It stings, but not so bad as the idea that she thinks she's hard to care about. Finds it impossible now, after her runaway pathetic excuse of a husband that left her broken and back on the Headquarters' roster.

"Yes, I do."

She rolls her eyes, but there's no affection in them now. Not like the last time she did it when you two were cuddled up in her bed. "So what was the emergency? Hm?" Ani tilts her head, stalking closer, getting up in your space. "No, actually, you know what? Fuckin' tell me a single thing you know about me that isn't about how good of a fuck I am, or how I feel stretched out on your fingers."

Without skipping a beat, you surprise even yourself when the next words fall out of your mouth. Little things you've noticed when you sleep over, like how she decorates her space or what things make her pretty face fall. "You collect those stupid little Disney figurines that they sell in mystery boxes but don't open them right away because it gives you something to look forward to," you tell her. "Your full name's Anora Mikheeva. You don't like the way it sounds when someone pronounces it wrong, but you don't like when they pronounce it right either. Sounds like your sister when she's yelling at you."

Blinking rapidly, she looks at you like you've grown a second head. You think for a moment that you said too much, showed Ani all your cards, before she starts laughing. "Fuck. What are you, a stalker?" And well, the way she smiles now actually looks impressed. "Fine. I guess you don't just wanna get into my panties, whatever. Kinda sweet of you."

Ani's gaze drops to the ground again, and she kicks at a pebble with the toe of her pleaser. She chews on her bottom lip as she thinks about what you said. You're right, of course, she's got those cute little fuckers lined up on her shelf because they make her smile each afternoon when she's fixing up her hair tinsel. The mystery boxes are a little thrill she gives herself, a silly hobby that makes her feel like a kid again. Cause she grew up too fast.

"Well, so what?" Ani says, but her voice lacks its usual bite. She wants to stand her ground, but she's unconvinced. Noticing things like that is nice, but doesn't explain how you could leave without warning, doesn't convince her that she's cared about for once. "That don't mean shit. You don't know the real me." She wraps her arms around herself tightly, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "No one does." Ani shakes her head, trying to dispel the thoughts racing through her mind.

Your fingertips linger on her skin, as she shifts her arm away, but at least she doesn't turn to go. "I want to," you tell her. "Give me a chance to try."

You must have sounded just genuine enough, because you feel the tell-tale sign of Anora melting into your touch. Accepting your presence. "Buy me an extra mystery box and we're even. And don't even think about ditching me again."

#mikey madison #anora #mikey madison x reader #anora x reader #anora mikheeva #anora mikheeva x reader

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bellysoupset · 6 months ago

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Carsickness?

Leo was bouncing his leg up and down as they waited for Bella and Luke to get out of the house. He was trying to keep an upbeat attitude, after all Jonah was already cranky enough for both of them, but it was hard when those two idiots seemed to always be late for everything.

"How are you gonna run for mayor if you cannot make it to a 9 AM appointment, Luke?" Leo groaned, as they finally walked out, Lucas bouncing on his feet, while Bella trailed after him with a tired demeanor.

"I'm running for mayor?" Luke frowned, jumping the last two steps and messing up Leo's hair, causing the blonde to shove him off with a scoff.

"Give it five years," Leo grumbled, while Jonah simply huffed, arms crossed to his chest and leaning against his car.

"Twenty three minutes," Jon said through his teeth, leveling Lucas with a glare, then Bella as well for good measure, "you two said you'd be waiting for us, twenty three minutes ago."

"Oh my, you're going to die because you waited twenty minutes?" Lucas rolled his eyes, "you're the one who invited us, if you don't want us-"

"Actually, I invited Bella," Leo cleared up, feeling a smidge of amusement over his annoyance that matched his boyfriend's. If there was one thing they could agree on was that being late was terrible.

Luke made a wounded face, all but pouting and stumbling into place, "Ah... You don't want me to go...?"

Well, shit.

More often than not they could joke and all be sarcastic and mean and it barely registered, but in truth the last thing that Leo wanted was to hurt his friends. He let out a sigh, "I didn't say that."

"God, you guys are so mushy," Bella groaned, planting a hand on her husband's back and shoving him forward, "get in the car, Atwood."

It was all the incentive they needed and they got the party on the road. Leo was driving, for once, because he really didn't want to go pick up his new car feeling carsick and woozy. Jonah was still in a shitty mood, but he had retrieved JD from her cat carrier box and was petting her, a clear tell his mood would be looking up soon enough. And Luke wouldn't shut the fuck up.

He was like a little kid, or rather, a puppy trapped in the backseat of their car that was far too small for him. Bella was leaning against the door, curled up slightly and watching him with a fond smile on, not seeming bothered by the fact he didn't seem able to stand still.

Leo wondered if he had that same type of stupid love struck look on when he looked at Jonah, because for all Bella wanted to upkeep her bitchface, she was clearly smitten to hell and back.

"Do you guys wanna stop for breakfast?" Luke pushed his face slightly against the window as they drove by a side of the road restaurant.

"Our appointment is at 10h30 AM" Jonah reminded them, "no stopping."

"Can we turn music on?"

"No."

"You're gonna remove that stick from your ass or...?" Lucas rolled his eyes, sliding his had in between seats so he could pet JD, only for Jonah to turn his body away, shielding the cat.

Leo caught Bella's eyes in the rearview mirror and she was grinning like mad, leaning to whisper in his ear, "they're never beating the sibling allegations."

Leo snorted at the thought, glancing at Jonah once more and the frankly very similar jawline he had with Luke... Whatever. They had enough family drama without needing to turn their group into a full blown soap opera with paternity reveals and what not.

The shop they were headed to was in Portland and not the best area of the town, hence why Leo had asked Bella to tag along. If there was one person in their friend group that he trusted with mechanics it was Bell, and even more so to kick the ass of anyone trying to scam him.

The opportunity had just been too good to pass up, a beautiful white SUV that had Leo already imagining himself inside of it like a prince and better yet, that fit the price he had set for himself. Of course Jonah had bitched and moaned about getting a second hand car, but he could bitch and moan all he wanted, Leo wanted to pay for his own car thank you very much.

Again, if there was anyone who understood that, it was Bella and her Jurassic car, that was older than both their ages combined.

"Uhm, Leo," Bella poked his shoulder, "can you pull over? Over there," she pointed over his shoulder to a quiet street in a bit of a broke down neighborhood. No, he did not want to pull over Jon's fancy BMW, but he did anyway.

"What's wrong?" Lucas asked, who had successfully managed to pspspsp JD to rest her little head in his hand, turning to look at his wife.

"Just a second," Bella mumbled, pushing his had away from her waist when Luke tried to hold her, and opening the door.

She circled the car and Leo frowned, looking at Jon with a puzzled expression, "what the hell...?" in the rearview mirror he saw Bella brace against the trunk, taking deep, measured breaths... Then bend down and disappear from view.

"What the fuck!?" Leo echoed his incredulity, throwing his own door open just in time to hear her retching, half muffled by Luke's exaggerated, "BELL!"

Leo got out as well, while Jon kept his ass planted inside, but threw open his door, carefully moving JD back to her carrier.

As soon as Leo rounded the back, he found Bella almost down to her knees, coughing. She was holding on the back of the car with one hand, while the other one was trying - and sort of failing - to keep back her hair. There was a small puddle of vomit, but nothing much.

"Why didn't you say you were feeling sick, baby?!" Lucas skipped down to his knees, grabbing her and starting to rub her back, causing Bella to let out an annoyed groan.

"I'm fine..." She panted, eyes squeezed shut and breathing slowly through her mouth. Leo raised his eyebrows, not sure if he was impressed by her ability to lie in face of the evidence or not.

"Did you get carsick?" he asked, sidestepping the mess and Bella shook her head, blowing out a small burp and leaning more forward. Luke planted a hand on her forehead, supporting her head as her stomach, appearing thanks to her crop top, heaved once more.

Leo cringed in sympathy and returned to the car, where Jonah had a queasy frown on, "no," Leo knelt on the seat, poking his fiancé, "no bitching at her for getting sick, be nice."

"I'm not a dog," Jonah barked at him and JD meowed, sounding offended just like her owner. Leo snorted, grabbing a water bottle in the glovebox and showing his tongue to his cat.

"Stop siding with him, little miss, he doesn't even give you extra snacks," Leo whispered, then walked back to the back, where Bella was trying and failing to cough up more of last night's dinner.

"Shh," Luke held her hair back now, deciding to make himself useful, and was rubbing her back with the other hand, "deep breaths, baby."

"Shut- Shut up," Bella groaned, gulping down nauseously. She lifted up her head to look at Leo, "I'm sorry..." her throat bobbed dangerously, "just give me a minute."

"No, take your time," Leo frowned, "don't worry about the appointment, the guy can wait ten minutes."

The irony of his words, when they had been bitching about waiting just an hour before, was not lost on Leo and he opened a smile. Bella offered him a little queasy smirk, before groaning, "oh god-" and heaving again, managing to bring up a mouthful of brightly colored stuff against the tarmac.

A gruesome sight, really. Leo's disgust probably showed on his face, because Luke glared over Bella's head, "go away," he said roughly and Leo jumped, spooked.

"Sorry, I- I'm gonna give you some privacy, sorry-" he walked backwards to the driver's side and entered, feeling a stab of guilt. He didn't mean to make Bella self conscious, hopefully this was just Luke being insane...

"Is she alright?" Jon asked, glancing at the rearview mirror. They couldn't see much, just Luke rubbing his wife's back and Bella's bending down with another heave, "that was out of nowhere."

"It's this stupid stanced car," Leo grumbled, crossing his arms, "I wouldn't survive 10 minutes in the back."

"My car is not stanced," Jon wrinkled his nose, offended, "it's just a sports car."

"The back is cramped."

"Luke was fine and he's twice her size," Jonah pointed out, then perked up as the couple in question walked back to the car.

Bella collapsed inside, holding the water bottle to her face, appreciating the cool surface. Her voice was all raspy as she said, "sorry, guys," she gulped down, "don't know what happened."

"Carsickness is a bitch," Leo volunteered, then nearly laughed as he saw Luke trying to fix Bella's top and her shoving his hand away and hissing, "stop fussing, I'm fine."

"Hold on," Leo turned up the A/C to the max, knowing it'd help and Bella let out a small relieved sigh. She opened her eyes, seeming to be coming back to her former self, then unscrewed the cap of the water bottle, taking a sip.

"Let's go?"

"You don't want us to wait a minute?" Luke frowned, stroking her cheek despite Bella's previous shoves, "just so your stomach settles?"

"It's plenty settled," she cleared her throat, taking a bigger gulp, "c'moooon, I'm not dying. Let's go, we're getting blondie a new car today."

And sure, she was all show and badass attitude, but Bella did look better. Her paleness was fading quickly and she no longer was gulping down nervously. Nevertheless, Leo kept an eye on her, just in case.

The mechanic wasn't far out, but the guy smelled like beer and immediately assumed Bella and Leo were together, since they were the first to enter. How the guy hadn't clocked him as gay was beyond Leo, but he bit his tongue and said nothing as the mildly homophobic man continued to chat up Bella as if she was the airhead wife who called the shots of their relationship with pouts and whines.

"It's a nice car, right ma'am?" the man opened the driver's door for Bella, adjusting the seat, "gonna impress all your friends, it's a head turner."

"I know, right?" Bella's voice was up a whole note to a chilling degree and Leo opened a huge smile at her cheerleader tone, "Leo, sweetheart, look at the automatic panel..."

"Its got a blindspot detector," the mechanic continued to prattle on, "it's keyless and-" he clicked on a button, opening the trunk, "a huge trunk for all sorts of groceries."

"A big trunk, Leo!" Bella squealed and Leo had to press his lips not to laugh, "he loves it, if you know what I mean," she winked and the man nodded in approval, letting his eyes go down Bell's body, completely missing the double meaning.

"Yes, ma'am, he's a lucky man," he said patting the leather seat, "the backseat is spacious, you wanna check it?"

"Absolutely," Bella jumped from the driver's seat so she could climb in the back.

Leo took the chance since they were both preoccupied, so he could look back to where Luke and Jon were waiting at the doors of the garage, both silently shaking with giggles. Jonah's face was an entire shade darker with a blush and he looked close to tears from the effort of holding back laughter.

"Can we take a look under the hood, Keith?" Bella asked and the man eagerly approved.

"Of course, darling, c'mere-" he opened the hood, then did nothing, gesturing around, "as you see, it's all in order-"

"Battery is not original," Bella's voice was now back to its own normal tone and the man seemed startled, "neither is the painting, the car used to be orange," she pointed a detail, "and-" she started unscrewing something that was totally beyond Leo's knowledge, then turned around and grabbed a metal rod from one of the mechanic benches, cleaning it and shoving it inside the compartment she had just unscrewed, "this oil is from the last century, he'll need to get this changed ASAP. You're gonna reduce the price of that, of course- Did you change out the radiator? Why?"

Keith looked like he had just seen a magic trick and his brain was trying and failing to figure it out. He spluttered a bit, so Bella planted her hands on her hips, "Keith?"

In the end, Leo got two thousand bucks off the price he had originally planned to pay, as well as a whole wheel, that they gracefully put in the really large trunk.

They drove out separately now, Leo and Bella in the new vehicle, and Jon, Luke and JD in Jonah's car, "I kinda miss having keys," Leo pouted, "I was gonna get a cute keychain."

"You can still get one for your house keys," Bella smiled, leaning in to squeeze his arm, "and for the emergency car keys."

"I guess," he couldn't stop smiling, "at least now you're not gonna be carsick on the drive back. I'm sorry, we should've thought Jonah's car was cramped as hell and taken Luke's-"

"I wasn't carsick," Bella shrugged, lowering her window and smiling as Jon zoomed past them, honking for good measure. It was probably Luke driving.

"No?"

"Nah, felt off since I woke up," her cheeks turned pink, hand sliding to her stomach in a fond manner... And Leo nearly drove his brand new (sorta) car straight into a lamp post.

"Bella?!"

"No," she shook her head, then paused, "I don't know, don't think so," Bella bit down her lip, seeming hesitant for the first time all day, all the brilliant confidence he had seen before vanishing in a puff, "don't tell anyone, not that there's anything to tell, just-"

"Does Luke-" his mouth was really dry now and his heart was hammering, as if Leo was the father of Bella's hypothetical baby. She shrugged, uncomfortable.

"Please don't say anything," she looked away, "like I said, it's probably not it."

"Ah," Leo's head was spinning now and he stopped at a red light, catching up with Luke and Jonah. The window lowered and Jonah poked his head out, sunglasses on and whistling.

"Hey handsome!" he yelled and Leo lowered his window, but he was really off his game now, "can I have your number!?"

He chuckled weakly, while Bella leaned over him, "fuck off, he's taken, Jonah!" she said brightly, squeezing Leo's arm so he'd get himself together, "suuuuch a lucky guy to land a beautiful woman like me, Keith said so!"

Jonah cackled, raising a middle finger and lowered his sunglasses, a lopsided smile on as he caught Leo's eyes, "race you home?" Luke made the BMW roar.

Bella scoffed, patting Leo's shoulder, "c'mon, blondie, get your shit together. Your car is cooler than Jon's prehistoric BMW!" she shouted the last line and Jonah continued to laugh.

"Can't hear you over the noise of you LOSING!"

Leo shook his head, catching Bella's eyes and then squeezed her hand in his, forcing up a smile and turning to her, "put your seatbelt on, Bell," then to Jonah, leaning out of his window as well, "eat dust, motherfucker."

All he heard was Jonah saying, "crush 'em," to Luke before the lights turned green.

#mywriting #sickfic #emeto #emetophilia #isabella martinez #isabella martinez-atwood #heheehehehe FINALLY this worked out #all I had to do was make it silly

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sensei-venus · 1 year ago

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Spit On Me- Poly!Cobra Gang/Chubby!Reader

(Unedited) (Spit Kink, Cum Play, Oral Sex/Blow Jobs, Rough BJ, Face Slapping)

Reader could hardly think after so many rounds of pure debauchery took place. If felt like it had been going on for hours now. Round after round with every one of the boys. All of them using her face and as they pleased. Using her mouth and soft cheeks to get off to.

Tommy had long since pulled her top off and yanked her bra off. It laid somewhere in the hectic basement. Discard on the floor with the rest of her clothes, along with some of the boys shirts. Tommy was the one to take all of her clothes off after a few good rounds of using her mouth. Growing board of watching the other boys take their turns with their hot girlfriend. He pulled off every art I of her clothing before settling on her tits for the night. Lapping and sucking on the soft flesh of her breasts.

He giggled to himself as Reader whimpered from above him. His teeth softly bit into her hard nipple, just enough to send a jolt of pain up her spin. She moaned around Ducth who just chuckled. Grabbing a fist full of her hair and using her mouth to his heart's content. It was his third turn using her mouth, his dick slowly started to sputter. Just another round of two and he would be completely done. The girl was on her own slow descent, her jaw aching and she had long since lost her ability to breathe right. Dutch’s dick left little room to breathe.

Her eyes dripped with fat wet tears that fell down her cheeks.

Tommy sucked harder around one of her nipples as she gagged around the fat dick in her mouth once more. It hit the back of her throat just right to make her eyes cross a little and her mind go blank.

“Fuck! Babe I'm going to cum again! Better open that mouth up real wide for me!”

He gagged her a few more times, her poor thoat bubbled with nasty wet garggles. Spit bubbles out of the corners of her lips. She tried her best to suck him but only a dribble of cloudy white spilled from around his shaft with every new thrust. Seconds later he rips himself from her lips and starts to jerk himself.

Violently the bleached blonde strokes at himself. His eyes are trained on his girlfriend's face the whole time, only glancing down to watch Tommy work at her tits. He pops off one with a pop and starts to suck on her other nipple.

Seconds later he takes notice of the other guys around him. All of them joining him to around the girl, looming over her kneeling figure. He smirks as he watches them, tugging at their own hard cocks. All of them fanning around the girl and placing their dicks right in front of her face.

With one final tug Dutch is gaining and busting his load all over her face. The other are soon to follow. Reader lets out a small gasp as her face is splattered with hot cum. It lands all over her face in large sperts. Thick layers of it fall over her open lips, over her cheeks and eyes. Some of it even lands on her forehead and hair making her whine. It spills through her lashes making her whimper.

“Stupid bitch, covered in our fat loads and still winning.”

Her brain is on over load as she gets to live in the moment. She's covered in multiple loads from four of her five boyfriends. It's sliding down her nose and cheeks, cascading down her chin and neck. It even goes down to her fat tits where Tommy is quick to lick it up. She feels hot all over, her eyes fluttering open looking up at them. Trying her very best to finally breathe again.

“Dont worry. We can give you something to whimper and bitch. Filthy covered in cum. You know what might help, this.” she hears it before she can actually feel it. The thick sound of lungs and wetness fills the room. It echo a around before she almost spins back on her knees. Dutch fingers and strong hand keep her still as a new thick liquid hits her face.

It's several different times in the matter of seconds that she feels the new sensation on her skin. A mix of warm and cool cover her face in the old liquid. It takes her a moment to understand what they where doing.

They where spitting all over her face.

She moans out as she feels it layer her skin, thick fingers dig into her jaw. Keeping her still as they work on their assault. She wants to say it's gross, that it's some of the most nastiest shit they have done.

But deep down she can’t come out and say it. Because deep down, she likes it. She should hate it like any sane person should. Being spit on was low of the low and one of the grossest things that could happen to someone.

But Reader was liking it a little to much.

A second later she cries out as something hits her in the face.

It’s not hard enough to actually hurt her but it does leave a wet pop on her skin. She’s more in shock then in pain. She realizes a second later that it’s Jimmy who just popped her in the cheek. A moment later she feels Dutch move his hand from her jaw to do the same thing. He’s a bit rougher as she slaps her in the mouth. His fingers digging into her mouth just a little bit. Reader moans at the pain and another slap is made from another direction. Dutch plays with her wide tongue for a minute, playing with the wet mess he helped make in her mouth. He drags his digits from her mouth, running a thumb over her tongue.

She wants to suck at the thick finger but he doesn’t give her a chance.

More fingers join his as they help to rub the mixed fluids all over her face. Making patters with the liquids. Mixing them with their fingertips and drawing on her skin with the thick mix. Her eyes are barely open, watching them from cracked eyelids.

Someone scoops up a finger full of spit and taps it against her lips. Another hand rubs the spit and cum right into her skin making her even more a mess. She moans at the feeling, the hand working it into her warm flush. Her skin glistened with the milky-colored fluid. The light overhead is perfect.

Another slap to the face followed by a “Who’s our good little bitch huh?”

“M-me….”

-Slap-

After a few minutes the slaps stop and the fingers and hands leave her face. She doesn't want to open her eyes again. Too much spit and cum covers her lashes and eyelids. Lightly she flinches back a little when something wet and soft moves across her eyes. It's slightly warm and rough, wet with water that slightly trickles over her lightly abused face. She figures its a wet rag as its dragged over her skin.

It cleans off most of the is left on her face from the boy's earlier actions. Tommy has backed off and no longer fondle her sore breasts. The room is quiet except for soft breathing which she can barely hear. Her ears are deaf to the sounds of the room.

Soft lips press into her sore left cheek, lightly and so gently. She sighs as she slowly starts to relax. A new set of lips join in the actions as they meet the right side of her neck and trail up to her ear. Light nibbles on the bottom of her ear get her attention.

Her eyes open fully and finds Bobby on her left and Johnny on her right. Blond hair fills one side of her vision while the other is caught off guard by chestnut brown. Bobby's hair tickles her making her lightly laugh. Her voice still weary from Dutch’s dick being shoved down her throat.

Looking around she finds Jimmy passed out on a near by couch, Tommy beside him in a similar state. Reader can only guess that Dutch ran off to take a quick shower.

“You did so good for us honey. Sorry Ducth kinda got a little rough there.”

“Yeah, but it was so hot babe. Seeing you covered in our spit and cum like that. You liked it didn't you? We could tell.” Johnny chucked next to her ear. His blue eyes looked into hers. Her cheeks started to get a little warm at his tone.

Johnny liked it, he really liked it she could tell by the look on his face.

He chewed on his bottom lip, his cheeks and chest going a pink hue. That was always a dead ringer on how the blond was feeling.

Bobby's ears were starting to change to a nice red. The very tips went crimson under his fluffy locks. He was just as bad as Johnny with their body giving them away. She wanted to giggle but all she could do was nod. The way they acted was like they got caught doing something overly naughty. Something that never happens often for the big bad cobra boys.

They definitely didn't think things over before trying it that night. But it was clear that they all enjoyed the new experience.

Reader couldn't say she didn't like it either.

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cielcreations · 1 year ago

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Hazbin Hermits - Prologue

AN: Hermitcraft/Empires/3rd Life Series X Hazbin Hotel AU.

Meaning lots of cursing, fighting, blood, violence, flirting, shipping, sexual innuendos/implied sexual content, and pretty much everyone is a bad person to some degree.

If you don't like your favorite characters made to be not so great people, then do not read.

"Good afternoon! I'm Katherine Killjoy!"

"And I'm Joey JaxHammer! Chaos outside pentagram city today, as a turf war is raging on the west side between notable kingpins Lord Fwhip and self-proclaimed spunky powerhouse Mythical Sausage!"

"That's right Joey! After the recent extermination, many areas are now up for grabs! Demons all over Hell are already duking it out to gain new territory!"

"Those two seem to be really going at it, huh?"

"Looks like they're fighting tooth and nail for that hotspot!"

"And I'd like to nail their hotspots, am I right, fellas~?"

"Haha, you are a limp dick jackass, Joey! Or should I say-" Katherine poured her hot coffee on his lap, the man hissing and moving before she could actually spill it on his dick, "-no dick?"

"Bitch." The man hissed.

"Coming up next, we have an exclusive interview with the younger son of Hell's own head honcho, who's here to discuss his brand-new passion project!"

"All that, after the break!" Joey exclaimed, taking his mug and pouring his coffee on Katherine's head.

"YOU LITTLE SH-"

The two looked away from the TV. The blue haired demon tugged the tie a bit tighter, just to make the prince look more presentable.

"Okay." He finished, stepping back, "Are you ready? You remember what to say?"

The blonde took a deep breath, his purple eyes widening in excitement as he exclaimed, "Yes! Let's do this!"

"Just, look at me, and I'll mouth it to you, Zed." The man grabbed the prince's shoulders.

Zed had light blonde hair with brown ram horns, pale skin, wearing a black suit with a red tie, no shoes so his hooves could breath.

"Ugh, come ooooon, Tango, I know what to say!" Zed reassured, smiling, "But, I do think we should make it a bit more interesting! I-I mean, I don't want to go up there and sound robotic, you know?"

Tango, normally, had yellow hair, that could change into different colors depending on how hot he got. Since he could control fire and such, his hair would change colors to match the fire type and, sometimes, it could even turn on fire. His skin was pale with a bit of a blue tint, his nails sharpened into claws. He wore a black crop top and black shorts, long black heeled boots. He also had black belts wrapped around his waist with golden buckles, black cloth to create an overskirt. (Art of Tango by @/lunarcrown)

"I get that, babe, but this is serious." Tango reminded him, "You can't go up there and squeal and giggle the whole time. It's adorable, yes, but not all sinners are going to trust and believe in your project unless you look serious and you know what you're doing."

"I told you through a fit of excited squeals."

"Yeah, and I listened because I know and believe in you." The demon motioned to the others, "These sinners don't. They don't know you, they barely know your older brother, and they certainly won't believe in you at first. It's why you gotta go up there, show them who's in charge, and act like this plan is full-proof!"

"But we don't know if it is..." Zed reminded.

"Your right, and neither do they." Tango booped his nose, "Which is our advantage. No one knows if this works, but if we act like we're the experts, people believe."

"Prince Zedaph? Five minutes before we're live." A demon called.

Tango smiled at the blonde, kissing his forehead, "You got this! I'll be right behind the camera, so if you need me?"

Zed nodded, smiling, "Don't worry, I got this!"

He turned around, walking to the desk and smiling, offering his hand, "Hi, I'm Zed-"

"Katherine Killjoy." The female anchor hissed, "You can put that away. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but that would be a lie." She then sneered, "Look, my time is money, so I'll keep this short. You're not here because we wanted you here. You're here because Jeffery couldn't make it to his cannibal cooking segment! You may be some royal bigshot, but that doesn't mean shit to me! I'm too rich and influential to giving a flying fuck about some tux wearing demon 'prince'-" (she put "prince" in quotations, as if Zed wasn't one) "-wants to advertise."

Zed narrowed his eyes, "Listen-"

Katherine leaned forward, glaring, "So don't get cute with me, or I'll fucking break you!"

"And we're live!"

Katherine zoomed to her seat, tilting her head so much, it sounded like she broke it, "Welcome back!" Once Zed was sat down, she spoke again, "So, Zedaph!"

The blonde's eyes twitched as he smiled awkwardly, "It's Zed-"

"Whatever! Tell us about this new passion project you've been insistently pestering our news station about!"

"Welllllll..." Zed looked around at the demons, Tango standing by the camera man with a smile and thumbs up. He smiled and took a deep breath as he spoke, "As most of you know, I was born here in Hell and growing up, I tried to see the good in everything around me. Hell is my home and you are my people. We just went through another extermination and we lost so many souls! It breaks my heart seeing my people being slaughtered every year!" He slammed his fist on the table, sighing, "No one is even given a chance and I can no longer stand idly by when the place I call home, the place I love, is constantly being destroyed!"

He stood up, smiling, "So, I've been thinking, isn't there a more humane way to hinder Hell's overpopulation? Perhaps we can find a new alternative way to save souls through redemption? I think yes, and that's what this project aims to achieve! Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, I'm opening the first of its kind! A hotel that rehabilitates sinners!"

Everyone was silent, staring at the man.

Everyone outside stared at the TV.

One in particular tilted his head in curiosity.

Everyone in the news station... started laughing.

Zed shrunk in on himself as Tango moved to stand beside him, his blue hair turning into flames as he glared at everyone.

"What in the nine circles makes you think a single person in hell would give two shits about becoming a 'better person?!'" Katherine cackled, "You have no proof that this actually works and you want people to be good just because?!"

"You have no proof it doesn't work!" Tango hissed, flames surrounding his body, "Besides, we already have a patron who's showing incredible improvement!"

"Ooooooh, and who might that be~?" Katherine sneered.

Tango leaned forward, intentionally burning her wooden table with a smirk, "Oh, just someone named, SmallishBeans."

"The pornstar?" Joey asked.

"You fucking would, Joey." Katherine glared before snickering, "In any case, that's hardly an accomplishment! I'm sure you can get that hooker to do anything with enough lube and sugar!"

Tango continued to burn her table, the woman looking ready to scratch his eyes out as he drew little doodles, "I beg to differ."

Zed also perked up, smirking, "He's been behaved, clean, and out of trouble for two weeks now!"

"Breaking news!"

Katherine perked up before she smirked, pushing the men away, "We just received word that a new player has entered the ongoing turf war! Let's go to the live feed!"

They turned to the TV and Tango pinched his temples as he tried to control himself, Zed muttering out, "Oh shit."

"Oh shit, indeed!" Katherine exclaimed, "It appears the one to join is none other than porn actor Joel, aka, SmallishBeans!" She looked at the two, "What a juicy coincidence! I bet you feel real stupid right now! How does it feel to be a total and utter failure?!"

She began laughing, everyone did, once more.

Tango tried to control himself as Zed clenched his fists.

The prince looked at Tango with glowing red eyes, "Fucking, show them who's boss."

Tango smirked, his teeth sharpening to points, "Gladly."

He jumped across the table, lighting everything on fire as he began to beat Katherine and Joey.

***

The prince and his boyfriend sat in a limo, across from the other sinner. The sinner had brown hair with a green streak in the middle of his hair, matching his green eyes and green antenna. He wore a long white and light green suit blazer, the top unbuttoned and showing off his muscular chest. He had black shorts and long, knee length black heeled boots. To top it off, he had green transparent fairy wings on his back.

They watched as he rolled the window up and down, clearly in his own little world. Eventually, he seemed to notice the two were staring at him.

The brunette stopped, leaned back, and shrugged, "What?"

"'What?' 'WHAT?!'" Tango screamed, his hair turning to blue, almost purple flames, "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, JOEL?!"

"Ugh, I had too, I owed Sausage a solid!" Joel huffed, "Isn't that one of those 'redeeming qualities'? Helping friends and all that?!"

Zed leaned into the window with a groan as Tango reprimanded him, "Not in turf wars that result in genocide?!"

"Meh, you win some, you loose a few hundred!"

"Joel, that was really not cool." Zed groaned, "You just... You made us look like jokes!"

"Nah, chill out, jokes are funny! I made you all look sad and pathetic!"

"Oh, cause that's any better?!" Tango growled.

"Look, I had to!" Joel argued, "My reputation was on the line! You know what people would say if they found out I was trying to go clean?! Not to mention, people would know where I am and try to break into the hotel to get some of me! Do you want a whole mob down there?"

"Listen, if you want to stay here, you need to take this shit seriously!" Tango demanded, walking towards the brunette, "We're not going to give you a free room, free food, free whatever else if all you do is fuck around! So, you either sit down, buckle the fuck up, and try to redeem yourself and help the hotel's reputation, that you burned to cinder!" He glared, flames coming out of his mouth, "Got it?"

Joel groaned, "Okay, fine, whatever."

"C-Calm down, Tango." Zed offered his hand, Tango moving to sit beside him again, "I-It's not over yet, we can still try! It'll be okay!"

The limo stopped at the hotel and the three went inside. Tango flopped on the couch with a groan, Joel grabbing a popsicle and sitting in a chair. Zed groaned and went to go upstairs, only to stop.

Someone knocked on the door.

He walked towards it and opened the door.

In front of him stood a tall dirty blonde man with his eyes closed, wearing a blue striped coat with dark blue sleeves, the coat falling to his knees. Underneath the coat, he wore a white dress shirt with a black upside down cross on the chest, as if to resemble a tie, long black dress pants with bright blue cuffs. Over his feet, he wore black heeled boots that rested under his pants. Behind his back, he held a long thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone attached to it.

The whole time, he smiled.

Zed shrunk a little as the man opened his eyes. He had black sclera with blue eyes, staring down at the prince.

"HELLO!" He spoke, his voice altered to sound like that of a broadcast.

Zed shut the door on instinct, "Uh, Tango?"

"Whaaaaat?" The flame demon groaned.

"The Radio Demon is at the door!"

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #empires smp #empireshipping #third life series #third life smp #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #hermitcraft au #empires smp au #empires au #third life smp au #zedaph #tangotek #solidaritygaming #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans

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californiaboytoybilly · 1 year ago

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HoHoHoe Week Day One: Childhood Bedroom

Pairing: Harringrove (Steve x Billy) CW: Domestic bickering, oral sex, biting. WC: 1.4K AO3: Link "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"

Steve groaned miserably, dropping his head into his palms for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath.

Billy let out an absolute cackle of delight, looking around at Steve's childhood bedroom. Steve immediately regretted agreeing when his mother told him to bring Billy home for Christmas.

The blond was still in awe, muttering something about the wallpaper with a smirk twitching up the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, we only have an hour until they get home…" Steve tried to distract him, dropping their bags on the floor next to the desk and then pushing the door closed. "Gotta make use of the time before we're stuck down the hall from my parents for five days, and we have to behave."

Billy hummed noncommittally from the middle of the room, "I think the wallpaper permanently killed my dick, actually. Rest in peace, big guy."

Steve absolutely rolled his eyes at that, hard enough he could almost hear his grandmother lecture him about his face getting stuck.

At some point, he'd made his way behind Billy, who made a rumbling noise low in his throat and tilted his head to grant access as Steve's lips trailed over where his pulse beat steady and strong in his throat. "Bet I can revive it." He teased, huffing out a laugh.

"Might need a blindfold," Billy still managed to bite back even as his breath came out a little shakier, Steve pushing him towards the bed. The brunette grinned, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin in reply.

"I don't think I will."

Billy grunted as he was unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, curls flying around his head as the springs squeaked loudly in protest. Before he could bitch about being manhandled, Steve blanketed his body with his own and pressed their lips together.

Still, his boyfriend nipped his lip sharply in rebuke, getting his little payback in any way he could. Steve mumbled the word 'asshole' against his lips in return, his muffled tone still drowning with affection.

Despite his earlier protests about the continued liveliness of his dick, it took Billy little time to wiggle out of his jeans and kick them to the floor as Steve lavished him with slow, lazy kisses and fleeting touches. The blond man was never exceptionally patient, which didn't change in bed. It made teasing him infinitely more fun, though.

"I'm going to keep picking apart your room until you give me something else to think about." Billy threatened, a little too worked up to really sound remotely intimidating. Steve didn't hurry his pace too much, bunching the red cotton shirt the man wore up around his ribs as he started to trail his mouth a little lower.

But Billy wasn't one to make empty threats.

"So… how many of Hawkins' future simpering housewives lost their virginity in this plaid hellscape? What a memory that must b- ouch!"

Steve, having had enough of his commentary, had sunk his teeth into the skin covering the younger man's hip bone and was almost positive he heard Billy sulkily call him a bastard through a sharp intake of breath in response, but hey- it had the desired effect. A distinct lack of taunting filled the room now.

He didn't give him too long to pout, though, thumbs hooking in the waistband of his underwear and tugging them down. Billy's neck was cast into sharp relief as he leaned his head back, throat bobbing once as Steve leaned down to brush a kiss over the spot he'd previously bitten.

Almost an apology, even if he didn't feel so bad.

Thick fingers slid into his hair, pushing him down further towards where Billy pressed hot, heavy and flushed against his navel in a way that made Steve nearly bite through the tip of his tongue, snickering. "God, you'd think you didn't initiate this for how long you've taken without actually doing anything." Billy snipped, a hint of a whine at the end of his sentence. Steve smiled again.

God, he loved this man, impatience and all.

Finally, having finished drawing it out, Steve gave his boyfriend a little warning before leaning in, flattening his tongue and dragging it up the underside of solid velvet skin until he reached the tip and parted his lips in one smooth movement.

When he'd first gotten together with Billy, Steve had struggled to take even half of him. Billy was the first and only man he'd ever been with- and if he had his way, it'd stay that way. He'd been a mess every time back then, jaw aching from the foreign stretch, eyes watering, and drool coating his chin.

It was only with a little hint of smugness that he now took him nearly in full in one go, breathing out through his nose and pushing past the spasm of his throat until he felt his shoulders relax.

"Fuck-" Billy's voice cracked on the exclamation, fingers tightening in his hair almost painfully. Little shocks danced across Steve's scalp, dragging a muffled moan out of him as his hips rutted down against the mattress for friction. Billy made a pleased sound.

They knew each other's weak spots well, but the familiarity never got boring like he'd always heard other guys complain about. Steve certainly didn't miss the days of his love life being one date, sex, rinse and repeat.

Steve had once read about treating your lover's body like a well-practiced instrument. At the time, he remembered rolling his eyes as he read it to Robin off the glossy magazine page, only for her to admit she thought that sounded romantic.

He'd cracked some joke about band kids that had caught him a freckled knee to the ribs at the time, but reflecting back on it years later, he understood the romance in it that he'd missed then.

Billy's taste, his musky natural scent and a hint of cologne, the little rolls of his hips that he tried so hard to control but never could. Steve could pick up the difference in every sigh, every flex of his muscles, every twitch of his mouth.

Hazel eyes turned upwards as he hollowed his cheeks, desperate to watch Billy slowly crumble apart at the seams. It was his favourite sight, watching the man who'd perfected wall building before he was in middle school let go, allowing Steve to pull him apart.

Please make no mistake; he did allow it. Steve had tried to break through that wall on days when Billy couldn't bring himself to let it fall even though he wanted to, and that had been an impossible task.

Not today, though. Billy's hair-dusted thighs were pliant on either side of his head, core relaxed and moans unrestrained. It was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

Steve could feel a heady heat crawling through his veins, skin sparking and abdomen tightening in a way that told him there would be no need for reciprocation after he finished the blond. He'd always loved giving more than receiving, no matter how good both felt.

Snaking his hand between his body and the bed, he let the other slide down to possessively grip Billy's leg as he really started to put his all into getting them both off. As much as he liked working him up, they were on a bit of a time limit, and he knew better than to think Billy could be quiet if they pushed this too long.

As highlighted by the sharp groan of his name that followed as Steve pulled off with a filthy sound, tongue licking up the trail of saliva and precome as he made his way a little lower.

"Please-" Billy slurred, about to protest the loss of wet warmth when Steve curled his tongue around the other man's balls, rolling them lazily and drawing them into his mouth. Billy's back arched, thighs tensing and abdomen quivering. "Shit!"

There it was.

Steve would've grinned if his mouth wasn't otherwise occupied, humming as he let go of Billy's leg to start stroking him, quick and messy, perfectly timed with the pace he was working himself to the edge.

It didn't take long.

Barely thirty more seconds passed before Billy's pleading and praises reached a crescendo, voice cracking through every syllable. Steve let Billy's balls fall from his mouth and moved fast, continuing the slick movements of his hand as he opened his mouth and looked up at Billy through his lashes.

Billy came with a mangled sound, ocean blue eyes locked on Steve's flushed face as he was turned into a portrait of debauchery. Billy gasped, muttering a curse under his breath at the sight he made. As he reached down to swipe a little of his mess off of Steve's upper lip, he felt his tired dick throb painfully as Steve pulled the digit into his mouth and sucked it clean.

Before the blond could even form a single sentence after having his brain scrambled, Steve's blissed-out expression shifted into a smug grin.

"That's why those girls didn't give a shit about the room." He purred. But he must've looked too victorious for Billy's sake because then-

"Oh, you suck on their balls too?" This was going to be an incredibly long week.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #🌌 — w r i t i n g #billy x steve #steve x billy #hohohoe23 #nsft #harringrove fic #harringrove smut

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iamawolfstarsimp · 1 year ago

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Sup bitches im back

And ik its been a freaking long ass time since I've actually posted a fic but I've been dealing with alot of business and stress in my personal life and have had absolutely 0 motivation to write but I'm back and hopefully I won't be ghosting ya'll like that again lol

But anywho today I'm stepping a little out of my comfort zone today and writing some drarry (its actually one of my fav ships even though I've never writing for it), it's just a little drabble but hope you like

So yeah enjoy

They hadn't meant for Draco to stay the night in Harry's bunk but by the time Harry had checked his watch, Draco was already set on falling asleep in his arms. (And what kind of person was he to rouse such an adorable sight?)

Harry shifted quietly, rolling over to look at the boy laying next to him.

So he was stuck in his current predicament, and while Draco was the cutest thing while sleepy he was also extremely grumpy. But, at this rate they were going to be late for both breakfast and class.

He hesitantly shook Draco lightly, watching to see his reaction.

The blonde boy stirred slightly and then grumbled and shoved his face back into the pillow beneath him.

Harry sighed through his nose and shook him a little harder, even daring to murmur in Draco's ear to try and wake him.

"Draaaco.." Harry whispered next to the shell of his ear. "Time to get up, love."

"Piss off."

"Come one, it's nearly eight." Harry tugged at his arm.

"Go away, Potter."

Harry huffed and re-thought his course of action.

"If I cuddle with you for five more minutes will you get up?"

There was a long pause where he could practically hear Draco thinking.

"Fine." He mumbled and shifted so Harry could properly cuddle him.

Harry smiled and happily snuggled up with him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He nestled his head in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, kissing him again.

Harry almost lost track of time by falling asleep again (wasn't his fault that Draco was nice and warm and cozy alright?).

"Alright, five minutes are up." Harry smirked when Draco groaned.

"Noooo..."

"Yeeees." Harry grinned. "Come on, you've slept in enough. Time to get up." Harry poked hin persistently in the ribs a few times. Draco jerked away from him, rolling onto his stomach.

Harry smirked, an idea forming in his head.

"Uh oh... I may have found your weakness Draco." Harry wiggled his fingers into Draco's ribs, eliciting some muffled giggles from the boy beside him.

"H-harry, no!" Draco laughed. He pressed his arms down against his sides but it did nothing to deter his mischievous boyfriend.

Harry continued, dancing his fingers up and down his ribs, kneeding into the bones to hear Draco squeal and kick his feet against the mattress.

"I can do this all day if I have to." Harry said after a few minutes of tickling.

"Stohohop!!" Draco rolled over onto his back, grabbing Harry's hands.

Harry stopped, letting the boy catch his breath and admiring the bright pink blushing dusting his face.

"You ready to get up? Or do I need to convince you more?" Harry darted a hand out of Draco's grip and poked his belly.

"I'm up, I'm up!!" Draco said, jumping out of the bed.

Harry chuckled and grinned. It was so worth getting yelled at by McGonagall for being late and Draco being upset at him for losing house points from Slytherin, though, he could never stay that mad at him for long.

Hope you liked

#harry potter #drarry #tickle #harry x draco #draco malfoy #tickle fic

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imatinker · 3 months ago

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closed starter for @suupernormal location: deville halloween party

This was not how she had planned for this night to turn out, not even close. After seeing John dancing with fucking Marie Bonfamille of all people at the last party, looking like he was loving every second of his life, she had known that she’d be ending the night in somebody else’s bed. And up until about twenty minutes ago, she’d assumed it would be Dash’s. For all Tink had been fully committed to fucking her ex-husband again tonight the moment that she had found Nibs casually talking with Aaron T of all people, that all went out the window. A simple joke of wanting to sleep with either or both of the boys had led to the agreement of an actual spontaneous threesome and Dash was all but completely forgotten. Or at least, the idea of sleeping with him was forgotten. She wasn’t such a bitch that she was just going to leave without telling him she was ditching him, or well, that had been her plan when she told the other boys she needed like five, ten minutes tops to go do something. But it was if Dash was nowhere to be found within the first half of that time frame.

Almost ready to just give up on looking and shooting him a text, Tink spotted a familiar face that was a close enough relation to her ex that she felt it could count. “Violet,” she called out, floating her way over towards the older girl with a grin. While there was a high chance that she hated the blonde’s guts for everything she’d done to her brother, Tink couldn’t find it in herself to care or even remember that right now. She was about to sleep with her childhood celebrity crush - there were far more important things on her mind than worrying about the eldest Parr child’s opinion of her. “Hey. So this is probably tmi, but I was like 99% certain your brother and I were going to fuck again tonight. But now Aaron T, like the Aaron T, wants to sleep with me and Nibs instead so I’m obviously going with them instead. I was trying to find Dash to tell him myself, but can you do it for me?” It’s a lot to throw out at the girl like this, more than Violet probably wants to actually hear about, but Tink didn’t really care. “And if he gets pissy about not being invited, tell him maybe if he hadn’t divorced me I would have brought him in.” A joke she absolutely would not have made if she weren’t slightly drunk and running on such excitement for her upcoming little after-party. It doesn’t even hit her that the other girl likely still has no clue her brother had married Tink in the first place.

#closed starter #more to life than just pots and kettles ;; threads #violet

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estherclements · 5 months ago

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[cis woman andWelcome to Aurora Bay, ESTHER CLEMENTS! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like GRACE VAN PATTEN. You must be the TWENTY-FIVE year old ATTENDANT AT COOLDOWN ICE RINK. Word is you’re ARTICULATE but can also be a bit COMPLACENT and your favorite song is ANTHEMS FOR A SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL by BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE. I also heard you’ll be staying in OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS. I’m sure you’ll love it! Trigger Warnings: minor mention of drugs

basic stats

Full Name: Esther Mallory Clements

Nickname(s): Estie, Est

Gender: Cis woman (she/her)

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Birthday: April 27, 1999

Hometown: Aurora Bay, CA

Current Residence: Ocean Crest Apartments

Time in AB: All her life

Occupation: Attendant at Cooldown Ice Rink

Education: High School Diploma

Religion: None

Pets: A 3-year-old orange tabby named Argyle

Family: Susan Argyle (mom), Mitchell Clements (dad), Bonnie Foster-Goldstein Clements (stepmom), Megan Clements (older sister), Ethan Clements (younger brother), Michael Foster-Goldstein (stepbrother)

Faceclaim: Grace Van Patten

Hair Color: Naturally dark brown, dyed blonde

Eye Color: Dark brown

Height: 5'5

Tattoos: tba

Piercings: Three in each ear

Favorite Movie: Interstellar

Favorite Alcoholic Drink: Pinot Grigios

Favorite Food: Cheeseburgers

headcanons

Her step-mom's full name is Bonnie Foster-Goldstein Clements. Foster is her maiden name and Goldstein is her previous husband's last name. When Estie found out Bonnie was keeping her first husband's last name she busted out laughing and that really laid the foundation for their mutual hatred. Esther also gave Bonnie's son, Michael, his first joint when he was 12 and she still brings it up to this day even though it was almost ten years ago

Esther has a cat named Argyle. Argyle is Esther's mom's maiden name, which she notoriously changed back to during her messy divorce. When Esther went to find a cat to adopt, she found an orange tabby named Argyle and thought it was so funny she kept that as the name

Hates cooking but finds baking very therapeutic and is obsessed with making bread

Has loved ice skating since her mom tried to sign her up for a class when she was eight. She hated the class but loved the skating. Her mom forced her to keep taking them for a few years until she finally flat out refused, but she's always kept practicing on her own time. She's not fantastic or anything because she hasn't actually been formally trained beyond those few years but she's pretty good and most of all she finds it really meditative just skating around the rink for a couple hours

Loves absolutely all kinds of music and obsessively tracks what she listens to on Last.fm

Every firstborn daughter on her mom's side of the family is supposed to be named Esther. Her dad, however, hated the name so much he refused to go along with the tradition for Esther's sister, and therefore had to give in when they had a second daughter

Failed her driving test the first time

Has an undiagnosed and untreated anxiety disorder that makes her kind of abrasive sometimes because she has no idea how to deal with it when she starts getting overstimulated

Almost drowned when she was 11 when a boy pushed her into the pool. She was a bad swimmer and she has a small scar on her forehead from bumping into the pool wall in her panic. The smell of chlorine still gives her a little bit of anxiety

biography

Born and raised in Aurora Bay, California, Esther's always thought that leaving her hometown seemed completely impossible, but that not leaving seemed even more so.

She's the middle of three children: her sister, Megan, who is two and a half years older, and her brother, Ethan, who is a year and a half younger. The age difference aways mattered less than the disparate personalities — Esther and Ethan clicked almost from the time Ethan started talking, while Megan found much less in common with her two siblings. Esther thinks her sister is a giant bitch and only talks to her when she has to.

When she was 11 and 12, during most of her seventh grade year, Esther's parents went through an extremely messy divorce. Following that, she and her siblings were forced to live with their mom during the week and their dad on weekends, which to Esther was massively unfair since her dad lived much further away from all her friends. She mostly left it up to Megan to fight with their mom and dad about it though — to this day, the only thing they agree on is that the divorce was fucked up and they can't figure out how their parents ended up together in the first place.

In high school, Esther was more focused on socializing and trying to fill the void of her home life and mostly got average to bad grades. Her dad remarried when she was 17 — she and her step-mom, Bonnie, openly despise each other and literally cannot share a friendly word. Megan and Bonnie get along famously, and not only because Bonnie (and her family) are loaded. Esther believes they're genuinely just cut from the same demented cloth. This is one of the few things Esther and her actual mother like to bond over.

While so many of her friends and classmates went away to school after graduation (or at least had some plan for what they'd be doing in Aurora Bay), Estie enrolled in community college and proceeded to do about as badly as she had in high school. She spent her time not only socializing but picking up a pill habit (benzos mostly, which had the confusing side effect of feeling like they helped her anxiety), and she finally dropped out after only one year. Her parents constantly harass her about going back to school, and she does want to (with a very secret ambition to become an actress), but the more time goes by and the more they nag the more spiteful and anxious she becomes and aside from that, she learned a deep fear of commitment from her parents that's followed her into adulthood and made it difficult for her to set herself firmly to a path for her future.

She has some idea that she's running around with an undiagnosed and unacknowledged anxiety/panic disorder, but so far continues to find chronic suffering preferable to a therapist, thanks to the terrible one she and her siblings were forced to see when her parents got divorced. She's been working as an attendant at Cooldown Ice Rink for about a year now after bouncing around a few different places the last couple years, and she always says she really wouldn't mind it that much if it paid more.

connection ideas

just a few close friends but plenty of casual ones and def some people she doesn't get along with

you'll catch her at the clubs and the bars on weekends. very nightlife oriented. definitely party friends, but she can also be a huge bitch so i wld also love ppl she's gotten into it with at clubs or bars. i know she's had a proper cat fight before. who got into it w her and got their hair pulled and their face slapped? TYDYJFKYGUKH

the usual stuff. exes, one night stands, friends with benefits. estie's a serial dater and almost sinisterly good at fwb without catching feelings. kind of bot coded the way she can shut down and become emotionless

childhood stuff. she bounced around middle class neighborhoods and went to the local schools. friends, enemies, lab-partners-in-sophomore-science-class vibes, neighborhood connections, family friends

anybody from the ice rink. employees there, regulars, random strangers she's helped with their technique or who have helped her w hers, or both

definitely a coffee fiend. people who work at cafes or are regular at cafes, or maybe somebody she's kind of a coffee snob with

spends a lot of time at the beach. she's still not a very strong swimmer, maybe somebody who's helping her with that

#aurorabay.intro #drug mention tw

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slvt4tom · 1 year ago

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Okay sooo tom was the most voted person so I'll do tom x reader first and then after if you guys want I'll do a bill x reader

Okay so this story is a angst to fluff

⚠kissing, cursing, probably cringe f! Reader⚠

You and the band were outside doing a little autograph signing while mostly the band since you were just Tom's girlfriend but other than the few fans that did want your autograph, but apparently some blond bitch had forgotten that you guys were together.

So once you had walked away from signing one you were just leaning on the bus watching the boys sign (you were mostly watching tom ofc) but you had gone inside to grab a hair tie since your hair kept blowing in your face and as soon as you step out you see some blond girl flirting with tom, and tom here seems to be having the time of his life.

You roll your eyes waiting not wanting to start anything and wait for the signing to be over, as you watch her touch YOUR MAN you just become more and more angry and at some point she slips him a paper and now your fuming mad.

After a few hours everyone was back in the bus and you had been ignoring tom such as not sitting by him, not talking to him, not touching him at all, not even glancing his way, and at this point everyone was so confused because usually you would be attached AT THE HIP always touching each other in some way or another.

After like 2-3 more hours it was around 8-9:30 so you decided to get in the shower "um hey guys I'm gonna go get in the shower" everyone said okay and with that you left.

Tom decided that this was the perfect time to try and talk to you since litterly nobody is going go walk in so tom Waits about 20ish minutes knowing it takes you like 15 just to look at your self in the mirror and then the other five actually getting in.

After those minutes tom walked in quietly and took off his clothes and got in the shower snaking his arms around your waist, "hey angel are you okay why weren't you talking to me at all today did I do something wrong" he asked kissing up and down your neck.

"Hm. Nope. I'm fine." You said very stern, through gritted teeth, "come on baby tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it" he said as he starts massaging your shoulders/neck and then rubbing up and down your arms, "its" you sigh "its just that blond girl that was flirting with you when you guy were signing autographs" you said sounding sad turning to face him as you look up at him.

"Aw angel don't worry about her she's nothing I promise" he said embarrassing you into a hug "Tom why did you take her number if she's nothing and why would you choose me out of every girl there's ones 10 times prettier and better than me" you say sounding sad still hugging him, "angel yes there maybe girls prettier than you but only on the outside because they are fake and have gotten some sort of surgery and wears pounds of make up and would only want me for money and fame, but not you your beautiful inside out, your all natural and look good with or without makeup and even when you do wear make ups it's not like your packing on so much it's just light and I think it's so pretty on you, also you love me for me not for my money or fame and bill loves you too and you love him!" He says and you start tearing up from joy, "aw angel don't cry" he says bringing his hands up to your face wiping your tears away with his thumbs pulling you into a hug.

After a few minutes he let's you go "here let me wash you up" he says getting soap ready washing you up "I love you tom" you said as he washes your hair "I love you too angel" after a minute you guys get out of the shower and he carries you bridal style into your guys room picking out matching pjs for you guys.

"Hey angel do you want help getting dressed or do you got it" he says finishing up putting on his clothes "I got it" you say putting on your pj's. After that you guys walk out to the like "living room" area on the bus so you guys could watch a movie and cuddle.

About half way through the movie you had fallen asleep in Tom's arms and he was just so happy his girl wasn't mad at him anymore and he carried you like a sleeping child to your guys room and layed you down on the bed tucking you in and then laying next to you soon falling asleep too.

#bill kaulitz #tom kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tom kaulitz x reader #f!reader

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prettyprincessofchi · 3 months ago

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Meeting an Icon: Me

Well, I see you must be interested in my site because you clicked on it. And yes, on this blog, we talk about everything, from the latest boy toy I've wrapped around my fingers and showing you how you can do the same, to making the perfect late-night pasta to pair with the perfect wine. Of course, you would be interested in the person behind the screen, and I'm going to be upfront with you. I am going to be using an alias for personal reasons, darling. I hope you can understand. But I will say this, bad bitches recognize bad bitches. So if you see a platinum blonde curvaceous woman who walks with such confidence and doesn't give a damn about what others think, you've found me, and I would gladly acknowledge who I am. And I will be showing you how to become the same as well. Of course, I wasn't always as amazing as I am today. It took hard work, and it's going to take more work to be better.

Now that I've gotten most of the boring stuff out of the way, let me tell you a bit more about myself. I'm a lively young woman, 24 years of age to be exact. I live in the beautiful River North of Chicago. My occupation is a cosmetologist, nail tech, and hairstylist. By the way, I have my own beautiful shop downtown on the lakefront. My favorite color is purple, I love a good martini, and I have a very complicated relationship with men. But my relationship with shopping couldn't be better. You see, men can destroy your life, drain you, and just be plain, let's be honest here, shitty. But what's an afternoon at Oakbrook Mall, stocking up on some charms for my Pandora set (I need the HOTD charm like yesterday), or maybe even getting a replacement face mask from Lush, and I have to just go and see what's new at Victoria's Secret.

And no, I'm definitely not some mean lonely bitch with no friends. I have a couple. I have my best friend since the 5th grade who lives in Michigan, Arielle. Our birthdays are only five days apart, and between the both of us, she's the angel, I'm the one you don't want to mess with. Despite both of us being Libras, we're two sides of the same coin. Then there's my friend Diane, the youngest of her sisters, with makeup skills like a pro. I've known her since I was a sophomore, and trust me, we both have had quite the dating history. Then there's Andrea. She's technically the weird girl with the fat ass. And before anyone says anything, yes, I used to be the four-eyed freak who loved anime and never spoke, but she and I have both turned into sexy women with quite the sexual adventures. She's the one I can talk about Dragon Ball Z and how many idiots let us hit on the first try. And lastly, there's my friend Nina. She's the strong one of the bunch; she always has her head on straight and can spot bullshit from miles away.

Now for the last part of our segment today, getting to know my family. My parents have since divorced since I was about 7. I have an older sister and brother on my dad's side of the family, and about four younger sisters on my mom's side. I technically have never met my brother, so I really only count myself having sisters. They've always been there for me, even my 7-year-old sister; you'd be surprised, lol. But I do have a very big family that lives here, in China, the Philippines, and even West Africa. So yeah, you could say I'm pretty well connected, haha, which explains why a lot of dudes are intimidated by me. Not just because I'm a strong woman, because that's what my family is full of: strong women. That explains why all the men in my family are actual men, and why I don't tolerate any little boys (unless...).

Don't worry, this isn't going to be the last you've heard from me. I'll be back with some stories, as well as any tips and tricks I find online that I can share with you guys. And trust me, I would love to hear from you as well! Don't be shy to shoot me an email or send a message, I will also be doing anonymous q&as as well. Trust me, it's going to be a wild ride, babes. Hopefully, you'll stay, or don't - I'm not telling you what the hell to do.

Stay sexy, Aerea A.

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dreamauri · 9 months ago

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♪ — 𝟱 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗦, 𝗟𝗦𝟮 logan sargent x fem! reader (fluff) “. . . using his five senses, these are his favourite things about you.”

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests )

Sight

Logan absolutely loves seeing you danceing and having the time of your life

it makes him all giddy and happy inside

watching you forget yourself and follow the beat or jingle, he cant help but admire the sight

if youre dancing at a party or at home in a game of just dance, you know he's hyping you up

"that is . . . not-" Logan tried to hold in his laugh, sitting on the couch watching you play just dance (and recording for later). "SHH!! Let me concentrate!" you hushed back, trying to copy the moves only to gey a lot of errors snd red. Logan put his hand over his mouth, watching you you eventually trip and sit on your ass in surrender. "I dont like this routine." you grumbled, watching the blond get up to lift you back on your feet.

Touch

It's becoming a regular activity where the two of you are caught in a crowd,

wheather at a concert or in a street or even at circuits by fans or reporters.

His biggest worry with these things is losing you in the sea of people,

so when you grab onto him it eases his mind that you’re close and that he won't lose you.

“Y/n?” He called looking behind him in search of you. When he felt the little tug on his pinky finger he knew you were somewhere behind him in the crowd of people. The football match had ended and the halls to the exits and parking lot were packed. The only thing keeping him in his head was you holding his pinky and with him still.

Smell

Although not it’s something from you in particular, Logan associates incense with you.

He finds it a really calming part of you.

You usually light one up when studying. The scent fills the apartment if you forget to close the door or if you study in the living room.

His favourite part is that the smell sometimes sticks to you after an hour or three, which usually tells him how long you’ve been preparing for exams.

Sometimes, you light one jokingly, pretending to cast a spell.

“Calypso,” You pleaded, trying to hold in a smile as Logan sat on the chair, face in his hand, doing his best to hold in laughter as you circled the smoking stick around his head. He had his bags packed, ready to leave for the airport for the next race only for you to stop him and push him in a chair. “Give Logan a win, you bitch. This is the 7th time I've asked. please, thank you. Also, make Max crash out- actually, the whole grid. cradh them all out. cheers."

Hearing

Logan's favourite part of the day is hearing you talk.

It doesn't matter what about.

Whether it's work, or something you're passionate about, or even gossip or just vents.

You have all of his attention.

youre the onky thing he hears, 100% of his concentration is on you.

its also very evident on his face and reactions, he practically turns into emojis,

'guess what!! i got the job!' 'You got the job! Told you could do it🤩'

'logan!! Person A cheated on Person B!' 'WHATT?? 😨'

'i love this course!' 'which one the one with friend? the assignment you had fun doing? 😊'

"Wait, wait. start over because I'm very confused." Logan told you, moving to sit closer to you so he can hear over. "What are you confused about?" You'd ask, and just like that, Logan would repeat everything you said, his facial expressions contouring to show concentrated blondie confused about the gossip you just spilled.

Taste

chapsticks have flavours. And logan is lucky that you have plenty because it makes kisses more delicious.

he already feels like he melts every time you kiss him,

now imagine double the effect with flavoured kissies!! hes not pulling away

"oh, but baby, you're so sweet" he protects if you try to part

he pouts and chases your lips and licks them if he manages too, might even bite yoir lower lip to keep you close.

"hm!" he hums surprised by the new flavour, momentarily licking just a bit to familarize himself with the flavour before going back in deeper with the kiss, holding your waist to stop you when you try to pull away. "Logannn," you whine against his lips but a moan only left your throat feelinghim tilt his head a little. "No one's looking," he mumbled to assure you. "You're like my very own cherry tree." he chuckled before kissing you, more softly this time.

#‧˚⊹🪴 ଓ :: 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 ‧₊˚⤾#﹒your lovers and you ﹒𐙚 #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargent x reader #logan sargent fluff #formula one #formaula one logan sargeant #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #ls2 #ls2 x reader

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letsgoshadows · 2 years ago

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Starting Line

Xavier had been with the Shadow Company a little over three months– eighty seven days, he knows, could probably guess it down to the hour if he was pressed, and rounds up anyways– when he first met Lieutenant Rockanstansky.

He had needed Mbabazi. His direct superior, yes, but far more than that, far more than the men he could say the same of in the Army were to him, and he would know what to do. Because this wasn’t the Army– and thank God for that. The leash was longer, the collar looser, but when it snapped on you, you had far more to worry about than a discharge. Which was why he needed Mbabazi to sort it out. If it were only him and Fontaine involved, he could handle it. Could handle his bullshit. Knock his teeth out if he was really pressed. But the big, mean son of a bitch had dragged his guys into it, dragged the new kid into it too, made a big goddamn problem of it rather than hashing it out with him outside like real men.

He knocked at the office door, stood at attention, and waited. Shifted his feet a little further apart after he checked his laces and found that he was standing with them close. The lock clicked and the gathered the breath needed for the lines he’d rehearsed and–

It wasn’t his Sergeant who opened the door. A masked face, eyes perfectly level with his own behind thick tortoise shell aviators. “Ah,” they had said, like he’d shown up right on time. Actually made him doublethink, had he been called and forgot, but then remembered enough for his brain to make something up? “Sergeant,” they leant back into the room, hand still on the door. “I believe your man is here. Spared us the effort of going to find him.” Mbabazi had said something, too quiet for him to really make out but his low voice carried enough to let him know he’d spoken. When they leant back out they’d fixed him with an analytical look, a contemplative sweep over him that made him self conscious of the faults he didn’t even know he had. “You’re here about James?” Was Fontaine’s first name James? He didn’t look like a James. But then again, what he looked like wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you could name a baby. And James, the other James, he’d hardly ever spoken to, let alone had an issue with. So this had to be about Fontaine. “Yessir.” He hoped. They’d nodded, just once, and he knew they were done with him.

He stepped to the side, which they acknowledged with a polite nod as they passed, attention already shifted back to the documents in hand, and he slipped inside before turning to watch them go.

And that is what they are to him for nearly half a year. A tall body, a broad back clad in Shadows black even when they could have dressed down, and a head of shorn off strawberry blonde hair, disappearing down a hall.

In the five months since then, he’s learned a great many things about the life of a mercenary.

Mostly what Mbabzi teaches him. Starting with the fact that he can rely on him to set things right, that even here there were good men and bad men.

He learns that he can choose which he’s going to be, and that you make that choice every day.

He also learns a hell of a lot about explosives. About materials and how they behave when they’re blown up, set on fire, crushed with a hammer, shot full of bullets, or destroyed in any other way he can think of. He learns that he’s a good fit for extraction. Strong, reliable, and safe. Inert, Mbabazi tells him once. Stable and unreactive under the specified conditions, the chemistry textbook he pirates later that night adds. That means that he can go through anything he’s asked to, no matter how hot it gets, and come out the other side intact. It makes him indispensable, lets him make himself so, and it sets him up for a long career in this company. So long as he can survive the lifestyle, the one he learns is a hard one.

The money, though, is good. If he weren’t as aware of his shortcomings as he is, he might say that was what kept him around.

The others blow theirs as soon as it comes to them. Drugs, women, top shelf alcohol that doesn’t even taste all that much better than the cheap stuff. He likes the drugs too, maybe too much, but he lived in Boston long enough to know what any of them do to you if you take too much, too long. Besides that, prefers his women willing and enthused, not on a payroll. They come to him easy, though, too easy, some part of him knows, and he supposes that makes him say it. If he were like the others, too broken inside and out to lure in anyone near without the promise of a paycheck at the end of it, he might feel differently. But as it stands, he has his pick of the litter. So his money goes elsewhere. He saves part, sends part home. It goes towards his parents' mortgage and his sister's college. When the others ask, and they don’t ask often, he lies. He lies because this is not a job for a man with a family he loves.

The missions are grueling and thankless in a way Army work wasn’t. Hard and dangerous— the people even more so. In eight months he’s seen three men die, men that weren’t meant to, men he knew the names of. One choked on his own blood as it filled his lungs, one burned, and one dead on impact. He knew each time that the next time, if he got careless, if he was unlucky, that could be him too. But he won’t be leaving any orphans.

Not that he knows, anyways. And you can’t fault yourself for what you don’t know.

He learned after joining, for instance, that Russia has been in Iran since the eighteen hundreds. Or, since the 19th century, which he is pretty sure means the eighteen hundreds. And that people have been fighting them since then, hiring people to push them out. It hasn’t worked yet, but that’s never stopped anyone.

It was included in the debrief for the initial mission in the area, a few weeks back. Why they were there, the history and the impact. He doesn’t know if many cared, doesn’t know if he cared all that much, but it was interesting. Meant that someone cared. Felt the need to inform them even when it was all but wasted.

That first mission had gone… decently. Sort of. They got what they needed done, but it was sloppy. No deaths, but Cruz and Moltalvo had gotten hurt, Moltalvo badly. Out of commission for at least a few weeks. Maybe more if the grafts didn’t take right away.

Forever, if they didn’t take at all. The Commander had been angrier than he’d ever seen him. He’d seen people dressed down before, pulled out of the line while he listed off everything they’d gotten wrong. Shouted in their faces, made some of them cry with the abuse. All standard fare for a job with stakes like theirs.

He hadn’t been worried, though. As bad as it felt, and it felt bad, man, to be on the other side of his anger, of his disappointment, he knew it wasn’t him who’d fucked up. Then it had turned into a fucking lynch mob. He’d pulled Benson and Daniels out, same as usual, but when he went for his hip holster, when his pistol grip made contact with Daniel’s temple, dropped the man into a kneel, Xavier knew it would be different. Benson had recognized this, followed suit right after, falling to his knees trying to avoid the same. It hadn’t worked. Graves stood over them both, drove a kick right into his chest, yelling even as he wheezed and doubled. It was ostensibly on behalf of the men hurt, but Xavier knew it wasn’t. It was because they’d fucked up and embarassed the Commander. Made a goddamn joke of the reputation he’d worked so hard to earn, cost him money and time and personnel. Those two were lucky to be alive after what they’d done, what he’d heard they’d done, at least, let alone to have a job at the end of it.

It’s why he wasn’t surprised when he’d invited the others to join in. They were angry too, the only thing keeping it buckled beneath the surface being the fear of reprisal from the boss, and letting them burn it off where it actually belonged only made the punishment easier. Xavier had stood off to the side, watching frozen as the others crowded around. The violence had blurred, his heart beating too fast to let him remember what he had even seen then. Raised voices, the smell of blood. Daniels threw up. Someone had kicked him hard in the stomach. He could have sworn he saw the blood in it. It made him step back, the movement drawing attention. The Commander’s head had snapped up, gaze fixed on him. And he’d asked him what was wrong, low and slow. Why was he standing out? It was the first time he’d ever had such undivided attention from the man. So he’d answered, fumbled something out that he never really heard himself, and that seemed to put out a little of his anger. He tucked his gun away.

And then it was over. He ordered two of them to drag Benson and Daniels off, another to clean up the mess. The rest were dismissed and told not to fuck up the same way.

Left unscathed, it made Xavier all the warier of misstepping. He thinks the Commander knew that too, saw it in his eyes; he’s been on and off of missions since then, in the rotation far more often than most. It makes his bones ache, layers bruise on bruise, but it hurts just right. Keeps his blood pumping, earns him scars with stories, and learns him right. That’s how he knows it’s bad, things gone from tense to desperate, when the Commander calls his Lieutenant down from the tower. Five months and he’d seen them only in passing, a polite nod when their paths crossed or a hop to attention. Only heard their name passed quietly around tables in what he took as a familiar respect, or spit in contempt. He can guess why. The authority chain within the Shadows works as so: Graves, then everyone else. The other officers included. The exception is the Lieutenant.

Operating in that grey space between the top and the rest, the only one whose word is as good as Graves when he’s not around. Not well liked, not by the people Xavier speaks to, works with, but well respected by those closer to them. Carrying a kind of undeniability with them.

(Them, not him or her, he learned a few weeks in. Some people said otherwise, made sure everyone knew who they meant with the venom in their voices, but the Commander was clear in the way he addressed them. The Lieutenant was something else entirely and that was not up for question.)

When the brief came in the morning before, it’s their name on it that changes the energy of the room completely. It would be them and the Commander both on this one. A low boiling tension, a kind of vicious excitement that simmered under the guise of enthusiasm for the job, swelled in the room. There would be no room for fuckups today, lest either of them catch sight of it.

He wonders if that’s why they stay up in the cockpit with Graves until they’re fifteen minutes out from touchdown. Giving them a moment longer to prepare before they arrive.

When they do come out it’s different from before, the shape of them shrouded in the same heavy gear as him, but still recognizable by the breadth of their shoulders, their stride, towards, rather than away this time.

They halt at the first row of seats, arms folded behind their back, scan their eyes over the assembled men.

They stop on him, just briefly, and he can’t help but thrill at the sight. They’re of a height with him, but carry themselves with the kind of bearing that sets them miles higher. He wants to earn that kind of attention.

The others bristle, mumble complaints soft enough to keep them from hearing, but fall in line all the same.

(All but the ones with the eye tattoos. The tiny things inked dark and clear that he sees sometimes when he passes their table during downtime, glancing over to see if he can join them, should join them, though he hardly speaks a lick of Spanish, let alone Arabic or Hebrew or Russian or anything else the men there are speaking.)

(They sit a little taller, a little straighter, and he thinks he does too. There was more to them than the insults, the rumors, the hate. They’d been here too fucking long to have earned that vitriol and not made it back in respect along the way.)

“You all know who I am?”

Shadow 0-2. Control.

Peril.

(He knows the name is a joke, too. Half of a pair that the Commander doesn’t wear his side of, but he doesn’t get it.)

“Yes, LT!”

“Well, alright.” He can’t see their mouth, what of their face wasn’t perpetually hidden behind a mask was now hidden behind goggles and a helmet, a muzzle-like respirator, but he can hear it. He thinks.

“It’s been a while, but I’m glad to see most of you still around,” The words come out in well formed, largely unaccented English. “Most of you.”

If they’re from the States, he couldn’t speak to where. Nor could he say where else. Not England, he’s sure, but past that he couldn't say. They sound educated in that way that peels the accent off of anyone, the way that he doesn’t think he could ever be, the Boston lilt marked too deeply into his voice to be taken seriously.

They run through the mission, secure, extract, rinse, and repeat, six buildings belonging to a shell company that filtered Russian arms into Central Asia, and from there into India and the Middle East, same as Graves had told them before they left, but with an utterly different air to it. If they had been to begin with, they were not smiling anymore.

The Commander smiles, gestures, looks you in the eye while he talks. Takes your shoulder when he needs you to listen closely, leans in and lowers his voice when he needs you to feel important. They talk into the middle distance, sweeping their eyes across the audience, hands moving like talking was what they did to make a living, rather than killing.

He’d been to a college a few times as a teenager. Not to college, but inside of one, touring them in case that was what he wanted to do with his life. It wasn’t, of course, he was built for learning with his body more than learning by listening to others speak, but he remembers it well.

The voice of the graduate professor who’d agreed to give a lecture to the group of listless highschool juniors, the way her voice carried in the hall. He remembers leaning over to his seat mate, some boy that counted him as a friend that he hadn’t liked much but hadn’t done anything annoying enough to tell him to fuck off– he’d wanted to make some smarmy comment to make him laugh. Just to do something besides sit and feel stupid. Before he’d even had the words all the way out, she was calling to him. Asking if he had a question, saying that if he wanted her to answer, he would have to speak up. He, unable to back down, had tried to think of something, muster something up about whatever she’d been talking about. The people around him had snickered into their fists, the boy next to him included. They knew he was dumb, everyone knew that except the too-earnest professor, and those snickers had turned into legitimate laughs as she did her best to actually answer his stupid question.

The ghost of embarrassment rolls down his back, beneath the layers of kevlar and polyester, and he pushes the memory down, tunes back into the present.

It would be 1-2 through 1-5 with the Commander, no surprise there, 4-1 covering for his Sergeant and taking his usual team, which left everyone else with…

“With me, 3-4, 2-3, and 2-5.”

Before he can really register that he’s been forgotten, the Commander whistles, sauntering up from the cockpit with his helmet in hand, and lays his free hand on their lower back.

“0-5.” Xavier does his best to repress the jolt that runs through him. Repress the memory of his eyes on him. Of Benson on his knees, of Daniel choking on his own vomit.

They turn and look at him, not snappishly, but still in a way that makes him tense. You didn’t question in the Army and you certainly don’t question here.

“Extra hand. He’s our new Yamoto.” He’d never met the man– he’d been long gone by the time he’d arrived, much less been chosen to train up as his replacement, but he’s heard his name often.

“Understood.” And the pressure ebbs.

It doesn’t leave, it never really leaves when you’re in a life-and-death kind of career, but it mellows.

“Are we all clear on what is to be done today?” Graves takes the reins back and the LT all but fades into the backdrop.

“Yep yep!” It echoed in the little space, louder than the people in there should have been able to make it. “S’what I like to hear.” He chuckles. “We land in ten. Be ready.”

They disappear to the front again on the Commander’s heels. With them behind him, he disappears entirely from sight. It’s no stretch of the imagination to see them doing that on purpose, a warm body between the man they all follow into danger and the danger they follow him into.

The men beside him jostle in a way that couldn’t be passed off as simple turbulence. He keeps his eyes in his lap.

No one speaks, the mics are about to go hot and no one wants to be caught with their CO’s name in their mouth like that, but it makes him think of the things he’s heard elsewhere. Some made his skin crawl enough that he can hardly recall them, save for the lingering feeling of discomfort.

But some bled together, knit a kind of picture of who they were, filtered with the kind of distaste usually reserved for strict teachers and the parents of spoiled children who’d had enough. They were all ex-military, some with a decade or more under their belts already, and… what? It felt too easy to assume it was the… gender thing. He was no expert in hating women, but the tint to the complaints didn’t seem to point that way. They got that way sometimes, sure, but the better portion was standard military bitching. Vague threats, the promise that they could do better, never mind what they’d have to do to get their position, the works. Maybe they were the worst of the lot. Isn’t that the expression– it’s always the quiet ones?

Maybe he’d just not been around long enough to see it, maybe he’d see it today, but with the way the same men say his Sergeant’s name when they think he can’t hear, he’s hesitant to believe anything they say.

What he does know: No one has been with the Company as long. His Sergeant came close, by mere months, same as a few others collected early on, but none quite as long as them. No one stood quite as close to Graves, dared to look him so dead on when they spoke. The Lieutenant always seemed to know where they stood with an enviable certainty.

And they would be the one leading him.

The plane sets down on a patch of freshly leveled, clearcut jungle that one could generously call an airstrip. The landing is smooth as it can be for a makeshift touchdown, Gibson is a hell of a pilot, pulled them through fire before, but he still feels every rock and bit of gravel like they’re stuck in his teeth.

He’s one of the last to pile off, and when he can’t find them at the head of the pack, he turns back to look at the plane.

They’re halfway down the cockpit stairs, their respirator pulled down beneath their chin, eyes closed. It strikes him so oddly that he doesn’t think to look away, that he’s witnessing something private.

They draw a breath through their mouth, long and slow, then hold it just a moment longer before releasing it. Their eyes open and they quickly go about resetting the respirator over their nose, adjusting the strap holding it in place until it was like it had never been removed.

Their head rises, gaze meets his, and they tense.

He’s acknowledged with a flash of the fingers– a sign? He doesn’t sign, has a hard time believing they wouldn’t know that, and struggles for a response. They pass him without further acknowledgement.

Maybe that’s the point; something here was communicated that he has no way to understand.

He follows them back to the pack anyways. From there they divide up, do final checks, and part into the brush.

His team, the Lieutenants team, tracks the long way around in silence. Through the jungle, 2-3 carefully probing for IEDs as they do, and over a series of barbed wire and cinder block walls. One, he notices, stands alone. A wall unconnected to any others. It has a line of bullet holes in it. About neck high on him, broken up by gaps just wide enough to fit his shoulders into. He makes a point not to notice any more on the hour or so march before they reach their target. They ready up to breach the first warehouse as soon as it comes into view– the other teams in position to do the same all over the complex. All at once, together as Shadows. Don’t give them time to know what’s happening.

There’s seven inside. 2-3 confirms it on his camera. Going about their lives. Hostile. Armed. “No hesitation,” they remind gently. Beside him, 2-5 nods to himself and Xavier thinks the reminder wasn’t for him. They split up, then, the Lieutenant beckoning him to follow. They take him around the far side, while their men handle the front side door. Radios are live, the quiet sounds of movement on the other side as the others get into position. “Set,” they whisper, wary of being heard inside. “Ready?” The Commander asks.

“Ready,” 2-5 confirms for all of them. The others follow suit.

The first gunshots break out in the distance. First far to the west, with 0-4. Then to the north with the Commander.

“Door,” they whisper, and he’s moving before the word is even done.

He can see clear through the building as it swings open under his sledge, see the other trio claim their kills with ease, one after the other and before he can even pull his rifle. The Lieutenant takes one through the head as he tries to come at them with a knife, then another at the same time that one of the others catches him in the back.

The last two fall together, one pierced through the shoulder by the same bullet that opened his brother's neck. He doesn’t die immediately, hitting the concrete with a bloody, gurgled scream and another bullet finds the space between cheek and jaw before he can turn his head enough to confirm his loss.

“Reloading.” It’s all they say before confirming the others are ready to continue, and heading forward.

He keeps his rifle up, checking for hideouts as steps over the bodies, the two men about his age whose eyelids still twitch with the last ounces of life in them. The others pay no attention to their own, save for 2-3 frisking down the bodies as the others stand watch.

Before she finds anything, though, the radio crackles to life.

“Need help at six.” He thinks he can recognize 4-1’s voice. Nervous, though, whoever it is. Weren’t they meant to be at warehouse five? “More than we thought. 0-4 got nicked– not bad, but it cut right through his armor, and–”

“Identify hostiles,” They order immediately, voice almost artificially leveled.

“We have a bead on twelve. Men on foot inside the warehouse, two levels. Has eyes on us.”

“Nationality, providence,” They hiss.

“Armament,” the Commander adds, low and sharp.

“Iranian militia,” 4-1 growls. “Better armed than the fuckin’ convoys we passed going in. Russkie money filtering through here.” Which meant better armed than the men here. He looks to the two boys, with the rifles older than they were, older than they’d ever be, now, and spares a thought to the briefing he’d kept folded up on his desk. Then returns his attention to the person he is sure now to have written it.

They shake their head, but go quiet. Thoughtful silence, he thinks. They seem like the thoughtful kind.

They linger on the button and he watches, soft– and how does he know they’re soft?– fingertips stroking it idly as the silence draws long. He doesn’t know how long passes before they press it, leaning into their shoulder.

“Commander?” Graves sighs.

“I’m thinkin’, Peril.” The way he says their name makes him shiver. How can it rest so easy in his mouth? Experience? Or did it come with the title? “Don’t rush me unless you have a better idea.” They pull their fingers away.

The operative word there, he knows, is better. It’s a challenge.

Mbabazi does that, sometimes, too when someone won’t quit pushing. Not enough to punish outright, but too much to tolerate. So you set them up to learn a lesson, let them reveal their own faults so that you can excise them.

The Lieutenant does no such thing. They heel, wait for his word.

Still as a statue they wait, shrouded entirely in black. They all are, head to toe and near identical, but they had always been covered that way. He’d never seen their face before today. Trying to connect it, the now-blurry image in his head, to the person he was looking at felt like trying to put a face to a tombstone. Someone you knew once but would not ever see again. He hoped it was otherwise, but–

He hears a tongue click and his eyes snap back to the radio, like there’s anything more to see than their hand wrapped around it.

“4-1, you and yours are gonna sit tight. Do not engage and do not move until we come and join you.” Oh, he was mad.

“I’ll collect the LT, get us ready for a firefight, keep the scene tight, and be with you in ten. Fifteen, max.”

“In the meantime, our mission is clearance, not containment. You see someone running and you put them the fuck down. This is a closed scene and American Ops aren’t welcome here. We understood?”

He responds on reflex, confirming his agreement like it actually matters here, despite the call button remaining distinctly undepressed.

3-4 throws him a look. He flips him off while the others aren’t looking.

“Peril, you come and find me. Round the back of warehouse five.” “Yessir,” they echo gently into their silenced radio.

They spare a look to 2-3, who nods, holding her rifle aloft again.

It’s a short trek between buildings, though with 4-1’s warning in mind they take it far slower, more cautiously than before. They make for the edges of the clearing, where the foggy floodlights don’t quite penetrate, and stay there in the shadows until they sight Graves.

They pick up their pace to meet him, the Lieutenant quickly taking their place closest to him. He stays close to the Lieutenant as they do, trailing their heels just a few feet back, and hears the Commander hiss as they come to his side. “Fuckin’ worthless.” The Lieutenant either does not hear this, or willingly ignores it. “Put them on cover, go in ourselves?”

“Gonna have to.” He spits. “You, me, Heliodor?” He shakes his head. “Want a better rifle. Keller.” “Keller,” they echo dully. “And Baby. Need a hammer.” Their head tilts.

“Baby?” He isn’t sure how to take the incredulity in their voice, but he tries not to take it personally.

“0-5,” the Commander drawls, the curl of his mouth pressing the words into shape as he tips his head towards them. He thinks he hears them snort behind the mask. “Ah, Wolffe. Cute.” It was not an amused ‘cute’.

“Get us ready,” he snaps. They stiffen, but confirm they will as he stalks off to retrieve the needed men.

The Lieutenant doesn’t seem worried, though, crouching down and popping their computer case open on their knees. He stands loosely beside them, just in case. He doesn’t look down, doesn’t make an effort to know more than is offered to him. But when their hand comes up, trying to shield the screen from the full moon, he shifts to the right. Puts his bulk, if you could call it that, between them and it. A little laugh wells from them, barely enough to hear, let alone recognize as a laugh, if he hadn’t been listening for their response so carefully.

“Thank you, Wolffe.” They tap away a few minutes, 2-3 coming over to deliver their gear to them. They trade a few objects, allow him to fasten a few to their armor, then shut the laptop and pass it off to him.

“Good luck, LT,” he tells them with a pat on the arm. Then, catches him off guard by addressing him as well. “You too, Baby. Stay safe.”

Unsure what to say, he lets the man take off for the larger group being sorted out by Graves.

He returns a moment later with Keller in tow. With the others stalking off, taking stock of the area again and keeping it clear for them to work, their own team starts for the building.

They had been tipped off by the firefights earlier, it would be a careful creep towards the building. The windows are dark, cloudy panes of old plate glass embedded in rusty metal siding. Along the side of the building, leading up to the only door they could reasonably get to with the floodlights illuminating all other avenues, is a narrow fire escape, leading up to a balcony. “You wanna take the lead, Peril? You got the camera.” Their head dips and they slide past him to take point. “Step to the outside, reduces noise,” they instruct at the bottom of the steps. They follow them up the iron fire escape in single file. At the top of the stairs, they crouch to get an eye beneath the door frame. “Wolffe, here,” they whisper. He’s at their side before he can even digest the order. “Wedge the door up for me, enough space for a snake.” He pulls a knife off his belt, the one he’d won off of Fontaine that had gotten them into that fight all those months back, and bends the blade prying the door up. He focuses on keeping it that way, even as Graves leans over him, puts his weight on his shoulder. The space is small, Keller can’t even fit up there with them, he was just trying to see what Peril– the Lieutenant– was looking at.

“East, just one for now,” they order.

The ordered shot rings, followed by a harsh machine sound and a dull flash of light from inside. They lean in towards the Commander.

“Half a second?” Graves sniffs.

“Plus the turn.” His voice is low and tense, but cooler than he thinks he’d be in the circumstance.

“Second and a half,” they amend.

“Think so?”

They turn over their shoulder to glance at him, pulling the camera back and coiling it as they do.

“How fast can you get the door open, given the space we have?” Meaning: without blowing it up.

He slips up between them, heart picking up speed at the space being yielded to him by them both. The door itself was solid, iron shell over wood and set in a metal frame, but sliding his fingers around it he can tell that it’s a metal brace– more for appearances of security than actual impenetrability. The whole warehouse was built that way, some Cold War relic with too many coats of paint to make it look new again to people who didn’t know better. (Something about that initial brief comes back up in his memory, connecting to the thought in a way he can’t quite place, but it’s quickly replaced with more immediately pressing concerns.) “I can take it off fast, no problem, but they’ll hear it.” They nod and a giddy kind of warmth blooms in his chest. Just doing something right wasn’t cause for celebration, but it feels like it is in the moment, coming from them. “Understood. Keller, Graves, cover?” Both affirm. “Ready.” They slide past, ready to join in right behind. The screws holding the door hinges on are so old that once the solvent eats away the paint on them, they all but crumble away under his screwdriver. Testing it with his fingers reveals that the lock is all that holds it on.

“All ready?” His voice almost surprises him, the edge to it sounding unlike him. Nothing for it but to lean into it, though.

“Ready,” the three echo. He raises his hammer high.

The door cracks, spins on its corner, and falls to the side as they come out onto the balcony. Keller and Graves each take a guard on the rail, while the Lieutenant drops the man on the chain gun, before it can even begin to whir.

The other men scramble to recover, one taken by Graves when he goes for the mounted gun and another by Keller when he gets a bead on the LT as they duck out of cover for their own shot.

He’d dropped his hammer in the same motion he’d taken the lock off with, just to get it out of the way faster, but drawing a rifle took time and the fight was all but over already. The men inside were scattered and panicking and no budget on imported gear can make up for you dropping your gun.

Graves picks off another, and the LT takes the one beside him. Keller sends one stumbling, coughing, when whatever he’d been hiding behind starts to smoke, the rounds fired into it setting something off inside, wandering right into the LT’s line of sight.

Another follows, then another, one without a gun in his hands, and he picks off one of his own when he darts between crates. He kills the man who tries to drag him back into cover, too.

One, he doesn’t even see him until his rifle is peering over the balcony, and a shot from the LT sends him right back down the ladder. That– was that twelve? It had to be, but it felt like more– “Cover,” The Commander demands as he moves to slide down the ladder. The sound of his boots hitting the cement are muffled in the chest of the man who’d fallen, quickly kicked aside. Keller follows. The Lieutenant issues him down before themselves, a large hand splayed on his shoulder that he feels even once it’s pulled away.

There’s silence on the first floor, but for the sound of their footsteps, their breathing. Each row of crates yielding nothing but gently bleeding bodies, surreptitiously checked for life and then forgotten, as the silence grows deeper. Then, a horrible, proud yell from the lone survivor, a blur of movement in his peripheries, spattered in others blood as he rears up from behi—

The sound is cut short. His knife, wickedly curved and shining even in the dingy light, clatters to the ground. The Commander has to step to the side to avoid the body tipping over onto him.

“That was fourteen,” the Lieutenant grits, popping the clip from their rifle.

“Check,” The Commander snaps in the same breath.

4-3 retrieves the small screened device from the Lieutenant’s back.

“Only things in here are us and the rats, Commander.” The waver in his voice betrays his upset, despite the aggressive professionalism employed.

And that was that. Mission accomplished.

The walk is still nearly an hour back to the plane, but somehow it feels shorter this time. With the sun coming up, Keller and Graves leading the pack again and keeping watch for mines, he’s not watching his steps as carefully, and he can let his mind wander. Walking closer to the Lieutenant, he falls into a steady pace beside them, struggling to think of something to say that he wouldn’t hate himself for tomorrow. By the time he finally settles on asking about their name, the plane appears through the gaps in the trees, and he decides to save it for later. Graves breaks away immediately, saying nothing. He meets the waiting pilot at the door, exchanges what could have only been a handful of words, and climbs the cockpit steps inside. That leaves the Lieutenant for final checks with the rest of the Shadows. Going through each of them as they board, reporting injuries back to base ahead of time, making sure everything is strapped in for the flight, and ensuring that 4-0 isn’t gonna bleed out before they get back. It’s peaceful, really. The fear, of the Commander, mostly, but also of his Lieutenant’s presence among them, means it’s quiet. But they don’t bother him like they do the others, even less so now that he’s been under fire with them. It’s comfortable, almost. Once the engines start up, he can hardly hear himself breathe. Sometimes, he has to remind himself to when it feels like he isn’t. They move so quietly around the room he wonders if they breathe at all. It’s a stupid thought, he knows, but seeing them work, carefully zip up the long diagonal line that crosses 4-0’s back, it makes him feel… He doesn’t know.

He likes it, though. The Lieutenant leaves after the graze is clean, sealed to their satisfaction. They toss him a spare shirt and some instruction, and make their exit. They say nothing to him, which he tells himself does not hurt, is to be expected.

No one else speaks either, even once they’re gone. The mission is done, in short order too, but something feels… wrong.

The uneasy peace holds that way, tense and awkward, until they’re in the air. Cruising altitude. The plane levels out and the Commander comes through the door hard enough to throw it into the wall.

“Who the fuck said twelve!” Xavier hadn’t been in any danger of falling asleep, but he’d certainly turned off the part of his brain that dealt with danger, giving it a rest after the hours of work it had put in. Having to start it up quickly made him jolt, made his head swim. “I want to know right now who the fuck put me and my people in danger like that!” He’d taken his helmet off, which in the quick track change from safety to danger, makes Xavier worry. Like it means someone is gonna hurt him, because he wasn’t ready. That thought makes him tense, nearly undo his belt and get to his feet as 4-1 rises. He tries to say something, tries to argue, he thinks, but Xavier can’t hear it over the roar of blood in his ears. Graves responds in kind, louder, angrier, and so does 4-1. He wouldn’t lay a hand on him, right? None of them would, the Commander– Movement catches his eye. The glint of mirrored glass. The Lieutenant is in the doorway. He relaxes before he even realizes he is. If they’re there, if they aren’t charging in… It was alright. They thought it was safe. They wouldn’t let anything happen to Graves. He realizes he’s staring when they give him a little wave, an unspoken: ‘Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.’

He tries to refocus on the argument, but it seems to be over.

“Then what the fuck do we pay you for?” The Commander throws him back into the seats. His head makes an ugly sound where it hits the frame.

“Fuck up like that again, it’s not the goddamn Russians you have to worry about, you fuckin’ understand me?”

4-1 mumbles something like ‘Yes, Sir.’, but Graves isn’t around to hear it. The Lieutenant shuts the door behind him. He hears the lock click.

It’s quiet again, deadly so, after that, until they make it home.

The hangar crew is waiting there on arrival, the assistant medic whose name has yet to stick in his head there for 4-0.

And that’s it, really. No more fanfare. Seems to him like the Commander had worn himself out on the flight back, would handle everything else later. They’re dismissed back to do as they like, reports due in the next twelve hours.

(In his head, he had already begun rehearsing his, using the little frame Mbabazi had given him. Cause and effect, what happened and why he thinks it did, how to attribute it to the people who did it. It made him feel like he was back in highschool again, but–) He’s halfway to the inner door, head deep in his own concerns, when they find him. A hand catches his arm, not roughly, which is the first clue as to who it is, but he doesn’t register that until he’s already turning to face them. He comes to a heel reflexively, before they even signal that they’re going to speak. Before he can ask, he’s frozen in place.

They’d replaced their goggles and muzzle with their usual again, beret gone and pale hair plastered to their head with sweat. It makes his teeth hurt, makes him feel hot. He isn’t focusing and he needs to, but their tac vest is open and hanging off like they’d been in the middle of taking it off and the last thing in the world he needs to think about is Graves’ lieutenant taking anything off and– They smile at him. Their face is still covered, all hidden but the bridge of their nose and what he can see beneath the glass of their glasses, but he recognizes the expression from that alone. “You did well today, Wolffe. I’m glad to have you with us.” They say it with a little nod that makes a curl of light, nearly pink looking, red hair that’s slipped from the rest bounce. They reach up to tuck it back behind their ear and he notes, ever so briefly, the slight shine to their nails. Painted, clear. Short and neat, at the end of long, pale fingers, marked with simple black eyes over each joint.

Then they’re gone again, a new memory of the way they look pacing away from him to usurp the old.

#peril #xavier #gravy #dutchstuff

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