#when she drops out of yale | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wesstars · 18 days

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crush

cairo sweet x fem!reader (no pronouns used)

summary: when cairo goes home, what comes to mind are thoughts of you. wc: 2.3k tags: explicit, minors DNI!! all characters 18+. university au. masturbation, smoking, non-linear narrative. reader is cairo’s teaching assistant, reader described as masc presenting. a/n: let me know what y’all think :) for the vibes

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“Is Professor Miller not coming?” Winnie had just dropped into her unassigned assigned seat next to Cairo, two minutes before Greco-Roman Literary Theory started. The flipping of pages punctuated the chatter of other students waiting, a comfortable sound.

“He said he’d be gone today,” Cairo replied absently. “There’s a ‘guest lecturer,’ our teaching assistant.”

“Oh, right. Who’s that?”

Cairo shrugged. “Who knows.”

As if on cue, the door swung open. Cairo didn’t even look up—Miller mentioned that he kept a handful of research assistants that would be there to help with the advanced reading. But honestly, Cairo wasn’t sure what they could tell her that she didn’t already know. A melodic hum fell through the air for just a moment, a chorus.

“Good morning.” At your lilting voice, rough with the edge of 10am, Cairo started. She watched you set your messenger bag on the desk. Your white shirt pulled over your shoulders; there was a glint at your collar, a necklace peeking through. A thin watch adorned your wrist. Winnie, along with some of the class, echoed your greeting, and Cairo blinked.

Late spring afternoon draped across the furniture in Cairo’s room, the quickly waning light giving easy way to a blue hour. Dropping her bag at the door, she tore off her shirt and skirt with the confidence of one standing before a crowd. Running a hand up from her sternum to her neck, she stretched languidly, sinking down onto her bed. After so many uneventful days—when she applied to Yale, she didn’t think that there would be any uneventful days—she finally had a story to turn over in her mind.

You. You were a mystery. Even as you had started the class with an introduction, telling Cairo you’d graduated from a middle-of-nowhere college in California and sought a writing career in Vermont before delving into research, she longed to lay out the details and pull them out from under the rug. Where did you learn to teach? Did you like to drive, or be driven? Mountains, or the sea? Where did you grow up? Was there coffee or tea in your cupboard? Cairo’s stomach burned to know. Her dark eyes burned the ceiling with smoke signals, searching for you even though you were god knows where in that seaside state.

Arching her back, Cairo let her hand travel down, palm flat against her stomach, to trace the seam of her upper thigh. As the class had progressed, your keenly observant nature did not elude Cairo. Maybe listening was something that your pedagogy instilled in you, but the way you held each student’s question in the cant of your head, an answer in your crinkling eyes, listening seemed to be in your nature. It was meticulous, the way you picked apart the class text, weaving in references and tying it all in. In that two hour lecture, Cairo learned that you watched the same way you listened.

Balmy as it was, the humidity made her dark waves cling to her skin, and she shivered as she brushed them back, thinking of a different pair of slim hands. Your scrutiny of each student had an intention that she couldn’t quite place; a determination that thrilled her. Cairo imagined that you’d observe her the same way, that she would be the one you were most fond of. It was only natural that her own attention would draw yours onto her. Holding the weight of your envisioned gaze made Cairo’s core twist, a pleased little flush that she prayed you could see. Your affected impartiality didn’t bother Cairo—in fact, it pulled her into your shadow. In her bed, she rolled onto her stomach then her knees, shaking her hair out.

Her hands were steady as she reached for her bedside table, thumb rolling on the wheel of her zippo as she held the cigarette to her lips. Cairo took a drag, blowing out neat smoke rings as she settled back on her heels. The skin of her own fingers was cool against her lips, and when she took the smoke away, she studied the pattern of her lipstick on the white paper as she had so many times before.

She’d watched, unabashedly and unafraid of being caught, as you drummed your fingers on the chalk tray. Would your fingertip be soft or work hardened if it pressed down her tongue? Would your skin carry the stain of her red lip as deeply, as obediently, as the malleable wrapping paper?

“Alright, class,” you cleared your throat, turning slowly around the room to make eye contact with each student. “As you know, Jonathan’s away on a conference today. I’ll start with a bit of role, just so I can learn your names. Not many of you come to my office hours, I know.” You smiled easily. It was so guileless, Cairo mused, nearly childlike. You had the class go around the rooms with names and majors, a circuit that Cairo gave no attention to other than your lilting rhythm of hums, the tapping of your foot on the floor, the way you flicked the corner of the role sheet with your thumb. Your gaze was soon on hers, waiting expectantly. She looked right back with a blink.

“Cairo Sweet. English major.”

“Cairo.” Her name rolled off your innocent little grin, making her cock her head. “Wonderful.” Fascinating. Would you whisper midnight black desires in her ear, so deep and dark they might be murmured into the ink of your own empty room?

You continued, circling back to the front and easily transitioning to the lesson plan. You had an awfully effortless way of grasping the class’ attention, holding gently and never forcing. It wasn’t like Professor Miller, who always seemed to hasten through the lecture so he could return to his research. She could tell you liked the woods of the text, to fall down into the depths of each word, feeling its weight in you and letting it rock. Just like Cairo.

She sighed into the warm air prickling up her skin, the curl of your voice around her name making her nipples harden in her bralette, even in retrospect. Exhaling around her cigarette, Cairo brought her hands up to palm her breasts, feeling the drag of her rubied nubs on her palms. Was it the high of the nicotine, the blur of smoke ridden air that made her float straight up into the lofty space you’d created in her mind? Though the feel of her own fingers scraping the lace against her skin was familiar, she found herself keen to think of your soft or callused hands. She was wet already, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten wet so fast.

The weight she imagined of your touch on her flushed skin was completely, deliciously foreign. Unbidden but intimately welcome, Cairo wished that your caress would find the map of her chest as familiar as a classic, something you had searched a million times over yet always managed to find something new. Shamelessly, Cairo trailed her fingers down her stomach, nails catching on every rib as she arched her back in the spilled moonlight. The mystery in the crossing of your long legs as you��d leaned back on the desk climbed up her belly, curling in the thump, thump, thump, of her heart. The uneven roll of your sleeves clung to the corners of her eyes, eidetic and oh, so, tempting. She had watched you so ardently—did you like to watch? Would you watch?

The space between her thighs was achingly empty, craving the set of your narrow hips. She was comfortable there, and she remembered the taut stretch of wool as you dropped into your chair and set one ankle over your knee. There was something endearing about the way your trousers had pulled up to reveal slouchy black socks, and darker her mind went as the material pulling creases around your lap made her shudder and—she reached behind to pull one of her fluffy pillows under her, smoke billowing into the air.

Cairo gave her hips an experimental roll, imagining it was the soft fabric of your slacks against her aching cunt, and grinned around her cigarette. Unlike the pillow, you would be ever so solid under her, grabbing for her thighs like a dog yearns to please. Were you more likely to bruise her skin, yanking her into you without care for blood—or would you guide her gently, make a home in her innocence and hold her more dearly than life ever could? Either way, your desire for Cairo would be so apparent that you couldn’t help yourself.

The dip of your tongue in her navel, the little smirk you’d undoubtedly wear as you went down further—would you go for her throbbing clit first, or would your lips press so warm—she didn’t know. She didn’t have to, content with all those different versions of you unfurling before her. In her bedroom, each time she moved her hips, it became easier to imagine you guiding her actions, the bump of your nose on her folds, damned if not addicting.

Cairo grinned as she fell onto her forearms, hips pushing into the soft pillow without abandon. The slide of her panties soaked with slick against her sensitive clit felt like the delicate press of your splayed hand on her desk as you’d passed, eyes occupied by the text you were holding. It had only been a split second, but it was enough for her to memorize every crease, every vein. Cairo let out a whine, a demanding little sound, as her movements grew erratic. Looking up into the heaven where you must be, she imagined that you’d murmur to her, “I’m here, I’m here, how could I be anywhere else but here?” as you traced the dip in her back. Her arousal took her down every sullied path she’d ever dreamed of, but her mind stuck on one gesture that made her mouth go dry.

She remembered the way your shirt got just a bit untucked when you stretched during the class break. You’d instinctively tucked it back in, quick as you surveyed the class. Cairo thought that you’d dress yourself back up the same way after you bent her over the desk after class, pushing her skirt up and shoving your fingers into her, painting bruises onto her hip bones with how tight you held her.

The two of you would share a mutual understanding that she wanted this, wanted it bad enough for you to take it whenever you saw fit. Cairo decided that today, this time, you’d be as rough as you pleased, a cup of pens clattering to the ground as you pushed her down, forearm across her shoulder blades. Your necklace would be cold on her warm skin, would it be cold on her tongue? You’d put two, three fingers inside, humming in that absentminded way you did. She thought you’d nuzzle into her ear, all lips and sharp teeth, asking if she’d sprayed your favorite hair mist of hers because she hoped you’d notice—she did—and take her, break her, whatever you wanted.

You’d send her plummeting down towards a deeper hell (or was it higher, up to your majestic heaven?), already knowing everything that her body needed. Cairo imagined herself coming so helplessly around the stretch of your fingers, so high strung from nights of trying to mimic the press of your touch on her clit, unable to reach the same heights you sent her to. As she held back tears, eyes on the ceiling in reverence, feeling herself drip to the floor, you’d sigh as your mind wandered to other things already, carelessly running a hand down her back.

Cairo gasped, dropping her nearly finished cigarette in favor of gripping the bed sheets. The white fabric wrinkled around her fingers, reminiscent of your shirt creasing as you’d rolled your sleeves up. This was something new you could show her, just how fast she could come and just how wet it made her. It was a marvel, feeling the fabric cling to her cunt, almost as good as how you’d feel. Resting her forehead in the crook of her elbow, she murmured your name over and over again, a little susurrus of a litany, so similar to your preoccupied hum. Panting, Cairo giggled in her bliss, soft and bright as Californian oranges clinging to rich leaves. You were dark enough to be tucked into the wrinkles in the soft pillow, dark enough for Cairo to love, as a journal loves a secret.

Sated, Cairo grabbed her phone and typed your name in. The results spilled out, and she scrolled, looking for all of the details in the background of your social media posts, curiously drunk on the year’s gap in your CV. Cairo noticed the perfect little circle where the cigarette had burned when she dropped it, and she brushed away the remnants. The gesture smeared the ash on the sheets.

—

Walking into your office with barely a knock, Cairo took in the familiar room of an academic, but with your unfamiliar knick knacks around the place. A lighter, a leather wallet, glasses and wired headphones. You didn’t look surprised as you glanced up from your laptop. Instead, you smiled.

“Cairo, isn’t it?”

A flush of pleasure shot straight into her—you remembered. She nodded. Your shelves were covered in books and stacks of reviews, the morning’s leftover cup of coffee sitting on one of the ledges. Did you smoke before, or after your coffee? The terrible, terrible want to replace the taste of smoke on your tongue with the taste of her gave Cairo just the confidence she needed.

“What can I do for you?”

Cairo leaned over your desk, watching the way your eyes dropped to her burgundy lipstick. “Would you be able to help me on the Aristophanes reading?” She pushed her copy of The Clouds towards you. “I can’t seem to grasp it.” Your eyes met hers. “Of course.”

a/n cont'd: can you read my mind, i’ve been watching you… there’s just something about you, baby… ♪ / hope you enjoyed @woewriting :)

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

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pb524830 · 1 month

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more than that

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

“Five.”

“No.”

“Okay, ten.”

“Still no.”

“Fifteen?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_________

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

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

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

__________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need..?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” she hisses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re doing so good, I promise.”

“Almost there.”

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

“Look at me, please.”

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

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

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

Hm.

________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I smile against her mouth. “Your turn.”

__________

“Fuck, we’re late.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_________

“You have to fucking talk to me-”

“I really don’t.”

“Laila, it was a joke, I’m sorry.”

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

“Is that really your problem right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck all the way off.”

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

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

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

“What could you possibly find?”

“That maybe you like fucking me!”

“Fuck off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________

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

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

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

“What post, Paige?” I mumble groggily.

“Instagram, bro, keep up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off, Paige.”

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

“Thank you, Paige,” I mumble tiredly.

“I’m serious, who is this guy?”

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

“Your what?”

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

“He what?”

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

“Did you fuck him?” she demands.

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

“I’m coming down there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is normal friend stuff.”

“Are you fucking joking?”

“I’m deadass.”

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

“I wish.”

“Do not get cute with me right now.”

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

“Excuse you?”

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

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

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

“You don’t own me.”

“You’re still mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

I cry so hard that night that my head hurts.

_________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

“Laila.” I freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Paige-”

“You don’t have to say anything-”

“Paige, I’m in love with you.”

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

“What?” she breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

“Come back to bed.”

“In a minute.”

“Please, baby.”

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

“I’m cold, though.”

I throw a blanket at Paige. “There.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #wcbb #fic #uconn wbb #paige bueckers x oc #✂️ anon #ncaaw #fic talk #paige bueckers smut

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kryptonitejelly · 2 years

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There's this video of a couple eating with friends and when the girl bend down under the table to take something she dropped her so put his hand on the corner of the table so she wouldn't hurt herself on her way up without interrupting his conversation with the guy in front of him. Don't know about you but it's 100% flyboy Jake to me

i know which video this is anon! and it is realllllllly cute, also 100% Flyboy Jake!

ft. Phoenix, Halo and Penny + mentions of Fritz, Yale and Harvard because they are all <3

Phoenix and Halo lean against the bar counter, Penny on the other side of the counter, her elbows and forearms resting flat on the counter top; the three women with their eyes fixed on the end of the long table of Naval Aviators where Jake, yourself, Coyote, Fritz. Yale, and Harvard are seated.

“Watch,” Halo mutters, while pressing down on her phone screen, shooting a text off to Fritz who is seated at the end of the table on your right. He gets it, eyes darting down to his phone which is flat on the table, and shifts his elbow, stealthily knocking your small purse off the table.

The three women watch as Fritz gasps an apology, to which you respond with a small smile and shake of your head, before you bend to reach down towards the floor for the purse. Then it happens; they see Jake’s right hand dart out almost instantly, smoothly from your left to cover the corner of the table as you duck beneath, all without a break in the conversation he is holding with Harvard and Yale who are seated across the both of you.

“Well would you look at that,” Phoenix mutters with a brow raised in slight amusement as Penny chuckles with a shake of her head.

“Told you,” Halo says smugly as she pockets her phone.

The three women watch as you dart your head up, placing your purse back flat on the table. They see you accept Fritz’s second apology with a wave and shake of your head, as Jake drops his hand to your thigh momentarily, before shifting his hand over to rest on the back of your chair.

“He’s that way during football as well,” Halo says matter of factly, “he watches her out of the corner of his eye even if they aren’t on the same team, gives her space but is always ready to take anyone out for her.”

“Sucker,” Phoenix snorts, as the three women grin wildly.

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hrwinter · 1 year

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lena is really *really* into the idea of fucking an alien

sometimes when lena is bored at her desk, on a conference call with the board, listening to her mother emasculate yet another yale-bred, early 20s nepotism hire in the hallway, her mind wanders. meanders, really. it's a lesson in imagination. a practice in her academic deductive reasoning. one of those exercises designed to fight dementia, she's inclined to believe. anyways, she wanders about what it would be like to fuck an alien.

don't be like that. it's not crass. it's a scientific pursuit.

for instance, would it be sexual or asexual reproduction? sexual reproduction would make more sense, and surely the universe is sensible. it would promote genetic diversity. and then, what kind? syngamy or conjugation? fertilization was the most common in multicellular sexual populations, lena has often reasoned. (see, this isn't horny. many of these words put you right to sleep, didn't they?) then there's the types of syngamy, of course: isogamy, heterogamy, and oogamy. but she doesn't really need to get into gametes here. size, number, maintenance. the question she's pondering while jess is listing off her jampacked schedule is how different would an alien's physiology end up being, sexually speaking? would they feel pleasure? that wasn't common on earth. how would fertilization work? penetration? on all fours, perhaps?

hm. or would none of that even matter? would it be purely for the experience of interspecies connection? of finding common ground with a creature so distinct from you, it could almost be argued as a matter of say, quantum entanglement. no matter how many stars separated you, here you were. touching. looking. intertwining. two materials from totally different galaxies, the products of millions of years of formation, evolution, coming, coming together as one.

"mrs. luthor?" the tentative voice of her assistant rings out.

lena drops her pen to her desk. she'd been absentmindedly doodling. it's the super crest.

hm.

"kara danvers is here to see you."

"send her up," lena replies, careful in her tone, swiveling her chair towards the blinding windows of her office. up towards the sky, the heavens and far beyond.

if only someone, someone she knew personally, an alien, would be so inclined as to humor her questions. or even a physical demonstration, perhaps? was that really so hard?

#supercorp #fanfic prompt #ficlet #hr's askhole #ive had this ask for four years #i don't know why i kept it so long #it would always make me laugh #I was never sure if it was a prompt or just a fact anon wanted me to know #like #I know anon #-I- know

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shakespeareanwannabe · 4 months

Text

As You Wish, Chapter 3

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister, reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, swearing, verbal arguing, references to divorce, death of a character, injuries, misinformation about the US Navy and how it works (I tried my best)

Briefing Room, Classified Location, 11 years ago

Briefing rooms after missions go horrifically sideways were typically quiet. Those who were involved in the mission were usually too busy inside their own heads, trying to shove feelings and memories into tiny little lockboxes that would then get shoved into other boxes and hidden in the dark recesses of the mind, only springing free when things got…dark. The top brass was usually reading reports and gathering steam, preparing to bring the hand of God down upon the person (or people) who were responsible for the mission going…poorly. Therefore, the rooms were usually can-hear-a-pin-drop quiet, but they were never this…still. This silent.

The fifteen lieutenants stood in four rows and, while most of them were four people deep, the one missing a person stood out in cold contrast, as did the empty spot at the front of the room, where the team leader usually stood. Cyclone, Warlock and Hondo stood just past that spot; heads ducked together in a whispered conversation. Besides that, nobody moved. Nobody stirred. Not Bob, balancing on a pair of crutches with a cast bracing his leg up to his knee. Not Fritz, his arm strapped against his chest to immobilize it. Not Rooster, with a black and purple bruise on his temple, or Coyote, a neat row of stitches gracing his cheek, or Hangman, who felt a painful twinge every time he breathed, the binding protecting his bruised and fractured ribs pulling taut with every inhale. None dared to move or fidget.

Finally, Admiral Simpson moved into the empty space at the front of the room and sighed.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen…I don’t think I need to tell you what an absolute clusterfuck that was.” Fanboy flinched, his head ducking fractionally as the words carried clear across the gathering. “In fact, it was such an absolute clusterfuck that Rear Admiral Cain has decided to disband the Dagger Squad. Immediately.”

Jake heard Yale gasp behind him, and he would have too, if it weren’t for the sinking weight in his chest. The mission had been a clusterfuck, there was no doubt about it, but they had achieved their mission. He had risked his ass after watching Maverick’s plane get shot out of the sky, putting all thought of his little Charlie girl waiting for him at home and the whisper of ‘god damnit, Buttercup was right’ out of his head, and he had taken charge. He had been the one to pull Rooster out of his single-minded mission to avenge Mav’s death, he had been the one to take down the jet that had been targeting an ejected Bob and Natasha, and he, Payback and Fanboy had been the ones to deliver the payload in the end, effectively taking out the target.

He had brought all but one of them home safely, but he didn’t feel any sense of relief, or even grief over Mav’s death. All he felt was the warmth of his baby girls, curled up against his chest as he rocked them in their nursery. All he tasted was the sweetness of Buttercup’s kiss, all he smelled was that newborn baby smell that he swore to God was the best thing he’d ever smelled in his life. All he saw was Buttercup’s tear-stained face as she gathered Abby in her arms and left, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in his ears. If his reaction time had been even a millisecond slower, he could’ve been in Mav’s position, and then what? What would happen to his Charlie then?

“…because of the nature of this mission, disbanding the Dagger Squad, and because you all are the best of the best, the Rear Admiral has decided to make you an offer. As you know, the Navy doesn’t often let you make very many decisions, so I want you to think carefully before you respond, because we do need your answer today. Your first option is to be absorbed into another Squad; in which case you would be shipping out today for your new assignments. Yes, Lieutenant Fitch, if both members of your team decide to go with option one, you will be keeping your WSO. Your second option is—”

The clatter of metal against wood stole the words from Cyclone’s lips, and everyone turned towards the mild-mannered, quiet, shy WSO standing behind the glaringly empty space in the third row.

“—retirement, with a full pension and an honourable discharge,” Cyclone finished, staring down at Bob’s nameplate, lying on the desk beside him.

“I think it’s pretty clear what I choose,” the WSO spoke softly, but no one in the squad could miss the barely tempered rage in his voice.

“Lieutenant Floyd—”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted,” Warlock stepped up next to Cyclone.

“I almost died on this mission,” Bob stated frankly, his gaze never wavering from Cyclone’s face. “I had to eject Lieutenant Trace and I from our aircraft after she was struck in the face by shrapnel that broke through our windshield and destroyed her helmet. Debris that came from Maverick’s plane.” The silence was heavy, tension mounting with every word, but Bob pressed on. “Nat’s never going to fly again. They already told me. And frankly, sir? I don’t know if I have it in me to bond with another pilot after holding my best friend’s body as we waited for rescue, already knowing that our team lead was KIA.”

Cyclone opened his mouth to speak, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I understand, son. If you, or anyone else, decide to retire, know that you’ll be going with the full gratitude of the US Navy,” Warlock responded.

“Thank you, sir,” Bob saluted, then propelled himself out of line, crutching past the waiting rows of his friends and coworkers as he headed for the door. “I’ll fill out any paperwork you need, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“There’s no need to pack and go so quickly.”

“All due respect, sir, but yes, there is,” he came to a stop in front of Jake and fixed him with a steely look. “My family needs me. And if I don’t help them, who will?”

Jake swallowed painfully, his heart pressing against his aching ribs with every heartbroken beat, the roar of fear and shame and anxiety swirling around in his head, blocking out every sound other than the whispers of his regrets.

This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. Football captain, homecoming king, star pupil of the Naval Academy, he flew through OCS and aced his ASTB. He was the only pilot of his generation with a confirmed air to air kill, handpicked for Top Gun and their top-secret uranium mission. And, on top of all of that, up until six months ago, he’d had the most perfect, beautiful wife waiting for him at home with their precious newborn twins.

Now, he was a divorced single dad of one beautiful little girl. A beautiful little girl that he’d had to leave in the capable hands of Penny Benjamin when the Squad had been deployed. A beautiful little girl whose sister he missed so incredibly much that it threatened to bring him to his knees. Whose mother had been right about damn near everything.

“Lieutenant Seresin?”

Jake blinked, his vision and hearing coming back into focus as Cyclone stepped down to face him.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Lieutenant. You’re the best of the best,” Cyclone stated, stepping closer. “Your skills in the cockpit are unmatched and you showed the type of leadership qualities we need in this line of work. There are whispers of promoting you due to your actions on this last mission. With the loss of Captain Mitchell and your actions on this mission, you are now the only ace pilot that the Navy has to offer. You’d have your choice of assignments, should you choose to stay. It would be a damn shame to lose you, son.”

Jake felt something squeeze in his chest, and this time it wasn’t his busted ribs. Being a Naval aviator was the only thing he had ever wanted to be, and Jake Seresin always got what he wanted. He should be elated, planning for his move to the best naval base in the country, where they would probably let him lead his own squad after the way he led the Dagger Squad home safely, tearing victory from the jaws of defeat. He could be Lieutenant Commander Seresin.

Buttercup’s tears and the clicking of his apartment door as it swung shut.

Those bright baby blues that were just now starting to darken into the very same light green he saw in the mirror every morning.

The powdery scent of diaper powder and formula, and the solid warmth and weight of his baby girl in his arms.

“With all due respect, Admiral?” Jake pushed through the catch in his throat. “It would be even more of a damn shame for my daughter to lose her dad. I’m all she’s got. I…I can’t let her down. I can’t let her ever think there’s a chance in hell that her daddy ain’t comin’ back to her. I’m afraid I have to thank you for the opportunity and request that you tender my resignation. Sir.”

Cyclone sighed, a wave of disappointment cresting over his face as he opened his mouth to argue, to convince him to stay, but a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

“We understand,” Warlock reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you for your service, Lieutenant Seresin.”

Jake nodded, shaking his hand before turning and saluting Cyclone. “Thank you, sir.”

“I…I’m with him.” Jake turned and saw Javy saluting the two members of the brass.

“Coyote…”

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I followed your ass on the football field, I followed your ass to the Naval Academy, and now I’m following your ass out the door. You’re not the only one Charlie’s got, man. You both got me.”

“And me.”

The two men turned to see Rooster fiddling with his name plate.

“Bradshaw…” Cyclone’s voice rose in shock.

“My mama never wanted this for me,” Bradley continued, as if he hadn’t heard him. “I know she didn’t. Hell, my mama never stepped another foot on a plane after my daddy died. She was too terrified of bein’ in the air, thinkin’ I might lose her too. I used to think that flying brought me closer to my dad, that I could feel him when I was alone in the cockpit.” He unpinned his name plate carefully, studying the engraving. Lt. Bradshaw. “I can’t feel him anymore,” he murmured. “I’m older than he ever got to be. And now Mav’s gone…” Rooster sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to shake this last mission, sir. I’d be a detriment to any team I join, and I don’t want to put anyone in that position. So…I’m walking away.”

“I…understand. Thank you, gentlemen, for your years of service.”

Rooster saluted, then the three men walked out of the briefing room, the weight of their actions blanketing them.

“So…what now?”

Jake rubbed at his ribs. “We go to Mav’s funeral…then I guess we go home.”

“And where exactly is home?” Rooster drawled. “I can’t imagine you want to stay in your apartment after…everything.”

Jake shook his head, his tactician’s brain kicking into high gear. “Javy?”

“Yeah, man?”

“I think it’s time we introduce Bradshaw here to some Texas barbecue.”

The Brig, Camp Silver Star, Present Day

“Amelia? You…you knew?” Charlie yanked at the t-shirt that felt like it was closing in around her neck.

Amelia kicked off her rainboots, shed her yellow raincoat, and shuffled towards them, gingerly taking a seat on Abby’s bed.

“Yeah…I knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie’s hands clenched rhythmically as she tried to breathe.

“I didn’t know the two of you were here at the same time,” Amelia soothed. “I found out that day that cantaloupe ended up in the fruit salad. You both came to me to ask about it, and I went to find my mom right away. That’s when she told me that she had sent emails about the camp to your aunt and uncles, offering a friends and family discount if you came for these specific weeks.”

“A-Aunt Penny knew too?” Charlie croaked.

“She did. Charlie, I—”

Charlie shook her head, sending her blond braid flying, the end whipping at her face with the force of it. “No. No. This is all a coincidence. It has to be one big coincidence. My dad and your m-mom…them knowing each other doesn’t mean anything.”

“Charlie…” Amelia started, but Abby felt something snap inside of her.

“You’re not actually stupid enough to believe that, are you?” she spat. “Why can’t you just admit that it all makes sense? Our parents knew each other, they got married, and they had us. We have the same birthday, we look identical, and we have these pictures to prove it! Why is that so difficult for you to see?”

“Because it means he lied to me!” Charlie shrieked, burying her head in her hands. “He lied to me. My whole life. He hid my mom and my sister from me for twelve years! He’s my best friend, we tell each other everything, we do everything together, and he lied to me!”

Charlie’s shoulders shook with the force of heavy sobs as the wind whipped at the windows, making the cabin shake. She’d asked her dad about her mother for years, and he had never told her. And neither had Javy or Rooster, who so clearly knew her mother too. Her chest ached with the sting of betrayal, and she had no idea how she was supposed to go home and look her three favourite people in the eyes after finding out they had been hiding such a massive secret from her.

Charlie flinched as she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, and she sniffled as her head was tugged onto Abby’s shoulder.

“W-why aren’t you angry?” she whispered.

“I honestly don’t know,” Abby murmured back, staring sightlessly out the window. “I know that I should be. I know that my mum and Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat lied by omission by not telling me about you and dad, but I just…can’t.”

“Why would they do this to us?” Charlie scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “How is it legal to say that each parent gets a kid, and they never have to see the other one?”

“They had a custody arrangement…” Amelia had moved to kneel at the edge of Charlie’s bed.

“What sick judge would agree to something like this?” Charlie hiccupped as Abby removed her arm and leaned forward, desperation shining in her eyes.

“No one,” Amelia sighed and turned her face downwards. “Now, I don’t have all the information. I was just a kid when your parents split up, and my mom and Mav tried to shield me from the worst of it. All I know is that they got engaged after dating for like a really short amount of time, then your mom found out she was pregnant with you two, and they eloped in Las Vegas. Mav was pissed.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t he like my mum?”

“He loved your parents, both of them. Hangman was a pain in the butt, but Mav wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. After that first mission they flew together, when Hangman saved Mav and Rooster’s life, nobody really cared that Hangman was cocky. The way he could needle at the other members of his squad, it only ever pushed them to be the best that they could be. I know Mav saw a lot of good in your dad, and he really cared about him. And your mom? I think Mav loved your mom because she really helped bring Hangman down to earth. He once told me, ‘Buttercup keeps Hangman’s feet on the ground while his brain is racing through the sky’,” Amelia chuckled. “God, I loved hanging around with your parents. They were so cool.”

“Wait…Buttercup?” Abby bit her lip. “That’s what my aunt and uncle call my mum. Well, that and kiddo.”

“Yeah, nicknames around Miramar kinda just…stuck. Your dad started calling your mom Buttercup, and that was that. She was Buttercup from then on.”

“She even has a buttercup tattoo on her collarbone,” Abby said excitedly, her mind racing with the implication.

“That’s great and all, but can we get back to the story? Why was Mav angry?”

“Because he wanted to be there when they got married,” Amelia laughed quietly. “The Dagger Squad got chosen to do an air show in Las Vegas, and Hangman was able to work it so that your mom could come. Mav didn’t question it at all, even though he knew they were engaged and expecting. Your dad had to do 200 pushups when he got back for not telling Mav the plan so that he could be there,” Amelia giggled. “But I never heard him complain about it. He thought your mom was worth it.”

“So then…what happened?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. My mom and dad split when I was younger, and I guess my mom thought that watching one of my favourite couples in the world split up might bring up some bad memories, so she and Mav sheltered me from a lot of it. I know they had a really bad fight, they both said some things, and then they split, and they each took one of you.”

“H-how did they decide who to take?” Charlie trembled.

“I honestly don’t know. But I know it was never supposed to be permanent. The custody arrangement, I mean.”

“Then what happened? Why did they keep us from each other?”

Amelia shrugged. “I know that it was partly your dad’s deployment schedule. It was hard to set up a visitation schedule when Dagger Squad was being called into action so often. Then, the pandemic hit, and nobody wanted to be sending really young kids on international flights where they could get sick and potentially have lasting complications. After that, I really don’t know.”

Charlie took a deep, shuddering breath as Abby chewed on her lower lip. The cabin was silent, save for the wind and rain lashing at the windows.

Finally, Amelia sighed. “I know this a big revelation for the two of you, and I hate to leave when you probably have a billion more questions. But I do have to get back. I’ll be back later tonight to collect your tray, and I’ll hopefully have more time to answer your questions. Okay?”

Abby nodded but Charlie sat stock still, staring into space.

“Charlie?” Amelia called softly, ducking her head to catch her gaze. “Are we okay, hon?”

Charlie nodded mutely and Amelia returning it with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll see you both later.”

“Bye Amelia,” Abby called softly as the door swung shut behind her.

Silence fell for a brief moment before Abby looked over at Charlie.

“What are you thinking?”

“Shhh…” Charlie hissed, but Abby didn’t take offense. It was clear from the deep set of Charlie’s eyebrows and the pensive look in her eyes that she was planning something. No…plotting something.

Abby shrugged and walked over to the small card table that held their trays of food. Two small Thermos’ of chili, an array of Ziploc bags filled with cheese, chili flakes, bacon bits, and sour cream, and two snack sized bags of tortilla chips were seated neatly on the silver trays, and Abby felt her stomach grumble.

She had just sat down to her freshly topped chili when Charlie moved, sitting across from her with a steely look in her eyes.

“Charlie?”

“I want to get to know my mom,” she stated simply, as though she was saying that the sky was blue or that grass was green.

Abby nodded eagerly. “I know! I can’t wait to get to know dad! Maybe we could call him together on Friday and talk to him together? And then we could do the same for mum!”

Charlie shook her head. “No. I mean really get to know her. I want to meet her in person. I want to be able to hug her. I want to spend time with her, and I want to be able to do that without having to spend time answering questions about how we found each other or her trying to tell me about what happened between her and dad.”

“I…I want that too,” Abby confessed, though Charlie’s words were confusing her. “And we can do that. Once they know that we know, we’ll be able to use that custody agreement and see mum and dad, and each other, more often.”

Charlie shook her head again. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to talk to dad. Or Rooster. Or Javy. They lied to me for my whole entire life! I’m so mad at them that I’ll probably just scream the whole time we’re talking to them. Besides, whose to say that they won’t make excuses and not let us see each other again? What happens if they just decide that I can’t see mom and you don’t get to see dad?”

“They wouldn’t do that!”

“Abby, they already did do that!” Charlie reached out and grabbed Abby’s wrist, her gaze pleading. “Don’t you want to get to know dad without having to deal with all of this? Don’t you want to be able to meet him and get to know him without all the awkward stuff, like him asking you what your favourite colour is or what you got for your tenth birthday?”

“Well…yeah. Of course, I do. But…how would we do that? It’s not like I could just go to Texas when camp is over.”

“Why not?” Charlie’s eyes shone bright with excitement. “Who says you couldn’t just take my boarding pass and fly to Texas to meet dad? Who says I couldn’t just take your boarding pass and fly to London to meet mom?”

“Charlie, you sound insane,” Abby gently removed her hand from her wrist and picked up her spoon. “First of all, I don’t have a boarding pass. I fly stand-by because my uncle is a pilot and gets me on the plane for free, so long as he’s the one flying. Second, we might look a like, but there are still some cosmetic differences! My hair is shorter than yours, I have pierced ears, and we have different accents. They would certainly notice all that. And third, our parents have known us since birth. Surely they would be able to tell that we’re not us!”

“We can fix those things!” Charlie leaned forward. “I can teach you all about my life in Texas. I can show you the layout of the ranch, which cows to avoid, how to tack up my horse at home. I can teach you all about dad and Javy and Rooster. I can cut my hair! And listen, it’s not even that hard to fake a British accent. Pip, pip, cheerio!”

Abby snorted. “And what? You expect me to teach you all about London? Where to catch the tube, the layout of the flat, where the best fish and chips are? You want me to tell you all about mum, and where Uncle Bob hides his glasses cleaning cloth, and how not to stare at Auntie Nat’s scar? You want me to start talking like a cowboy? And what about my ears being pierced?”

“Why not?” Charlie begged, her green eyes shining. “We’ve got like a month to teach each other everything we would ever need to know. And we both have cell phones, so it’s not like we would be completely cut off from each other. If I had a question, I could just text you and ask!”

“Charlie, you sound ridiculous!” Abby threw her spoon down and rubbed her eyes. “There’s no way I can teach you about my life in a month. You want us to try to pull one over on the people that know us best. It would never work.”

Charlie bit her lip then leaned in for the kill. “I saw the way you lit up when Amelia mentioned mom’s nickname being Buttercup. I know how excited you got when you realized that mom has a tattoo of a buttercup. I know you were thinking the exact same thing I was.”

“Which is?”

“That if the people around her still call her Buttercup, maybe she still has feelings for dad. The nickname obviously meant enough to her that she got it tattooed on her body, and she hasn’t tried to get it removed or anything.”

“Mum, she…she’s never dated,” Abby admitted quietly. “She always says she just doesn’t have the time, but…I’ve always hoped that maybe it’s because she still has feelings for my dad.”

“Dad is the same way,” Charlie whispered. “He says I’m his best girl, but I know from Rooster and Javy that dad could be going on lots of dates if he wanted to. They love to tease him about it, and he tells them that he’s too busy with me and the ranch. But I know it’s because he still loves mom.” Charlie reached for her wrist again and this time Abby didn’t pull away. “Abby, if we do this, they will eventually have to switch us back. I’m not suggesting we do this forever. We can get to know them for a bit, then tell them the truth, and they’ll have to meet to switch us back. And when they meet…”

“…they could fall in love again,” Abby murmured.

“They could. Or, at the very least, they can talk and figure out a schedule so we don’t have to be separated again. C’mon…isn’t it at least worth a shot?” Charlie blinked over at her; the puppy dog eyes she had learned from her dad shining in full force.

Abby sighed. “Do you really think we can do it?”

“We’ve got a month, we’ve got social media, and we’ve got access to the computers once a week. I don’t see how we couldn’t pull this off.”

Abby chewed on her bottom lip. “O-okay…but if I don’t feel comfortable with this later, I want to be able to change my mind.”

“Done.” Charlie stuck her hand out and Abby grasped it, pumping it twice in the air with a grin on her face. “Now…let’s get to work.”

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