#TWO FOR ONE FLAT BEE FRIDAY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captain-joongz · 2 months

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Tits out

Pairing: best friend!Wooyoung x f!reader

Genre: bffs to ??, college au, pure smut, barely any plot, fluff, humour

Summary: When talking to your best friend about your nipple piercing during movie night backfires in the most spectacular way possible and Seonghwa's new couch gets caught in the crossfire

Word count: cca 7k

Warnings: reader is chubby, there's no discussion, they just jump into it, titty sucking, nipple and nipple piercing fixation, unprotected sex (this is pure fantasy, be careful in the real world), a little bit of body insecurity about body hair, fingering, doggy, squirting (let me know if i missed anything)

I had met Wooyoung back in the first year in uni and now four years later we were still going strong. The man that walked in confidently into a lecture hall, bee-lined straight for the empty space next to me and was sitting down before I even comprehended his question of “is this seat taken?”, who then proceeded to talk my ear off and invite himself for lunch with me, was quite easy to befriend, believe it or not. After sitting next to him a few times and going for lunch later, I’d managed to get out of my shell a little too and soon we were two merry extroverts steamrolling through university hip to hip. He’d become one of my best friends, one of my closest friends and a person that understood me almost perfectly. We knew we could count on each other completely and trusted each other blindly.

I was introduced into his friend group, and he was into mine and we often hung out together in huge groups of rowdy younglings, going dancing and spending weekends eating too much junk food and watching bad movies someone had put on, but no one really paid attention to besides the occasional joke about its stupidity. I couldn’t count how many times I’ve done something extremely stupid while hanging out with them and was heavily encouraged by both Wooyoung and San. It was the most fun I’ve had though, and that’s what really mattered.

Now I was already out of school, but Wooyoung and most of his friends were continuing with their studies. Due to this, we tried to hang out every Friday, but a lot of the time it ended up being just me and him or even just me sitting in their living room watching Netflix waiting who makes it home first. It was like my second home at this point, and no one was phased when I showed up out of the blue and sat on the couch like I owned it. Especially since Seonghwa bought the new one, that one was extremely comfortable.

Usually, Friday night was a hang out and movie night for me and Wooyoung anyway, but today I was a woman on a mission. A few months ago, I had gotten a nipple piercing. It wasn’t my first one (though it was definitely the most painful one) so I wasn’t extremely worried about it, but lately it has been acting up a little. It usually didn’t hurt but sometimes there would be this slight discomfort around it and I’ve even noticed some slight scabbing even months later. I knew realistically that it was most likely okay, but my anxious nervous little brain had managed to convince me that I’m going to lose my tit or something. That��s why I needed a second opinion. And that’s where Wooyoung came in.

Tonight, I was making my way towards their flat knowing I’m about to ask Wooyoung for the weirdest favour one ever could, but it should be okay, right? We were such close friends, it definitely wasn’t a big deal, right? You normally asked your friends to take a look at your tits and tell you whether there’s something weird about one of them, that was just a usual Friday, no?

I checked the group chat again and confirmed that it would be just me and Woo tonight and then made my way to their building’s door. They lived on the fourth floor without an elevator, which would normally be a minus, but since it was an old warehouse made into an apartment building, their flat was actually massive and housed all of them without a problem, so I graciously sacrificed myself and stomped up the stairs a few times a week to see their faces (and eat their food).

Upon arriving to the flat, I found Woo busy making something in the kitchen, humming lightly while whipping cream like a 50s housewife.

“What you up to?” I asked casually strolling into the room, making Wooyoung jump with shock. “Jesus fucking Christ, you sneak in all the time and yet I still get scared by you,” he said and put his hand over his heart. I slapped his shoulder and peeked at what he was making.

“You literally gave me the keys, Wooyoung, I’m hardly sneaking in,” I said and rolled my eyes at him. He just laughed and pushed me out of the kitchen. “Shut up and start choosing the movie or I know we’ll just end up scrolling through Netflix for hours like always,” he shouted over his shoulder and went back to whatever snack he was making.

As I sat on the couch, I was steeling myself for what I was about to ask him, trying to figure out how to bring it up. No time like the present, right. I mindlessly scrolled through the movies, but really I was waiting for Woo to join me in the living room. Then finally he came in through the door, a plate of little cheesy snacks in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other. I was just about to open my mouth, but he cheekily winked at me and made his way back to the kitchen. When he returned, he was holding a little tray with two cups of hot chocolate, the coke and two glasses.

He finally joined me on the couch and for a while we both just sat there, arguing about whether we want to watch a comedy or a thriller, while I was thinking how to broach the subject. But in the end, I didn’t even need to do that. In the middle of my sentence about how I’m not watching another stupid horror movie about nothing, Wooyoung suddenly turned to me and just gave me this look. And I knew I was done playing around. I stopped in the middle of talking and stared at him. He grinned.

“Okay, just spill it,” he said when I stayed silent for too long.

“What do you mean?” I attempted to stray away from the topic until I was ready, but he’d already saw through me. “Really?” he asked incredulously, “I’ve known you for years, you think I don’t recognise when you want to talk about something? Just spill the beans already.” I heaved a deep sigh and then turned on the couch to face him. He was still grinning.

“Okay, this might be really weird, but just bear with me for a while, okay?” I started. While I was slightly worried about the piercing, I also couldn’t help but fear Woo’s reaction, after all this wasn’t exactly a normal thing to ask your friend. I knew worst case scenario he’ll just say no and laugh it off, but still. He looked a little more serious for a moment, but then I continued talking. “I need you to look at my tits, okay?”

Wooyoung looked at me shocked for a moment and then bursted out laughing. I just glared at him annoyed. “Hear me out-“ I started but he cut me off. “Is this about like being insecure about them? You want me to look at them and say they’re okay? Y/N, you know your tits are amazing-“ he was going on and on, but this time it was me who cut him off.

“God, no, nothing like that,” I shut him up embarrassed. While it was true that I was slightly insecure about my plump figure, I loved my boobs, I knew they looked great. They were simply just right, it was one of the things I loved about my body. Wooyoung sensed that it must be something more serious and gestured for me to continue.

“You know I got the piercing, but lately it started to act up a little and I’m getting nervous and I just need you to look and tell me it looks fine,” I got out in one breath and he just stared at me. “Okay…? Why don’t you look into the mirror?” he asked, genuinely curious. “I have, but since I’m getting so nervous about it, I need a second opinion,” I explained, “Come on Woo, I know it’s a super weird and gross request, but help me out here.” Wooyoung laughed again and smirked at me.

“Gross and weird?” he repeated, “Not only I’ll see a nipple and a piercing, but I’ll also see a boob and a nipple with a piercing, that’s like some of the best things in this world combined together.” I slapped his shoulder again, but we both laughed this time.

“You’re the worst, god,” I said laughing, “I’m surprised you haven’t died over being such a fucking horndog all the time yet.” He laughed too and then gestured to my top.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just shut up and pull your tits out,” he joked and made himself comfortable on one end of the couch. I wasn’t particularly shy about showing my body, so it wasn’t that hard to bare myself like this. Hell, me and Woo have probably seen each other naked a few times but just didn’t care enough.

I pulled the two straps of my top off my shoulders and bunched the fabric around my waist, then reached around to my back to take off my bra. When it hit the floor Wooyoung’s full attention was suddenly on my chest, and it flustered me a little. I fought the instinct to cover myself with my arms and instead just sat there, topless with my best friend intensely staring at my boobs.

“So?” I asked anxiously, “What do you think?” He suddenly straightened up and it brought us quite close to each other. “That you have really great tits,” he said absent-mindedly, his hands raising on instinct as if going to squish them. I flushed and swatted at them. “Yeah, I know,” I said annoyed, “that’s not what I asked though.” That seemed to break him out of it a little bit and he hunched down so his face was on level with my chest. I face-palmed and hoped no one would come home unannounced, cause this would be damn hard to explain.

“No, yeah I think it’s okay,” Woo said after a while, “I mean, the pierced one looks a little different, but that’s to be expected. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.” I relaxed at hearing him say so and felt the tension leave me at once. But I just needed a little more to feel completely at ease.

“Can you like… touch it to see if it’s weirdly warm or if there’s some weird texture or something?” I asked embarrassed and quickly looked to the side when Woo’s head whipped up to look at me. “You want me to what now?” he questioned me flabbergasted.

“I don’t know, dude! You’re the one that gets into contact with tits, you’ll know if there’s something wrong with it!” I started hurriedly explaining myself, growing more flustered by the minute. Wooyoung stayed quiet for a moment and then sighed. I thought this was finally the line that was too far for him, but then his hand suddenly flew up and stopped just millimetres from my nipple. We both just sat there, holding our breath, not knowing where to look, when he slowly brought his fingers in contact with my skin. I gasped quietly, but in the silence it was still audible. I flushed in embarrassment and refused to look anywhere else except for the wall by the TV.

Wooyoung’s fingers messed around a little, pressing down on the nipple and gently squeezing it, also lightly touching onto the piercing. Surprisingly enough, what I felt wasn’t pain like I feared. With every soft brush of his fingers over the sensitive skin, a little bolt of pleasure shot through me and I had to fight to keep myself from gasping more or arching into his touch. I felt the blush spreading over my face and completely mortified I noticed beginnings of a scorching wet heat between my legs.

Then suddenly his hand was gone and he was clearing his throat. The silence that set between us was broken and we both started shifting around, not knowing what to do with the situation we found ourselves in.

“I think it’s totally fine,” he said, his voice somewhat hoarse, but I was so embarrassed I barely even registered it.

“Oh thank god, I was really getting nervous,” I said and laughed a little awkwardly. Wooyoung wasn’t saying anything and just sat in front of me tensely, so I assumed it was good and he just needed a moment to shake off the sudden awkward atmosphere, and turned around to find my bra. That was a rookie mistake though. The moment my eyes left Wooyoung, he striked. As I was searching the floor with my eyes, suddenly what felt like a lightning strike went through my whole body. My back arched on instinct, and I toppled backwards onto the couch with a loud moan.

Wooyoung’s mouth has attached itself onto my pierced nipple and he sucked again, another shock pulsing through me and pleasure suddenly flooding my senses. My hands flew to his shoulders, but instead of pushing him away I just pulled him closer. I myself wasn’t sure of what was happening or what we were doing, but it felt too good to dwell on it and I definitely didn’t hate it.

Wooyoung moved closer and made himself comfortable between my spread thighs, his mouth busy sucking and licking around my piercing. I was letting out tiny breathy moans, my legs instinctively pulling him closer to my core, hoping for a little friction.

“What… what are you doing?” I finally gathered my wits and asked breathlessly. I looked down to see the top of his head moving around. He peaked up to look at me and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve never been with a girl that has a nipple piercing, I couldn’t help myself,” he explained, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“You damn horndog,” I muttered, but didn’t push him away or stop him. That gave him confidence to continue, and he smirked at me, as one of his hands brushed down my front until he was slightly pushing on my clit through my clothes and I arched again. He moved to the other nipple and played with it a little, while his unoccupied hand moved to my other breast, touching it teasingly, squeezing it slightly and thumbing the piercing.

“It’s so sensitive,” he murmured and watched his hand completely fascinated. I was about to retort something, but he chose that moment to bite at my breast and move up to leave wet hot kisses on my neck and a loud moan came out instead. It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone, and I was starting to worry I might utterly embarrass myself. One of my hands sneaked down between our bodies, trying to encourage him to touch me properly instead of just gently pressing, but he caught it and pulled it up to my shoulder. Suddenly he was towering over me, smirking at me and just generally being a menace. I arched again, this time trying to push our lower halves together, but he avoided me with a laugh.

“God, please, Wooyoung just touch me,” I begged him as the desperation from the scorching heat cursing through my veins was taking over, throwing everything into the wind and fully committing to getting fucked by my best friend. He kept smirking and propped himself up over me on his elbow.

“Touch you, huh?” he said and suddenly his hand was back to teasing my clit, this time with more force. I keened and pushed up into him, suddenly embarrassedly realising just how wet I’d gotten from such small ministrations. He chuckled watching me, head diving to take my pierced nipple into his mouth again, gently playing with it with his tongue and scraping his teeth over it. I jerked and my hands flew into his hair, holding him in place so that he’d never stop, my mouth falling open on a silent moan, too overwhelmed by the sensation to properly function. He slowly moved up to my neck, peppering kisses and small bites along the way, while his fingers moved in little circles over my clothed clit.

I was so turned on I could die, I needed him to touch me properly – like stuff me full of his long beautiful fingers. And I told him as such. And he laughed at me.

“Aw, such a little desperate angel, aren’t you?” Wooyoung whispered into my skin. I whined his name, hoping it would speed him up. He scoffed at me playfully but moved away to pull my shorts off, grabbing them with one hand and pulling them down in one swoop; leaving me a little breathless and only in a bunched up top around my middle, while Wooyoung was still fully clothed. I started pulling his shirt off and he obliged, flinging it to the other side of the room eagerly.

Woo sat back on his heels between my spread thighs to take me in and I started to feel shy again, hands moving to grab onto him and pull him back onto me, but he pushed my arms back into the couch and held them there for a moment, before sitting back again.

“No, no, angel, I’m looking at your pretty pussy,” he teased me, hands grabbing at my full thighs to keep them spread wide. I looked down and suddenly an insecurity reared its head again. About two years ago I had stopped shaving in my intimate area, only trimming it a little, cause it irritated my skin too much and the last time I was about to get some, the guy called me disgusting. Wooyoung was currently watching me like a starved man in front of a feast, but still I nervously covered myself with my hands. His eyes flicked up to me, questioning, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” was all I said, mad at myself that I couldn’t even properly get out why I was suddenly so uncomfortable, and he looked at me all confused. “What are you sorry for?” he asked, but then realisation lit up his eyes and he moved to stand up from the couch, “Did you change your mind? You know it’s okay to tell me.” I looped my legs around his waist to pull him back to me and he fell forward with an “oof”. This pressed his erect cock to my core as he held himself up with his hands right by my head and we both moaned at the contact. My legs kept encouraging him to grind into me and for a moment we both just breathlessly moved against each other, Woo releasing little moans and sighs into the heated air between us, and I watched his half-lidded eyes slowly become hazy with pleasure, utterly fascinated.

“So I guess no changing of minds,” he chuckled on a small groan as his hips started thrusting a little harsher against me, losing all rationality and just chasing pleasure. “No, nothing like that,” I whispered back and pulled him for a kiss for the first. As soon as our lips touched, we started hungrily devouring each other, moaning into each other’s mouths and our hands grabbing onto each other desperately. I ended up helplessly grabbing onto his back and most probably leaving red scratches in my wake.

After a moment Woo pulled away, sat back on his heels again and I whined and tried to pull him back, leading him to laugh at me once more; but his fingers went straight for my pussy, spreading it open and sliding through the wetness there. As if placated, I immediately stopped whining and arched my back more, begging for his touch.

“What was that about before?” he asked slightly breathless and I could see he was being serious, even though his finger started slowly circling my clit and playing around. I could barely concentrate on explaining as I was too busy drowning in the liquid pleasure spreading through my entire body.

“Just a little… hng- a little insecure about- about my hair,” I answered while writhing around, simultaneously wanting more and hoping he’d stop so that I could explain properly. His eyes immediately flicked down between my legs just as his finger slid down and slowly slipped into me. I moaned loudly, hands grabbing and squeezing the couch. His gaze was trained on my hole as he pumped his finger in a few times and then quickly slid in a second one.

“Fuck, you’re so wet..” he whispered, still watching his fingers slowly fucking into me, his other hand going to squeeze his erection still tenting his sweats. My mouth was hanging open, eyes unfocused, noises just pouring out as I was finally feeling full for the first time. But then suddenly he pulled his fingers out and focused on me again. I actually sobbed out, trying to close my legs to keep his hand from leaving, but they were still kept spread by his hips.

“Why would you be insecure about it?” Wooyoung whispered and it took me a moment to remember what we were talking about before. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at him, sitting between my spread legs with an obvious erection in sweats stained by my wetness from our grinding before. I flushed again and tore my eyes away from his cock, only to catch his smug smirk. I schooled my expression and said: “The last guy I was with called it disgusting. Said he’s not Columbus to be exploring the rainforest.” Wooyoung scoffed.

“What a fucking asshole, who even comes up with shit like that?” he asked incredulously, “Well, clearly he’s a fucking coward, but thankfully… I’ve always liked a little bit of adventure.” He said the last bit all flirty, winking like an absolute sleaze and I just knew something awful was coming. “Besides,” he said while pressing himself into me again, “the rainforest is the perfect place for my anaconda.” I groaned, but this time from pure embarrassment at his jokes while he cackled like a madman. I pushed him away and started to turn around so that I could stand up.

“God, I changed my mind, get off of me,” I said morosely, but he just grabbed my hips and used the momentum to turn me around and get me on all fours, then pressed us together. A bolt of arousal shot through me, and my arms buckled under my weight, my face pressing into the couch while my ass stayed propped up by Wooyoung, pressed into his hips.

“Actually, this is quite a good idea,” he said grinding into me, “I always knew you’d love to be fucked like this.” He bent over me, his chest pressing into my back as he whispered straight into my ear. “Pressed down like this, taken from behind quick, rough and dirty,” he murmured, “Put nicely in your place…” I moaned unabashed, hips pushing back onto his cock on their own and lust making itself painfully known again; in response I could feel Wooyoung’s hands tightening on my skin and suddenly he pulled back to hurriedly tug his sweats down. His hands made their home on my hips, squeezing and pulling, keeping me pressed into him, his cock slotting between my thighs and sliding along my wet pussy. I keened and attempted to grind back, but he held me as his hips pulled back.

“God, please,” I begged, “Please, Wooyoung, give it to me…” He held himself with one hand and I heard him chuckle. “You want it?” he teased. I felt the head of his cock gently teasing around my hole, slightly pushing in and pulling out again. I sobbed exasperated and nodded, face mushed into the couch and hands grabbing onto the throw pillows, my whole body just fucking screaming for his cock to spear me through and through, cunt spasming and tightening around nothing.

“Yes! Yes, please!” I cried and he finally slid inside in one slow thrust. I moaned with relief and sagged into the couch a little, finally getting what I’ve been wanting this whole time. Wooyoung groaned behind me and his hands dug into the skin of my hips, pushing us impossibly together. The feeling of fullness satisfied something wild and primal in me and I found myself struggling to close my mouth, too blissed out to do anything.

He stilled for a moment to get us both accustomed to the feeling, but clearly both of us were too horny to wait even a little longer, because the second I pushed my hips back into him, he started slowly grinding in small circles and it wasn’t long before it shifted into shallow thrusts punching out little gasps out of me.

I only had to whine out “please!” once to get Wooyoung to speed up and pound into me in a much faster pace, to both of our reliefs. Woo’s cool had quickly melted away into a desperate quick pace that had tiny whiny moans spilling out of him. I wasn’t fairing much better, the slide of his cock along my walls from this angle was absolutely heavenly and within few moments had me absolutely losing my already frayed mind. With my head turned away from the cushions I found myself unable to close my mouth, moans freely slipping out and bouncing off of the walls of the living room. Embarrassingly enough I could feel a string of drool coming out of the corner of my mouth onto the couch, but I couldn’t force myself to care when Wooyoung was fucking me so good.

It quickly became obvious we were both too horny and turned on to keep any kind of decorum, so we descended into a messy filthy fucking, Woo eventually bending over me and plastering his chest to my back, mouthing and biting at my neck in between grunts and groans. Just thinking about how deliciously I was filled with his cock had me moaning loudly, Wooyoung chuckling as if he wasn’t the same, losing his mind over the tight wet heat enveloping him in a torturous hug.

I found myself quickly spiralling, the molten pleasure pumping through my body at an alarming speed. I reached back and pulled at Wooyoung’s hips, forcing him to shift his leg a little closer and putting his hips a little higher over mine, giving him perfect access to that one spot deep inside of me with every thrust. I lost all control over my body then, taken over by the all-consuming pleasure, the moans coming out higher and louder with every thrust.

“God- ah aah-“ I panted out, hands digging into the pillows looking for any kind of purchase to withstand the onslaught of sensations, “I- I’m cumming so-soon.” Wooyoung giggled breathlessly into my shoulder and his hips suddenly gained back a little more direction, aiming to hit the spot with every slam into me, slowly speeding up until he was railing me like a madman, the wet squelch of my cunt and slapping of skin on skin accompanying the cacophony of our joined pleasure. I wailed, unable to keep up with the mounting climax, almost screaming on every thrust inlaid with little gasps, groans and cut off gibberish pouring out of my mouth. It felt as if my entire body lit up, the bliss becoming a little too much for me to properly register beyond “Oh god! Oh yes!” ringing through every inch of my very being.

Then Wooyoung’s hand moved to my tit again and squeezed and pinched the pierced nipple few times, even giving it some light slaps. My whole body seized up on a lightning strike of pleasure and the orgasm hit me like an actual truck, getting thrown over the edge so unexpectedly and with such force that I gave one last wheezing cry, mind blanking out and all I could register was the white ecstasy pouring through me, out of me, as if my entire body was made out of it, every nerve screaming with it.

Distantly I registered Wooyoung’s startled cries and moans, his hips jerking against mine quickly and erratically, his hands back on my hips tightening until I could feel his nails biting into my skin and was sure I’d have a nice set of imprints for at least the rest of the day. Then he stilled over me, cock pushed as deep inside as it could go, pulsing and throbbing as the cum poured out in thick spurts. His deep groan of satisfaction reverberated through my whole body since he was still pressed into my back tightly, letting me enjoy the moment with him.

As if invisible strings were cut, we both collapsed into the couch and hazily I realised I only stayed upright because Wooyoung was holding me so he could fuck me harder. After few minutes my mind slowly started coming back, body tiredly catching up, registering the pleasurable ordeal it just went through. I could feel my pussy throbbing, hot and wet from being thoroughly fucked and filled with Woo’s release, my hips hurting from the pounding. I was almost expecting to see bruises all over me.

For a few moments only laboured breathing was heard through the room as we both recovered, the haze gradually lifting, allowing us to come to terms with what had just happened between us. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel awkward at all. It may have been because I was still lying boneless, unable to speak from the force of the orgasm with Wooyoung’s softening cock still wedged deep inside of my pussy, but I found myself quite comfortable squished into the couch, feeling his shallow breaths in the crook of my neck and his thumping heart against my back. I wondered if he could feel mine, as it was beating just as wildly.

But the comfy silence was broken by the man himself, when he whistled and said: “Wow, I had no idea you could do that.” There was a little teasing undertone to his statement, but mostly I could detect only giddy wonder and pride.

“Do what?” my words still a little slurred, because I was still recovering the functions of my brain and fighting sleep, so deeply sated I could barely hold a full thought.

“Squirt,” Woo stated matter-of-factly, his hands beginning to gently caress my sides to help me come down. “Huh?” I said eloquently and turned to look at him. He just gave me a soft grin, eyes squinting in joy as he took in my state. “I did what?” the question was more rhetorical and I wasn’t even really talking to Wooyoung, rather I started to squirm trying to look down as if my pussy held the answer. And in some way it did. When I managed to lift up my hips a little, my whole body protesting and Wooyoung behind me grunting at the jostling of his soft cock, hands digging into my hips to try and hold me still, I saw that the couch beneath us was absolutely soaked. Slight panic seized me, I didn’t even know why, it was just a natural reaction of my tired brain to the information that apparently Wooyoung, my best friend, had made me squirt for the first time in my life, all over Seonghwa’s lovely sofa. Well, at least it did explain why the orgasm had been so fucking intense, feeling as if the soul left my body and astral projected into a parallel universe.

The squirming dislodged Wooyoung from me and a splat of his cum joined the already huge stain on the furnishing. Now I winced, realising that there was no way either of us was surviving this. Unceremoniously I plopped back down into the mess and turned to Wooyoung, who was sweaty and rosy-cheeked, watching me with amusement.

“Seonghwa is going to fucking murder us,” I muttered tiredly, already back to fighting sleep off now that I was lying again. I let my eyes fall shut and only heard Wooyoung’s answering laugh, only felt him get up from the couch and gently roll me over on my back. There was shuffling, rustling of clothes and footsteps around the living room, but I couldn’t find the strength to look at what was Woo doing, letting myself drift on the high and the aftershocks that were still coursing through me.

Wooyoung was humming somewhere in the apartment and then there was a gentle touch on my hip. I whined but let him do what he needed. A warm wet towel was pressed onto my stomach lightly in lieu of warning and I slowly opened my legs again, feeling the strain and the burn that just hurt so good. Woo tenderly cleaned me up with soft unhurried strokes, then helped me sit up against the pillows to try and put some clothes back on me.

I blearily opened my eyes and blinked at him. Wooyoung was kneeling on the floor in front of me wearing only his sweats and holding his black tee. When he saw I was back in the land of living, he slowly pulled it over my head and helped my arms into the sleeves. I was feeling all warm and fuzzy from his sudden softness, thoroughly enjoying this after-care, suddenly found myself overtaken by the violent need to cuddle and sleep it off, so I was just about to suggest that, when he suddenly sprung to his feet and pulled me up with him. I let myself be man-handled with only a slight surprised yelp, but suddenly standing I realised my legs still weren’t in working order, if my shaking buckling knees were anything to go by, so I just grabbed onto his shoulders and hoped he wouldn’t let me fall.

He didn’t. Another nicely warm towel was now wiping my butt of anything I had been sitting in, his hand gently patting it before putting me back onto the couch in the area that was dry.

I wanted to sleep, but I was too amused by the picture of Wooyoung standing in front of the huge wet stain with a deep thinking expression on his face, wracking his brain for anything to do about it. When a giggle escaped me, suddenly his eyes were on me with a mischievous glint.

“You made the mess and now you laugh at me when I’m trying to save our lives?” he asked jokingly, amusement lacing his tone. I giggled again and curled around one of the pillows, fully committed to watching the comedy unfold. Wooyoung just sighed and looked at the couch as if it murdered his first-born.

“I gotta come up with something before-“ his voice was cut off by the door suddenly opening and a commotion coming in. There were three voices happily chattering something and I could recognise the guys from that. With terror I met Wooyoung’s eyes the moment we registered Seonghwa as one of the voices. Before any of us could even move a muscle, the three men walked into the room and promptly froze in their tracks.

“Holy shit!” It was San who shouted that, but we were focused on the cacophony of emotion going through Seonghwa’s face seconds before he cried out “MY COUCH!!” on the top of his lungs. There was genuine anguish and betrayal in his voice before his eyes redirected from the stain to us with pure fury.

“Okay! Time to take a shower!” Wooyoung shouted and pulled me up, but ended up supporting my entire body when my knees buckled and I was balancing on shaking legs like a new-born fawn. From this angle I could see the pure amusement and approval on San’s face right next to the disgusted traumatised Yeosang. I blushed furiously and let Wooyoung drag me off to a bathroom, where he sat me gently on the toilet.

“I’m going back out,” he whispered with determination as if he was about to walk into a battlefield, leaving his wounded comrade in the safety, knowing there was only death outside. I snickered at him and he theatrically waved at me from the door, before walking out and shutting it behind him.

I could still fairly clearly hear everything go down though, especially when only moments later Yeosang popped in to give me my clothes and stuff I left on the table and didn’t close the door fully after him. My phone was vibrating like crazy, which could only mean San was already blessing the group chat with all the piping hot tea. I unlocked it and clicked on the notifs.

Mountain man: lolol woo and y/n fucked on the couch and completely ruined it

Princess: ew fuck you wooyoung

Muscle baby: i’ll never fucking use the living room again

Brat: 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

The situation unfolding in chat was interrupted by the scene that was going on in the living room in the real time.

“Calm down, I’ll think of something,” Wooyoung’s voice carried through, trying to console Hwa only to be followed by another shriek of “BUT MY COUCH!!”.

“Wow Wooyoung, I really thought better of you,” Sannie teased, adding oil to fire and I could clearly hear his laughs. No signs of Yeosang, but he was probably just standing there watching it all go down.

“I spent months picking it out!” the level of hysteria was steadily rising in Hwa’s voice and I really slowly started fearing for Woo’s life. “I’m gonna have it dry cleaned or something,” the said man offered only to be met with more shrieking.

“You better fucking throw that thing out, there’s no way I’m sitting on it after this,” San added very unhelpfully to the conversation, “especially since I saw the state of it.” There was a beat of silence during which I imagined Wooyoung was throwing daggers at San with his gaze for stirring more shit into it.

“I’ll buy a new one,” was his final plea and while it was met with some more grumbling and fake-crying, I could hear the situation calming down.

Captain: what the fuck is happening there when i’m not home

Mountain man: fornication

Demon angel: disgusting

M o t h e r: MY COUCH

M o t h e r: my amazing couch in the perfect shade of blue that i was looking for

M o t h e r: DEAD AND DEFILED

Puppy: i’ll help you look for a new one, hyung

Mountain man: wooyoung already agreed to buy a new one since he was the cause of the *suspiciously* large stain

Captain: no details

Captain: never any details

Captain: first rule of fight club

xoxo from hell: 🤔🤔

xoxo from hell: i think

Princess: oooh she breaks her silence

xoxo from hell: that a certain man here in this chat should rather shut up considering last week i walked in on him fucking a girl on the kitchen table

Brat: oop-

Mountain man: Y/N

Mountain man: NO

Demon angel: 🤮

Muscle baby: RIGHT WHERE WE EAT???!!!

Puppy: eat pussy apparently

Princess: nice

Captain: don’t encourage him

“MY KITCHEN TABLE?!” Seonghwa’s scream sounded through the flat just as Wooyoung slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him with a wide grin. Distantly I could hear San’s pleading and general chaos as Hwa no doubt started raining fury upon him.

“Nice save,” Wooyoung smirked at me and started ridding us of clothes so we could finally take the shower we both desperately needed. The feeling of the hot water hitting my spent and pleasantly aching body relaxed me and I sighed with content. I was basically ready to melt into a puddle right there, sleep slowly rearing its head back up, so I just went with the motion and let Woo soap us both up and rinse us, I let him dry me and put a fresh tee on me that I didn’t even notice he brought with him. I was just watching him with eyes half closed and a doped out smile on my face.

“You’re so cute like this,” Woo muttered as he led me through the hall to his room, amusement and fondness filling his voice with uncharacteristic gentle sweetness. Upon entering his room I immediately beelined for the bed and burrowed myself between the blankets and pillows. Woo rummaged around in his closet for a moment, but it was the only sound I could hear as the apartment suddenly fell almost eerily quiet.

“If I’m so cute now,” I finally mumbled out from underneath the cozy pile, “maybe you should fuck me more often then.” That had Wooyoung turning around to face me with a mischievous grin. “I fully intend to do that,” he said devilishly and jumped in with me. It took a bit of shuffling to get into a comfortable spooning position, but we were no strangers to cuddling each other, so it went rather smoothly.

Just as the sleep was claiming me and I felt myself getting pulled under, Woo suddenly perked up and said: “You don’t think the silence means hyung murdered San and now Yeosang’s helping him get rid of the body, right?” I snickered gently, but just swatted at him to lay back down.

“Well, he probably deserved it,” Woo muttered and snuggled in closer to me, letting the exhaustion finally lull us to sleep. And it was the most comfortable sleep I’ve had in a while, even if San potentially paid for it with his life.

Divider from the amazing @saradika-graphics 💜

A/N: hope you enjoyed yourself, don't be shy I'm always open to comments and asks!!

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez fluff #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fic #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung x reader #kpop fic #kpop smut #kpop fluff

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astroboots · 2 years

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 7

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: Your subconscious is trying to tell you something important about the choices you have to make. Or alternatively: is it still a threesome if the two men are alters?

Content: Stefon voice: This chapter has everything: angst, vaginal sex, anal sex, threesomes, DP sex.

Word Count: 8,165

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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You stare up at the shadows on the ceiling above your bed, willing yourself to fall asleep.

But it’s simply not happening.

Every time you close your eyes to the darkness, your brain takes it as an invitation to play a slideshow of this evening’s highlights.

Marc showing up at your door, Marc holding you on the DLR, Marc's face inches from your own in front of the fish tank, Marc tucking you into the taxi. The images play behind your eyelids over and over and over again like a broken merry-go-round until you’re dizzy with it and dart up from your bed to pace the distance of your flat for a good twenty minutes, calming your jittery nerves enough that you can lay still long enough, close your eyes– only for the reel to start again.

Get up–walk around–lie down–replay–and so it goes. Again and again and again.

You don’t get much sleep that night.

Friday morning comes early.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point because you wake to your alarm blaring, but your sore back and the heavy dull ache behind your eyes tell you it was not nearly enough rest.

One look at the clock informs you that you have 15 minutes to get yourself together and out the door or you’ll be late for work. It’s a mad scramble, and you earn yourself a bruised shin courtesy of the bloody ottoman, but you make it out the door and to the tube just in time, dashing down the stairs and squeezing yourself through the already-closing doors as the morning commuters around you grumble.

Pressed up between a grumpy construction worker and an even grumpier 20-something office worker, you’re holding onto your belongings for dear life as the train sways, trying to make sure you’ve got everything you’re meant to, when you realise the jacket in your hand is not one of your own.

It’s Marc’s.

There’s no need for another layer in the overpacked warmth of the train, and it’d be too hard to manoeuvre yourself into it in the minimally-available free space anyhow. You drape it over your arm instead, the way you might if you were just… holding it for a friend. There it stays for the entirety of your commute until you exit the station into the damp chill of late Autumn London fog so heavy it’s nearly drizzling.

You glance at the jacket. The sensible thing to do here would be to just put the bloody thing on, but for some reason you can’t quite bring yourself to do it. Instead, you shiver your way through the two block walk to your office, arriving cold and clammy and feeling all together out of sorts.

On top of that, your sleepless night and slapdash makeup application are apparently not doing you any favours, because once you arrive at work, no less than three of your coworkers ask if you’re ill. With as polite of a smile you can muster, you push off their concern and get to work. Busying yourself with small, mindless tasks, you manage to get through most of the morning without thinking overly much about anything.

That lasts right up until 11:47am when your phone pings out, rattling against the surface of your desk.

Steven Hiya love! 🥰 What did the sushi 🍣 say to the bee 🐝?

Steven’s silly random texts usually bring a smile to your face, and this one still does, but today it’s accompanied by a sickening swoop of your stomach and a heavy feeling that weighs you down, slowing your fingers so that it takes you twice as long as usual to type a response.

You I don’t know… What did it say?

Steve Waaaasa-bee!!!!! 🤪🤪🤪

You Oh my god!

Steven Speaking of which, how do you feel about sushi for dinner tonight? Shall I get us some from that Eat Tokyo place on my way to your office? 🍣🍱😊

You glance at Marc’s jacket where it’s sitting, innocently folded atop your purse by the side of your desk, and tear your eyes away. Guilt over your actions yesterday comes crashing down on you all over again like a ton of bricks. You can’t imagine sitting with Steven in his flat eating dinner under the watchful eyes of Gus 2.0, The Imposter while lying to his face about what you did last night. The very idea makes your already unhappy stomach turn.

You Sorry. I have Friday social drinks with the team tonight and I’m getting the side eye for having missed too many. Raincheck? xx

Drinks with your team is predictably awful.

It’s a longstanding social obligation at the end of each week that you’ve never enjoyed. Too much boozing and Graham from two cubicles down tends to get handsy and start hovering too close once he’s on his sixth pint. You’ve happily foregone it most weeks since you started dating Steven.

Tonight though, it’s the lesser of two evils and the perfect excuse.

Since it’s Friday, the pub closest to your office is an overpacked mess. The floors are sticky from spilt beer, and the rancid smell of what must either be old cider or piss has permanently seeped into the cracks of the wooden beams. You’ve entirely lost count of the number of elbows jammed into your back, and your voice has gone hoarse from shouting to be heard over the unnecessarily loud music and cluttered conversation taking place all around you.

The evening drags on. Sleep-deprived and exhausted, you find yourself zoning out, eyes drawn to the large fish tank in the corner of the pub. It’s a standard collection, a few guppies, a fat Gourami fish that shimmers red and a handful of goldfish swimming about.

One is almost orange in its goldenness, nothing like Gus’ more stark golden hue. Another one has the same colouring as Gus but is too skinny to pass, the third one… hmmm. That one is a bit more promising. It isn’t one finned, but it’s the right size and colour, and one fin is even a bit smaller than the other, so maybe–

Oh god, what are you doing?

Are you seriously scoping for another replacement fish right now? You need to stop.

Shaking your head to snap yourself out of it, you turn your attention back to the conversation at your table.

“My son’s gotten into a phase where he won’t stop watching Finding Nemo on rerun,” Poppy from accounting is saying next to you. “He loves that movie. Wants me to make him a Nemo costume for Halloween this year. Must’ve told me twenty times to ‘make sure it’s only got one fin.’”

A shiver works its way down your spine. The words feel accusatory somehow, even though you know that she couldn’t possibly have known what you were up to yesterday. You’re also pretty sure Nemo technically had two fins, one was just smaller than the other, but you’re not about to correct her when it’s all you can do to push down the image of Gus that’s trying to swim up to the surface of your mind.

From across the table one of the other accountants chimes in, saying how their kids love the movie as well, and then it’s a pile on of enthusiasm, everyone blathering on about their kids watching Nemo on rerun.

Nodding vaguely, you pretend to be following along in the conversation, but you keep having flashes throughout of the Imposter Fish and his two whole fins swimming around in Gus’ tank like he owns the place. Your skin prickles like you’re about to break out in hives.

You stand abruptly, nearly knocking your chair over in the process, earning yourself concerned and questioning stares from around the table.

Shit.

“I’ll… um… I’ll just grab another round for the table, shall I?” you blurt out, trying to salvage your dignity or at least the situation, then escape to the bar.

Ordinarily it would take an eternity to get the bartender’s attention on a busy night like this—a good twenty minutes to be spotted in the crowd, if you’re lucky. But tonight, on the one night when the wait would have been a welcome reprieve, the bartender spots you almost instantly and prepares your order with similarly unwelcome speed. That’s how you find yourself stacking pint after pint in your arms, cradling them as best as you can as you reluctantly start back towards your table not five minutes after you left.

You’re struggling to balance the drinks and evade the throng of people as you make your way through the crowded room when you spot him, and it feels like your heart stops.

There’s a man by the fish tank, his back leaning against a wooden beam. You only see him out of the corner of your eye at first, but the stiff, almost militant posture and rich black curls, slicked back but starting to unfurl from the heat and humidity of the pub, are unmistakable.

Why is he here!?

Time slows to a crawl, and you forget to breathe as the longest second you’ve ever experienced in your life stretches out and out and out until the lack of oxygen in your brain has you convinced that it’s Marc you’re staring up at. You walk forward, even as the firmness of the floor beneath you gives. All you can see is his wide back covered by the brown canvas jacket, identical to the one Marc had lent you last night. But that can’t be right, because you still have it. It’s on your chair, isn’t it?

Time has never unfolded so slowly as you watch the man turn his shoulder, presenting a full view of his face only for you to see that his eyes aren’t gorgeously brown. Nose, nothing at all remarkable or unique. His jaw is round instead of the ridiculously cut sharpness you’re so used to seeing.

There’s not a single feature in the man’s face that is as sharp or striking as Marc and Steven and with that realisation time slams forward then resumes its normal pace. Your stomach drops, landing on the sticky flooring near your feet.

You don’t want to be here.

Turning back to your table, you drop off the ordered drinks, as you murmur an apology about needing the loo.

Mumbling ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s as you dash through the throng of crowds, you push your way to the ladies room at the far end of the pub where you find your salvation through the door marked with a silhouette of a woman.

There’s a row of stalls, but you don’t bother checking each for cleanliness the way you usually do. Just make a beeline for the furthest one, thankful that it turns out to be unoccupied. You flip the lock and sit down on the rim of the toilet, eyes flitting over the bits of used gum that’ve been rolled up and tacked onto the cracked tiles. There’s soggy bog roll pooling around your shoes courtesy of a previous visitor, but you scarcely care, too relieved to have some space for yourself to just breathe for the first time this evening, without interruptions or anything to remind you of Gus or Marc or Steven.

That reprieve barely lasts for two seconds.

As if on cue, the main door to the ladies slams open. A group of women pours in, all shouting zealously, and there’s no sound isolation to protect you from hearing every bit of the conversation from where you sit.

“Pet, listen to me. If he loved you, he wouldn’t be lying to you now would he?” comes a shrill, concerned voice.

“It’s not like that. You don’t understand, he was just worried about how I’d take–” Before she even finishes her sentence, another voice cuts in, even shriller than the first.

“No! I don’t care what his excuse is. No partner worth a damn would lie to someone they’re in a relationship with. You need to dump that liar!”

The words plunge into your chest with a painful twist that tears through your insides, making your cheeks and eyes both burn. The universe certainly seems set on hammering some point home tonight, but this is really just a bit unfairly on the nose now, isn’t it?

Hunching over in the cramped space of the stall, you dig your elbows into your knees and hide your face in your hands. You don’t want to be listening to this. Can’t handle it right now. Just can’t.

Quickly, before they have time to say more, you stand and smooth a hand over your clothes and hair, as though making yourself a smidge more presentable might somehow smooth out some of your inner turmoil.

Taking a deep steadying breath, you exit the stall. You hesitate for a moment before approaching the sink and hurriedly washing your hands, not quite willing to sacrifice personal hygiene or the appearance, at least, of normalcy. By now, the group of women have converged on their unlucky friend, cornering her against the far wall as they continue to rant on about lying liars who lie and exactly what liars deserve. (The worst, apparently, as far as these ladies are concerned.)

Oh god. You have to get out of here.

You do, hastily fleeing the loo and fighting your way back to the table. You must look as rough as you feel, because you don’t even have a chance to open your mouth before Poppy shoots you a concerned look.

“Are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost.”

“Um… No, actually.” Grabbing the lifeline that’s been offered, you make a dramatic showing of feeling ill, “I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather all day, and it’s really caught up with me now. I’m going to head off early tonight.”

You nod your way through the condolences and well wishes, picking up your handbag and gingerly retrieving Marc’s jacket from the back of the chair as you make your polite goodbyes by rote, and then exit the pub as quickly as possible given the crowd.

Outside, the rain is bucketing down. It’s standard weather for London this time of year, but tonight it feels like one more bit of pointed commentary by the universe, and you huddle miserably under the pub awning.

You just want to go home.

Steven’s place is only two stops away by tube—if you leave now, you can be there in less than eight minutes. But even as you think it, you realise you can’t go to his. As much as you want Steven, want to burrow into the comfort of his embrace and never come out again, that wouldn’t be fair to him.

Instead you unlock your phone and pull up the Uber app.

It’s Friday, in the centre of Soho, and the only Uber that accepted your request is 30 minutes away (having to make a drop that is nowhere nearby, despite what the app is telling you) not to mention the surge in pricing. You confirm anyway, unable to bear the thought of braving the crowded trains for the long commute back to your flat.

Then you wait.

The awning isn’t nearly wide enough to protect you from the rain, and frigid water rebounds off the concrete, splashing onto your feet and legs and soaking through your shoes until your toes are swimming in the cold dampness of your socks.

Marc’s jacket is folded neatly over your arm, still dry. You think about how warm it was in the cab last night, how it smelled of him, but even with the chill seeping through your jumper, you still can’t bring yourself to put it on. For a brief second, you consider going back into the pub where it’s warm and dry, but being cold and wet seems like the preferred option at the moment. It feels like what you deserve.

This is a right proper bloody fucking mess, and it’s all your fault.

You and Marc almost kissed. Might have done if he hadn’t pulled back. You might have betrayed Steven—the man you love. And for what?

You’re attracted to Marc. You can admit that much to yourself.

You try to tell yourself it’s just because you’re attracted to the body he shares with Steven, but you know it’s more than that.

You’ve grown to care about Marc independently of his connection to Steven. You look forward to the quiet mornings you spend with him. Enjoy watching his micro-expressions while you prattle on about your days during breakfast. The small quirk on one side of his lip, when you tell him something he finds amusing. The way he grunts like a displeased pug when he spots another mess that Steven has left in the kitchen.

Impossible though it had seemed to begin, he’s become your friend. There’s no denying that after your ridiculous caper with the fish last night—you’d only go that far for a good friend, a trusted one.

Someone you really care about.

Someone you almost kissed.

You huff out a choked laugh and bury your face in your hands, disgusted with yourself all over again.

But it’s not really even about the almost-kiss, is it? Though that’s certainly bad enough.

It’s about the fact that you’re lying to your boyfriend—mostly by omission, but sometimes also… not. That you’ve been lying to him for so long that it’s somehow become a “normal” part of your everyday life. So routine you’d almost forgotten you were doing it.

It’s about the fact that Marc—your friend Marc—came to you for help, and you were so eager to help him that you didn’t stop to consider the consequences. That now you’ve gone from lying to Steven—your boyfriend Steven—to actively helping to deceive him.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped seeing Marc as the antagonist in the story of your lives together. And now you've allowed yourself to become his co-conspirator against Steven, which is exactly the opposite of what you wanted.

You’re deceiving Steven for Marc. Going along with him because he says it’s better for Steven that way. But is it? Is it really better? You don’t think so, but… you don’t know.

You believe that Marc wants what’s best for Steven.

You believe Steven deserves to know the truth about himself.

Two truths, but incompatible ones. And you’re the one stuck in the middle. It’s an impossible choice. No matter what you do now, you’re going to be betraying someone. Choosing one of them over the other.

And you don’t know how to live with that.

Bile rises in your throat, and you have to close your eyes and swallow hard. You dig your fingers into the material of Marc’s jacket, twisting it in your hands as you curl into yourself.

You’re so caught up in your misery that you barely register the slosh of tires against the rain, looking up just in time to see your Uber pull up to the curb. Hunching your shoulders, you hug the jacket and your bag to your chest, shielding them from the flood of frigid water that drenches you as soon as you leave the protection of the awning, and quickly make your way across the sidewalk.

Climbing hurriedly inside the vehicle, you close the door behind you and set everything on the seat beside you, guiltily smoothing out the wrinkles in Marc’s jacket caused by your rough handling.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart, you’re soaked. That’s London weather for you innit?” the driver remarks, and you look up to see him watching you in the rearview mirror.

He’s not wrong. You feel like a drowned rat, as you catch sight of your reflection in the darkness of the passenger window.

“Same as always, isn’t it?” you manage, hoping that will be the end of the forced pleasantries, and you’re grateful when he hums in agreement and turns his attention to the road.

The air in the car is warm and stuffy after the wet chill of the outside, the leather seat hot and sticky against your back even through your wet jumper. Your face feels overheated, and you lean your forehead against the coolness of the windowpane, staring blindly out through the rain-fogged glass as the car pulls away from the curb.

The evening traffic outside seems endless. The road is chockablock, and you’re stuck in a sea of red and amber tail lights blinking blurrily behind the rain-streaked darkness of the window. Your head rolls against the glass with the rocking motion of the vehicle as it starts and stops with the flow of cars outside, and the old motor rumbles on, making you drowsy.

Worn out from the lack of sleep last night and a day of emotional turmoil, you don’t even notice when your eyes slip close and you drift quietly off to sleep.

The car comes to a halt in the middle of a roundabout. In the rearview mirror, the driver pulls his cap down, covering his eyes and muttering under his breath that “this is as far as we go.”

Looking out the window, you’re confused. There’s nothing you recognize as being anywhere near your flat, but somehow you’re already turning the door handle and stepping out of the car.

You’re in the middle of the road, traffic on all sides of you. Before you have a chance to turn around and protest to the driver, the car is already pulling away, exhaust fumes your only goodbye.

At least it’s stopped raining.

Across the wide street, the St. Martin’s Theatre is lit up in gold. The marquee banner spelling out ‘M.O.U.S.E.T.R.A.P.’ in bright glowing red neon. You start to walk ahead, but nothing is quite as it is or where it should be. Tottenham Court road, which is always busy and buzzing with life, is entirely abandoned. Empty of people.

Next to you, you spot a pastel-coloured bubble tea shop. They’re a dime in a dozen in London, and it does nothing to help you make sense of where you are. It’s not until you reach around the corner and arrive at the familiar teal-coloured facade of Cafe Babka (one of your regular date spots with Steven) that you start to place yourself.

If you turn right up ahead, you’ll reach the British Museum. It is an hour away by tube from your flat. Still, as you make the turn, your building stands there in its square concrete familiarity. You can even see your small balconette on the fifth floor.

There’s a sensation like skipping a track on a record—you don’t remember entering the building or taking the lift up to the fifth floor, but suddenly you’re walking down the hallway to your flat.

Steven is there outside of your door, and the hallway lights up when he greets you with a bright smile and a small wave of his hand. His eyes are as sweet as always when he moves to kiss you.

Then you’re inside your flat, Steven moving with you towards your bed, mouth never leaving yours. Did you unlock the door? You can’t remember, but does it matter? How can you care about details like that when Steven’s lips are on yours like this, soft but hungry.

Somehow, you don’t stumble or run into any of your furniture as he walks you backwards with his kiss, the ottoman and its usual threat to your shins and balance are suspiciously absent. In fact… nothing is where it should be.

You’re disoriented.

Maybe it’s a testament to how good of a kisser Steven is that you’re losing all spatial awareness, but that can’t be the whole explanation. Something is off, but you can’t stop long enough to consider it, too distracted by the way Steven keeps pressing kiss after sweet lingering kiss to your lips, by the heat building low in your belly for him. Can’t stop to think until you find yourself pressed down against the mattress.

Linen sheets stretch endlessly out underneath you, wider than your own double mattress and lower to the ground. There’s sand underneath your foot where it’s hanging off the edge of the bed, and when you look up, you’re met not with your drab white ceiling, but with a large square of wooden planks overhead surrounded by wide open eaves and wooden beams.

This isn’t your flat, it’s Steven’s.

But still… Something's strange. Not quite right. The room seems to swim, lines and contours of the timber overhead blurring together. You drag your eyes to the walls, trying to clear your vision, but no matter how hard you concentrate on the many many books Steven has adorning his dusty shelves, none of them have titles on their thick spines.

That’s not right either.

In fact, everything in Steven’s flat is reversed, like you’re Alice, gone through the looking glass. Shelves that are meant to be on the left are on the right. The kitchen is by the exit instead of the far end. The fish tank looms large over the living room, expanding to eat up half the space of the flat. Gus doesn’t seem to mind though. He’s swimming in happy circles around his new, two-finned tank mate as if he’d never known anything different. Every so often one of them swims close to the corner, and the flash of a reflected fin tricks your eyes into thinking there’s a third fish.

There’s a part of you that wants to pause, take a moment and attempt to make sense of things. But Steven is there, anchoring you to the bed, not giving you a moment to consider your observations or try to connect the dots as he continues to kiss the breath out of you.

His hands are roaming your hips and thighs now, caressing every inch of your flesh that he can reach. One comes up to cup your breast lovingly, your nipple drawing up tight under his palm. Another hand lingers delicately on your throat, and he continues to stroke your hips all at the same time.

It’s good, so good. So much. Overwhelming to the point where you don't even fully register that there are three hands caressing you when, biologically speaking, Steven should only have just the two.

Greedy and determined, those nimble fingers grip into your hips then drift down between your thighs, sliding along the seam of your cunt. Steven groans low and needy against your lips at the wetness he finds there, and he parts your slick folds, gently pressing two fingers into you.

Moaning into his mouth at the pleasurable intrusion, you arch your back in open invitation, encouraging Steven's curled fingers to find that perfect place inside. Aching heat rolls over you in waves, streaming out along your limbs until you’re nearly numb with it. You bend further back, not sure if you're trying to chase the sensation or escape from it. As you do, a warm, firmly-muscled chest presses against your back, and you hear a rasped groan in your ear.

“Fuck, you’re eager for us.”

The tone is brusque and even, rough and warm like sandpaper made of velvet, and nothing like Steven’s. Electric heat shivers up your entire spine because you recognize the owner of the voice.

With a turn of your head, you meet his eyes. It’s all narrowed darkness as Marc holds your gaze for a long moment. His thumb catches under your jaw, tilting you up to him, and then he closes the distance between you, leaning in to press his lips to yours.

Finally.

The brush of lips is soft and measured. Completely unlike Steven’s hungry and eager kisses. Marc has far too much restraint for that. Instead his kiss is slow and controlled, his hand cradling your jaw, thumb caressing your cheeks like he’s savouring the moment. Savouring you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, an alert pings. A tiny, niggling doubt that makes you wonder what Marc’s doing here, how this can be happening. But you ignore the thought. Don’t question it, because god, you fucking want it. Want him.

Want to be exactly where you are.

You're caught, sandwiched tight between the two of them with little space to spare. Regardless of which way you move, to the front or the back, you only end up closer to them both.

When you push yourself forward, Steven’s fingers slide deeper inside you, his cock twitching against the softness of your stomach. When you push back, Marc’s hardened length meets you, pressing insistently against your lower back as he lazily thrusts against you.

There's nowhere for you to go, and that's fine. Better than fine. It's bloody perfect, because there's nowhere else you'd rather be than trapped between these two men.

Steven licks and nips his way down your breast and stomach in a long line of open-mouthed kisses. White heat tingles and simmers under your skin where his lips have touched, burning you up from the inside out until you’ve all but melted into the mattress from his attentions.

The sharp bump of his nose nudges at the inside of your thighs, and he looks up at you with pleading eyes, begging you to spread your legs for him. Before you even have the chance to comply, Marc’s calloused hands are already there, sliding down and in along the inside of your thighs, spreading them apart until you’re wide open for Steven. The two men moving in perfect simpatico.

Then Steven’s mouth is on you, hot and eager and perfect.

His tongue dips into your pussy without hesitation, licking a wide strip up around your clit and then back down again, and you cant your hips up and onto his tongue. He doesn’t resist. Steven’s always so generous, so trusting and giving in bed. He lets you—encourages you to try and fuck yourself on his beautiful, persistent mouth. Gorgeous, pleasurable heat flickers along your spine, searing into your limbs until you feel it everywhere.

“He’s good with his mouth, huh?” Marc murmurs into your ear, sounding almost admiring.

Opening your mouth, you try to say yes, but your throat is dry with the blinding heat, and nothing comes out, not even a moan. Electricity sparks, shimmering through you with every soft and long lick of Steven’s tongue on you.

You twist your fingers into the bedding beneath you, and the eaves in the ceiling crack and pull around the edges with the motion. The harder you grip the sheets, the deeper the shadowed lines carve into the wood, until they’re giant crevasses, wide enough that you can see the night sky through the gaps.

The pale moon peers down at you, surrounded by bright stars scattered against the blackness. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the stars shine so clear in the light-polluted London sky in all your life, and you dig your fingers in further into the bedding, unwilling to relinquish the view.

“It’s okay. I got you.” Marc’s voice is cajoling and sweet, the same soft tone he used when he held you in his arms to keep you steady on the overground. A part of you wishes he would always speak to you this way. “Think you can come for us?”

You close your eyes, nodding in reply because you think you’d do anything he wanted as long as he asked you so sweetly. Pleasure is already building steadily under the press of Steven’s talented mouth, your orgasm already looming on the horizon.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good,” Marc murmurs.

Everything is ratcheting higher and tighter inside of you, building and building until it’s almost too much. Too good. The feeling rocketing through you is so overwhelming that you can't think, can't move, can’t speak. Would scream or sob or shriek if you could still fucking breathe.

But somehow you still haven’t fucking come. Your orgasm caught somehow, suspended in limbo. It’s like you waited too long, flew too high, and now you're trapped right on the fucking edge, teetering torturously without ever falling over. Sparks dance at the edge of your vision, and you feel lightheaded like you’re going to pass out.

“Come for us.”

Marc’s voice cuts through the cacophony of competing sensations with that single simple order, and everything else disappears.

Your world narrows. There's only the firm weight of Marc’s body anchoring you to the bed. His low, encouraging voice in your ear, whispering praises. Steven’s mouth working hot and eager against you, and the soft warmth in his eyes as he stares up at you with rapt attention, pupils blown wide.

Static fills your ears, and then you come hard on Steven’s tongue.

The pleasure floods your system, blotting out the rest, until your vision darkens and everything sounds like it’s buried underground.

There’s nothing here. Just emptiness. Darkness a mile wide, like the insides of a music box snapped shut.

Are your eyes still closed?

Slowly, your vision repopulates again. Your surroundings filled in like a child playing with a paint-by-numbers app. The bed. The bookshelves. The fishtank. Steven. Marc.

Marc whose gentle hand cups your cheek, drawing you up to meet his eyes. “How do you want it?” he asks. “You want Steven to fuck you?”

Steven who is still draped between your thighs. His tongue drags over his lush bottom lip, savouring your taste, eyes dark and ravenous as he leans back in to lap gently at you again. He’s nowhere near done with you yet.

You huff out a noise, some strange merger of a moan and a hum, meant to be an affirmative, because of course you want Steven.

But your gaze is fixed on Marc’s face, watching the corner of his lips curve. Not snide, or mocking, never that. It’s the same unfeigned, half-smile you’d seen in front of the fishtank the other night, and your head buzzes with lightheadedness at the sight of it.

“Or you want me?” he asks.

You whine at his question, because you do. Of course you do!

But Steven is right there too, resurfacing from between your legs just barely long enough to press an indulgent kiss to the inside of one of your thighs and ask, "which is it, love? Me?"

He turns his head, nose brushing up against your clit as his mouth parts, licking into you, with a ravenous moan. His words are muffled by your body as he continues to speak, “Or do you want Marc's cock filling you up?"

You don’t answer him. Can’t answer him. It’s an impossible choice.

How can you choose one of them over the other?

Next to you, Marc leans closer, pressing a kiss to your temple, nose dragging along the back of your neck, as he speaks.

“Or maybe our pretty girl doesn’t want to choose, hmm?” His arms are against your sides, bracketed you in as he presses you down with his body. “That’s it isn’t it? You just want everything.”

And god help you, he's right. He's so right. You want them both.

You try to take a deep breath, try to inhale because you want to tell them so, but there’s no air in the room. That should be a problem, you think, but it’s not. Even though you’re not breathing, haven’t breathed for fuck knows how long, you feel fine.

So much better than fine.

You’re weightless, practically floating. Could easily drift away if Marc wasn’t pinning you down. Your orgasm is still pulsing between your legs, warm and insistent, but you can’t feel the pulse in your veins or your heart, even though it should be there beating its way out of your chest.

Marc is still watching you softly. Steven too. You nod at them, have to let them know.

“Greedy girl,” Marc says, voice soft and indulgent in a way that makes the words feel like the highest praise.

Wrapping his fingers around your arm, Marc rolls you onto your side facing him. Strong arms wrap around you, caging you against him, as those dark eyes bore into yours. You can barely imagine that there was ever a time that you used to be intimidated by this man, scared of him even, because all you want now is to be closer to him.

Lucky for you, that’s just what he gives you.

Like he can read your mind, Marc’s hand settles on your hip and slides down, down, down the length of your thigh until his palm reaches the bend of your knee. Warm fingers wrap around the joint and pull, hiking your leg up over his waist, opening you to him. He drops his face down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, then urges you closer still, slotting one thick thigh into place between yours, watching you all the while.

There was a time when you would have quailed under that direct stare, but when you see that ferocious intensity there now, it sends a skitter of elation down your spine.

Relishing his attention, you preen for him as his hand skims up the back of your raised leg and over your hip. Your eyes follow its path, watching as he takes himself in hand and aligns his cock with your slick wet entrance.

You’re a mess for him, dripping and swollen cunt providing no resistance as the blunt tip of his cock pushes in, slow and measured. Marc is unhurried, barely rocking his hips into you, and it’s maddeningly good. It’s all shivery heat and unbearable pressure as he eases his way inside, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.

You can’t remember where you are anymore. Your surroundings blur together, and all you know is the perfect weight of Marc inside you, the warmth of his thighs pressed against yours. It’s just you and him in this place, and you could easily get lost in this, forget everything else, but… Something’s not right.

Something important is missing.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, turning your head to look behind you, but there’s nothing there. No furniture, no room… nothing. You turn back to Marc, “Where’s Steven? I–I want–”

The question doesn’t have time to settle before everything fades back into existence, the bookshelves, the fishtank, the bed seemingly appear from nowhere. There’s a weight shifting behind you on the mattress, and when you turn to peer over your shoulder again, Steven is there, an adoring smile on his face.

“I��m here, love, right here. Not going anywhere,” he tells you when you clutch at him.

Steven’s chest is pressing up against your back, all solid and firm-cut muscles that you never get to see during the day when he’s half-drowning in his oversized clothes.

He has one hand resting on the curve of your hip, gently pulling you back as he presses in closer behind you. You can feel the fat head of his cock nudging hot and slick along the cleft of your ass.

“Can I? Is that alright, love? Want to be inside you.” His voice is desperate, filled with need, and fuck, who are you to deny the man you love?

You nod, and feel Steven repositioning himself behind you. His hand disappears from your hip, and his cock slides against you with more purpose, spreading precome across your skin as he lines himself up. His mouth skims your shoulder, and the shuddering breath he takes burns pleasantly across your skin before he grips your hip and presses in.

His cock slips into you more easily than you expected, barely easing inside before he retreats, then presses in again, a bit farther this time. His mouth lays hot kisses and tender words across the skin of your shoulder as he works himself inside you slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open and filling you to the brim.

If there was any space left inside of you, you’re sure that you would be breathing, but you can’t. Can’t even fit air inside your lungs. And oh fuck, Steven isn’t even all the way inside of you yet. Fuckfuck. You don’t know if you can–

A warm hand comes to your cheek, cupping it with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in your chest.

“It’s alright, you’re alright. You’re doing so good, baby. You can take it for us can’t you?” Marc coos.

You nod with a whine, trying to distract yourself with the softness of Steven’s touch. How he’s palming every inch of your skin he can reach, the slope of your ribs, the curve of your breast. His worshipful mouth on your neck. The softly murmured “I love you”s that he sears into your burning skin with his lips.

And that’s a bit easier.

Between Steven’s profuse adoration and Marc’s encouragement, it’s almost too easy to surrender the last bit of your doubt and give into them both.

“There we go. Good girl,” Marc murmurs. He presses an indulgent kiss to your cheek as a reward, and Steven takes over praising you, “that’s it. I knew you could do it. Knew you could take us both, love.”

Then they begin to move.

It’s a gentle rocking rhythm, barely shifting you back and forth between them, but even that is still so fucking much.

You’re overwrought.

Overfull.

All of you feel overexposed like a tender nerve.

But there’s nothing else for you to do but take it, shaking and shuddering between them as you take everything they have to give you. All you can think about is how full you are of both of them, stretched so thin to your limits to the point that you swear Marc and Steven must be able to feel each other through you with every slow, deep, maddening thrust.

Somewhere in the distance a bell rings. You turn your head and crane your neck, chasing the sound. The motion presses you back against Steven, who is right there, nuzzling into the side of your neck, nose pressed tight against the pulse.

His mouth glides over the side of your throat, hot and slick, and you lose yourself to it. The touch is consuming. The edges of his teeth flirt with your sensitive flesh, and then slowly sink in, biting into your neck. The pleasure is sharp and stinging. It’s almost enough to make you forget.

But the melody of bells ringing from afar grows increasingly louder. You try to ignore it but you are about to rip your hair out at the incessant clang.

“Ignore it,” Marc says. He cradles your face, lips tracing the contours of your jaw. “Focus on us.”

It isn’t hard to follow Marc’s commands. Not when his hips cant up and thrust back into you, a deep and mind-numbing slide. For once, you find yourself only happy to obey his words.

But the sound comes again, and you were wrong before. It's not bells, it's the doorbell buzzing. Someone's at the door.

There’s the sound of metal scraping against wood and then the metallic thump-thump of the lock sliding open. You try to squeeze down on Marc’s shoulder for his attention, but it only seems to spur on Steven who lifts his hips, thrusting himself inside you as deep as he goes.

“Wait,” you gasp, because no matter how good Steven feels inside, you’re still distracted by the stranger trying to get into the flat. “There’s someone at the door.”

“There’s no one at the door,” Marc says, pulling back slightly.

The words have a sharp impatient bite, scolding you in that tone that’s so customary from him. You want to frown, make a snarky retort, but he drives himself deep inside you, and pleasure streaks through your limbs until you nearly scream from it.

There are footsteps approaching.

A shadow stretches out in the corner of your eye.

Soon it looms over you, blocking out the muted light in the room, and the air around you shifts. There’s someone else standing at the end of your bed, observing you. You open your eyes and look up. Raven curls and thick brows that frame those familiar gorgeous brown eyes.

The ringing persists, blaring out. It’s not bells or the door buzzer. It’s a siren, flashing and waving red, warning you of danger.

The man looks like Steven. But you know it’s not him—the warmth and adoration reserved for you in those beautiful brown eyes is entirely absent.

It’s not Marc either. Marc doesn’t look at you like you’re some distant curiosity. You’ve seen annoyance, irritation, even anger reflected back at you in his eyes. But he’s never looked at you like you’re nothing to him.

You realise that now.

Panic grabs hold of you, and you sit up quickly, pulling at fistfuls of the sheets that you desperately cover yourself with. You scoot backwards in the bed, clambering up along the mattress, hands fumbling uselessly behind you, reaching for something to grab onto. You’re expecting the firmness of Marc’s chest, the warm touch of Steven’s hand, but there’s nothing.

When you turn to look, the bed is empty. Marc and Steven are no longer with you.

It’s just you and him now.

The man moves towards you, mouth twisted into a predatory smile. The alarm calls out to you again, but it’s too late to warn you now. You’re already trapped—can’t look away from him.

“Hear that?” His tone is flat, voice is devoid of emotion. It sounds neither like Steven's nor Marc’s voice. “It’s time to wake up.”

He comes to the side of the bed, looming over you as he reaches down.

You flinch back, but he’s too big. Too close.

You can’t escape.

Gripping the covers tight, you hunch into yourself, cowering, trying to brace yourself for whatever he’s going to do to you.

But then he reaches right past you.

Doesn’t touch you at all as he retrieves something from the bookcase at the head of the bed, and lays it gently across your lap.

You look down to see a bundle of brown canvas fabric, all soaked from rain and wrinkly from your rough handling.

It's Marc's jacket.

“Don’t forget this, sweetheart.”

With his words, darkness swamps you and everything disappears. There's no light, no warmth, no space—only a blank void slowly being filled with the soft hum of a motor running and the sounds of traffic honking nearby.

Your eyes are still closed as your consciousness is dragged back to an awareness of the sore stiffness lodged in your neck.

You open your eyes with a startled gasp, and then you have to inhale great lungfuls of air into your heaving chest, possibly the first time you’ve actually taken a breath since– oh. Since you fell asleep. You were dreaming.

Slowly but surely, you become aware of your surroundings. The cracked and dry leather seats, the grey felt of the low ceiling, the complete lack of any naked men in this space with you. You’re in a car—not in Steven’s flat or his bed. You’re still in the Uber.

It was just a dream.

Your skin tingles with the memory of being pressed against warm, firm muscles, and the space between your legs still pulses a phantom ache. The echo of Steven’s mouth on you, Marc’s thick length pressing into you, the overwhelming fullness of having them both inside you at once makes you throb. Your face is burning.

You glance at the front seat where the driver seems oblivious. Absent-mindedly you notice that he isn’t wearing a cap as you pray to the universe that you didn’t make any embarrassing sounds during your semi-public sex dream about being manhandled into a threesome by your boyfriend and his alter.

Dear god, what the fuck is wrong with you!?

The sound of bells fills the air just like before, and for a moment you wonder if you’re still trapped in the dream.

“Hey, sweetheart, your phone is ringing.”

The words jolt you from your thoughts. You’re an idiot. It’s not alarm bells, it’s your bloody ringtone.

Grabbing for your handbag, you plunge your hand inside, fumbling blindly until you finally manage to locate your phone. You quickly fish it out, swiping a thumb across the screen to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, love. It’s– uhm, it’s Steven.” His voice comes through the phone, nervous and rambling, and it instantly sends your anxiety skyrocketing. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, and you’re out with colleagues, and I’m sorry, I didn’t want to disturb, but I didn’t know who else to call–”

“Steven!” you interrupt when he shows no signs of getting to the point. It comes out louder and harsher than you intend, and you then force yourself to soften your voice as you encourage him to gather his thoughts, “It’s okay, Steven. Just– What did you need?”

“Could you… um… Could you come over tonight, please? I need to talk to you.”

~ CONTINUE ~

Dedication: to my one and only, the ewe to my ram, my beloved who stays up with me until 4am (her time) to discuss the significant differences between precum and precome (and how the latter clearly denotes sophistication and class 😂😂😂) to our crazy asses that extended this from a three parter to a five parter then an eight and ten parter and now we're looking at twelve parts and if there is more to come then god help us all. I love you always @thirstworldproblemss. xx

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galaxysgal · 1 year

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smut number 34 with- hear me out- tutor/TA college matty 🕺

bee!! love this request RAH i hope i did it justice

A/N: EXPLICIT 18+ rough matty >:) tutor/student kinda relationship. established?? idk they’re in a situationship basically. not proof read i’m EXHAUSTED

34. "I'm afraid i can no longer remain professional."

Admittedly, hooking up with your pre-law TA wasn't your best idea. But it made tutoring sessions a lot more interesting. You couldn't help but stare at Matt's fingers as they brushed over the braille on the pages, remembering how those fingers had felt inside you just a few nights prior.

Matt had allowed your hand to wander under the desk to his thigh, which you kept squeezing from time to time, running your thumb over the material of his jeans. You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, one hand adjusting the dark glasses that he wore to cover his eyes. In all honesty, you didn't know why he was wearing them now. The two of you were alone in the common area of his flat, the rest of his roommates out partying. It wasn't like it was anything you hadn't seen before, of course, he hadn't worn his glasses while he fucked you, those pretty brown eyes unfocused yet determined as he pounded into you.

"Matty," you say sweetly. "Take off those glasses for me, will you?" You see his cheeks flush a pretty pink and he chuckles.

"First you've gotta tell me what you've learned."

"Come on," you pout, reaching up to cup his face. “You can't tell me it's not on your mind too. I know you want to fuck me again, know you’re thinkin’ about it.”

He shakes his head at you. “Sweetheart, you know your grade in the class. Don’t you wanna work on that?”

“Mattyyyyy,” you whine, brushing your fingers down his cheek, and tracing his lips. “I don’t want to work. It’s Friday night. Your roommates are hone, and all of my friends are out pregaming right now. Actually, I ditched them to see you. We were gonna go to a party tonight.”

“Go to the party then,” Matt chuckles. “It’s not going to help your grade. But if you wanted to spend time with me the least you could do is put in the work. You’re here so I can tutor you.”

“Come on,” you lean closer, bringing your lips to his ear. “I just wanna have some fun,” you whisper.

You see a grin spread across his face. “Okay, okay. But just know, if you want it right now, if you want it so bad you can’t wait even half a fuckin’ hour... I’m not gonna go easy on you. That alright with you?”

“I’ll let you do anything you want baby,” you respond, nipping at the delicate skin behind his ear.

Matt sucks in a breath, removing his glasses. “I’m afraid I can no longer remain… professional.”

You giggle excitedly at his confession, standing and pulling him up with you. His hands land on your waist as he walks you back toward his bedroom. Soft lips connect with your own, traveling down to suck marks into the skin of your neck. His nimble fingers remove your shirt, throwing it on the floor and closing the door behind himself.

“Gonna fuck you hard like you deserve.” Matt’s words make you whimper as he pushes you down onto the bed. He gets you out of your sweatpants, revealing your lack of panties underneath. His fingers brush your folds and you whimper, you need him. “You’re already so wet for me,” he says with a grin.

Matt stands back, stripping until he’s naked and crawling over you. Strong arms cage you in as he kisses your lips. One hand guides his cock to your entrance, pushing in completely with one smooth stroke. You moan, your back arching causing your bodies to push together. The skin on skin is enthralling, your heart racing as he begins to pound into you.

“Deep breaths, pretty girl. I told ya I wasn’t gonna go easy.” He kisses your forehead once before moving his lips to your neck, biting your sensitive skin before soothing it with kisses. He doesn't slow his pace as moans fall from your lips, your fresh set of pretty pink nails scratching down his back.

"Matty- Matty, fuck!" You can barely form words with the way his hips are slamming into yours, the close angle causing him to brush that delightful spot inside you with every stroke. He looks downright sinful, working up a sweat as he fucks you, showing no mercy.

"Good girl," he coos. “You always take it so well, like the little slut you are. You like that?”

You can only whimper in response and cling to his shoulders as his hips slam into yours.

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader

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fanficshiddles · 2 years

Text

Losing Control, Chapter 15

Emilia managed to survive work that weekend, then was back at Uni on the Monday.

Loki managed to coax her into his bed again on the Wednesday night, keeping her up very late, so on Thursday she was struggling to stay awake by her afternoon classes.

And it just so happened that Norse Mythology was her last class of the day...

‘Emilia Cooper!’ Loki barked.

Most of the class jumped, having been concentrating on writing out some work. Emilia nearly fell off her chair, she had just started dozing off and Loki caught her.

She sat up straight, cheeks red as she looked wide eyed at Loki who was stood behind his desk, glaring at her.

‘What do you think you’re doing taking naps in my class?’ He snapped at her.

‘S… Sorry, Sir…’ She was a little shaken at the sudden rude awakening, but her senses were quickly coming back to her, remembering it was his fault in the first place that she was so bloody tired. ‘Some guy that thinks he’s the bee’s knees decided to keep me up last night, more annoying than anything though.’

A few students sniggered. Emilia thought Loki was about to explode from the look on his face, his jaw clenched. But he kept his composure. Just.

‘See me after class.’ He said firmly.

Emilia slumped back in her chair with a sigh, folding her arms over her chest.

When class was finally over, with Emilia barely able to keep her eyes open, she lingered while the rest of the students rushed out of class, happy it was the end of the day.

Emilia slowly sauntered up to Loki’s desk, he waited until the last student was out the door and it closed before he looked up at her.

‘Before you say anything, it’s your fault entirely that I am so damn tired.’ She hissed at him.

Loki smirked. ‘I will take partial blame for it. It takes two to tango though, you could’ve said no.’

Emilia scoffed. ‘Since when does that stop you.’ She folded her arms over her chest.

Loki stood and stalked around his desk to her. ‘When I know you don’t truly mean it.’ He reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. ‘When your body is saying yes. As it always does for me.’ He purred, then brushed his thumb over her lower lip.

‘Are you going to just get it over with then?’ She grumbled.

‘Get what over with?’

‘I assumed you were going to spank me for falling asleep, even though it was entirely your fault.’ Emilia stated.

Loki smirked and moved in closer to her, his free hand slid round her back and right down to her bum, he squeezed it and pulled her flush against him.

‘Do you want me to spank you?’ He smirked, still holding her chin.

‘Like hell I do!’ She snarled.

‘You’re the one that brought it up.’ Loki patted her bum, making her tense up.

‘Because that’s what you always go to!’ She tried pushing away from him.

‘Hmm. I’ll make you a deal. If you come round Friday night, I will think about forgetting your misbehaviour today.’ He hummed and released her.

‘But it was your fault in the first place.’ She screeched at him. Though her stomach did leap at the thought of another night with him, as much as she didn’t want it to.

‘Or I can take you to my office right now and give you a spanking. Your choice, kitten.’

Glaring at him, she swung her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’ll be round Friday… But you’re sorting food.’ She huffed and headed towards the door.

Loki chuckled. ‘That can easily be arranged.’ He called after her.

- Friday night came round too quickly for Emilia’s liking.

She had the night off from work, but instead of a relaxing chill evening, she was entering the lion’s den. As she so called Loki’s flat now.

But she was pleased that as soon Loki let her into his flat, she could smell food.

‘You’re cooking?’ She asked as she followed her nose straight into the kitchen, to see something on the hob.

‘Don’t sound so surprised. I am a great chef.’ Loki said as he followed her through and grabbed her arm to stop her getting to look in the pan.

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Emilia said as she was redirected by Loki to the island counter. ‘What is it? Smells tomato-ey.’

Loki chuckled. ‘It is. Meatballs in a luscious tomato sauce.’

‘From scratch?’ She asked as she sat down.

‘From scratch.’ Loki nodded.

‘When I said you’re sorting food, I didn’t mean you had to go all out like this and show off. Takeaway would’ve been enough.’ Emilia reached across the table and grabbed a few grapes from the fruit bowl.

‘You are too obsessed with takeaway.’ Loki sighed.

‘I’m sorry, but having my professor cook me dinner like this feels way too personal. Almost like a date.’ She said with a mouthful.

Loki glared at her and swiftly moved the bowl out of her reach. ‘Don’t fill yourself up with grapes.’ He scolded. Then he leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest, looking down at her intently.

‘Would you like it to be a date?’ Loki asked simply.

Emilia was slightly caught off guard at him asking that outright. She frowned. ‘Pfft. No. That would be so weird.’

‘Weirder than having your professor fuck you into multiple orgasms?’ Loki quirked an eyebrow up.

‘Touche.’ She shrugged.

Loki just smirked and shook his head, then turned back to finish cooking.

Emilia was pleasantly surprised that Loki wasn’t lying about being a great chef. The food was delicious, she could’ve easily eaten seconds, but Loki wouldn’t let her. He didn’t want her to have a full stomach with what he had planned for her. But he promised she could take some home with her.

But Loki didn’t get very far with the plans he had for her…

After coaxing her into submission, getting her to kneel on front of him after stripping naked, he had her give him a blowjob. Then he trapped her on his lap while he fingered her, making her cum a few times even though she begged for a break after just the first.

‘Get on your hands and knees, kitten. Let me see you.’ Loki growled low.

Emilia glared at him. ‘You’re so bossy.’ She huffed and reluctantly got into the position he wanted, on her hands and knees on the bed on front of him.

‘OW!’ She screamed as he smacked her ass really hard.

‘Watch it.’ He snarled.

Emilia kept quiet, let her head hang down as she felt Loki crouching down behind her and spreading her open, making her flush in some embarrassment as she could tell he was looking at her there. Far too intently for her liking.

She squirmed slightly. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to stare?’ She hissed at him.

Loki pinched her ass cheek, making her yelp. ‘Behave. You’re on a thin line, kitten.’

He trailed his fingers around her wetness, then travelled upwards to her anus. But when he lightly touched her there, he got a reaction he had not been expecting at all, she completely freaked out.

She threw her whole body forward as she screamed out ‘no’ over and over, almost throwing herself off the bed if Loki hadn’t been quick to grab her hips and stop her from falling.

‘Please, no! Please, don’t do that. Not anal. Please, Loki. Please don’t.’ She cried out hysterically. Her entire body started shaking and tears streamed down her face as she fought and struggled against his grip.

Loki was utterly confused at the very drastic actions from her, he eventually managed to wrestle her into his arms on his lap, and he cradled her head against him as he stroked her hair.

‘Shhh, shhh. Emilia, calm down. It’s ok, it’s ok.’ Loki said calmly.

But she kept pleading with him not to, like she was stuck on repeat. He gently grabbed her face and had her look directly at him as he brushed his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away her tears.

‘Emilia.’ He said firmly. ‘Calm down. Speak to me. What has happened there?’

She was almost at the point of hyperventilating, but Loki managed to get her to breathe slowly and calm down. When she spoke, she was still shaky.

‘There… there was… a guy before, who tried it with me. But he was too rough, it hurt so badly. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t stop when I asked him to. It hurt so so much. I… I can’t do it. Loki, please don’t make me do it.’ She clutched at his shirt tightly, more tears falling down her cheeks.

‘Emilia, I am not going to do something that so clearly terrifies you. I promise, darling. I won’t ever do that with you. It’s ok, shhh.’ He pulled her tightly against him again and just held her until she calmed down, with lots of back rubs and hair stroking.

It was the first time Loki had seen a genuinely terrified emotion out of her, very vulnerable. He felt bad that he had caused it, but he was also furious thinking that someone had made her this way in the first place.

It took a good hour before Emilia felt a bit better. Loki just held her, speaking softly about random things, stroking her hair and keeping her calm.

‘Come on, kitten. Let’s get you something to eat. Perhaps some more of my delicious balls.’

Emilia turned her head to look at him better and raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you just try and make a joke?’

Loki shrugged with a smirk. ‘Did it work?’

Emilia rolled her eyes, unable to hide a smile as she pressed her head against his chest again.

‘Well, at least it got you smiling.’ Loki chuckled.

He surprised her as he slipped her from his lap, and off the bed. He grabbed one of his shirts from his wardrobe and slipped it on her.

‘I think this is the first time you’ve actually dressed me.’

Loki grinned and tucked her hair back behind her ear. ‘Don’t get too used to it.’ He winked at her, then put his arm around her waist and led her through to the kitchen.

She sat down while Loki heated up some of the leftover meatballs. He also poured her a glass of juice.

‘Who was he?’

Emilia looked over at Loki, he now had his back to her as he heated up the food. ‘Who?’

‘You know who.’ Loki said firmly yet with some softness, he then turned around to face her. She saw genuine concern on his face.

‘It… doesn’t matter.’ She shook her head.

‘It does. Does he go to our Uni?’ Loki asked.

‘Emilia.’ He growled when she didn’t answer.

‘Yeah, he does.’ She said reluctantly.

Loki’s eyes darkened a bit. ‘Does he take my class?’

‘No, he doesn’t.’ She said quickly.

‘Are you lying?’ Loki narrowed his eyes at her.

‘No, honestly he doesn’t.’

‘Name?’ Loki turned briefly back to the meatballs as he began dishing the leftovers up.

‘I’m not telling you his name.’ She said quietly.

‘Emilia, he hurt you. If you don’t tell me his name, I will find out anyway.’ Loki said seriously as he turned back to her.

‘How would you do that?’ She scoffed.

‘Interview every single boy at that university until I find him.’ He growled low. And Emilia knew that he was being serious.

‘Adam Johnson.’ She sighed.

Loki nodded once, then picked up their plates and motioned for her to follow him to the living room.

‘Uhm, are you feeling alright? I thought you said before you never eat on the sofa.’ Emilia said, completely baffled when he sat on the sofa and motioned for her to sit next to him.

Loki shrugged. ‘I thought we could watch a movie. I might even let you have some of my chocolate stash later, if you’re good.’ He smirked at her when she sat down.

Emilia wasn’t sure what to make of this side of Loki, part of her was unsure and on edge. But there was also a part of her that was really enjoying it.

What surprised her more, was that he didn’t initiate sex at all that night. After they watched a movie, while she snuggled against him with his arm wrapped securely around her, they went to his bed and he simply kissed her on the lips softly before cradling her in his arms again as they fell asleep.

#Loki #Tom Hiddleston #Losing Control #fan fiction #professor Loki #Loki x OFC

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phoebe-the-autism-fairy · 1 year

Text

I dunno if it’s just My Autistic Self™ being My Autistic Self™ but...

I remember back in primary school on Fridays we had award assemblies where two kids from each class were given "merit" awards and four kids would be given "busy bee" awards (which were basically the beta version of a merit) based on behaviour I think, and something that I noticed about my neurotypical classmates is that when they were given a merit and told to stand up, they would not be excited or look happy whatsoever, they'd just have a blank expression. Compared to my autistic peers, such as a girl from one year below me who definitely had a form of autism, she was smiling and excited to get a merit. And such as myself, in year 4 when I got a merit for writing a pretty good story (that day I discovered my special interest in writing), and when I got a merit, I was so excited I couldn’t contain my smile.

And because of my NT classmates’ flat expression and lack of enthusiasm when THEY got a merit, I felt like I was wrong for being so excited whenever I got one. Like, the things I would have given to get a merit as a kid- Cause tbh I rarely got merits, not because I was a bad kid, but probably because I was easily distracted, would blurt things out in class, I sometimes wouldn’t understand what I needed to do, etc. And I’m not salty about that, I understood that I wasn’t always gonna get an award, but I would just get so happy when I did.

#Autism in school #undiagnosed childhood autism #primary school memories #primary school nostalgia #actually autistic #actually autistic kid

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

the art of self care {sam wilson x reader}

summary: after a long week at work, sam wilson waits for you at home

warnings: language

ok i haven’t written for sam in a LONG time so i really hope i manage to do his character justice, but this is just some very short fluff. it’s entirely self indulgent because i am currently mid-depressive episode and want nothing more than for him to HUG me but we move. enjoy :)

- jazz xx

p.s this is spoiler free!

Sometimes, you wished that the world had a pause button.

Just so that you could sit down and breath. Or cry. Or better, yet both. Because being an adult could be a goddamn tiring experience and wrestling a thousand different things at once was absolutely exhausting. Even though you’d pulled your weight at work all day, you’d still made a half-hearted promise to your boss to come in early on Monday, and the pile of paperwork resting in your hands as you stumbled through the front was a sign of a late night ahead. Two things which entirely sucked within themselves but only got considerably worse when paired together. It was nights like these that made you want to thank whichever god there was that somebody had invented the espresso martini. And, at least of all things, it was Friday. Thank fuck.

As you walked up to your apartment, you were hoping and praying that Sam was already home. He’d been pulling a lot of long days lately, dealing with his tasks in the Air Force and juggling all the work that Steve Rogers had made look so effortless. You’d always been proud of Sam, but not in the way you were right now. He hadn’t just taken on the mantle that his late friend had left behind, but he’d made it his own role. His selflessness and bravery was finally being recognised, even if it took Sam a little while to see it himself. There had been a late of late nights, and a lot of conversations between the sheets about whether or not he had what it took to be Captain America. That’s when you reminded him that he wasn’t - he was still Falcon, through and through, now just with a little more responsibility. Whether he had the shield or not, everything he stood for was completely admirable and entirely fucking worthy.

But the righteous and honourable Sam Wilson wasn’t what you needed right then - you just wanted your boyfriend. The one who gave the best hugs and made the worst coffee. The one who could serve up a six-course meal like a professional chef but always managed to burn his toast. Your Sam, and the version of him that was saved specifically for you and the little world within the four walls of your apartment.

The sound of the Friends theme gently filled the air of the flat as you stepped inside; the kitchen light was off, but the glow from television and the buildings across the street lit up the living room on the other side. Sam was completely passed out and dead to the world, clutching his phone in one hand and a beer in the other. That’s why he hadn’t answered your text earlier. Not that you were - if anything, you were quite happy to see him getting some sleep.

You cringed slightly at the bang of the door shutting behind you. Sam stirred slightly, brown eyes fluttering open. You half expected him to groan, or let out a whine that you’d woken him. Instead he grinned, slowly holding out his arms to you. That had always been your thing - his little signal for you to get the fuck over here so I can give you a hug. Dropping your bags to the floor beside you, you kicked off your shoes and made a bee-line for the sofa, immediately dropping into his lap.

It was like heaven. The material of his worn old plaid shirt was soft against your skin, and he smelt ever so slightly of the after-shave that you’d brought him for Christmas last year. You buried your head in neck and let out a tiny sigh of relief, gripping onto his shirt as his arms came to tightly wrap around you. He was good at reading people, but especially you. He could always tell when you’d had the best day or the worst, just from the demeanour you held.

‘Long day?’ He softly asked. His hand trailed down your back, gently rubbing circles.

‘Hmm.’ You murmured. ‘Got a lotta paperwork tonight and an early start tomorrow.’

Sam did grumble then. ‘I thought you said you were going to try and take on a bit less, baby.’

‘I did say that.’ You nodded. ‘I also said that I was going to start going to the gym, and that I would teach Bucky how to use Facebook. I say a lot of things.’

His chest shook slightly with a laugh, and he held you a little closer. ‘It’s Friday. Take a night off.’

‘My boss said she wants it done by tomorrow.’ You replied.

‘Screw what your boss says.’ Sam shot back. ‘I’ll have a word with her.’

‘It’s okay.’ You pressed a kiss to his jaw. ‘I can hold my own.’

‘I know.’ He gently smiled. ‘Let’s compromise - if you go in early on Monday, you take tonight off?’

‘I like that.’ You nuzzled against him. ‘An early night sounds good too.’

‘I’ve got you.’

Sam slid one arm under your leg and the other behind your back, lifting you off the sofa with ease.

Your bedroom was only a few steps away, and though the sudden lack of contact made you pout, it quickly disappeared when the soft sheets enveloped you. The bed rarely ever got made these days, so it was a constant tangle of sheets and pillows - the perfect place to nest after a long fucking day. Sam went to work on doing the rest, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it your way without so much as a word. You pulled off your own clothes and pulled it over your head, smiling at the feeling of the soft cotton.

The mattress dipped beside you and he threw the covers over you both. He’d clearly been ready to go to sleep for hours - it made you feel a little guilty that he’d waited up for you for so long, but the thought that he’d done so at all quickly overrode that. It was tiny things like that which screamed Sam Wilson. He’d found a way to intertwine your lives so intricately that you both slotted perfectly into each other’s daily routines. Co-existed in the best way possible and did it so peacefully. Of course, there were times when you squabbled, and nights where your shared stubborn tendencies butted heads, but when it mattered, you were a team. He had your back and you had his.

Sam reached out to you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you back against his chest. He always liked to sleep holding onto you; whether it was to comfort him or to protect you, you didn’t know. Probably both. Either way, you wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head, resting his chin on your shoulder.

‘I love you.’ He quietly murmured.

‘I love you too.’ You replied. ‘Thank you for looking after me.’

‘Thank you for letting me.’

With that, you finally shut your eyes. Falling asleep wasn’t something that usually came either for you, but that night, it didn’t take long at all. It washed over you like a faint sense of relief, tugging you away from the stress of reality and into a little world where it was just you and Sam. The only world that mattered.

You were just about to completely dive off the edge and into a beautiful REM cycle, when Sam suddenly sat up.

‘We forgot to brush our teeth.’

tags: @megmeg-chan @meshlababy @phoenixhalliwell

link to marvel/star wars writers/readers discord server - if the link has expired, drop me a message & i’ll send a new one :)

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson imagines #sam wilson x you #sam wilson hcs #avengers x reader #avengers fluff #avengers imagines #avengers x you #avengers fanfic #avengers imagine #marvel x reader #marvel fluff #marvel imagines

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fuckthisshitimin · 3 years

Text

Need your loving

“I love you.”

He’s on Allura’s couch and the night outside is young. It’s only ten, on a friday night. He should be out. Dancing or something. With her.

But he just wants that. Just want the comfort of this place that somehow feels more like home than his own appartement, he just wants her presence somewhere near. He wishes she’d hold him. But they cuddled for most the afternoon already, and she has work to do. He guesses she’ll smile a bit and answer she loves him too. Because she does. Not in the way Lance first thought he wanted her to. She loves him with a gentleness he never expected, when she looks at him, he knows he’s special.

They’re not lovers. But damn, they love each other.

She takes off her glasses, putting them down near her tablet. She mindlessly grabs her empty mug of coffee when she turns to look at him. He’s got her attention. He didn’t expect that.

“Are you okay?”

And he clenches his jaw, gulps because he doesn’t want to keep her from working. When he thinks about it... He knows he wants it. Her full attention. He craves it. And nothing she already gave is enough. He wants her to make a fresh teapot, but he knows he should be the one doing it. He hasn’t worked at all today, and the photographs still untouched on his computer can wait another two days before editing. She’s been on zoom meetings all morning with her editor to discuss the pages she sent, while he slept in her bed. She had lunch with her girlfriend and when she came back he was still here, and she took care of him. And now she started correcting her pages, redrawing, really, she’s been a busy bee. Yet, he wants her to make tea for him. That’s unfair. He knows it.

“I’m good.”

He’ll make tea himself, if he manages to get up from the couch. He’ll make tea for her, too. Rose tea. It’s their favorite. Soemthing that belongs to this relationship in particular, and sometimes he thinks if he loses her he’ll never be able to drink it again.

She gets up from her desk, and he regrets everything. Everything in his posture, in his tone, that could have betrayed the hole in his chest. He didn’t want her to know. He didn’t want her to stop working.

Oh, here it is. The sharp sting of guilt. He wants her to know. He wants her to stop working and watch upon him instead. Is he manipulating her? Did he just manipulate her into caring for him? He feels them. The kind of tears that rise from the chest, uncomfortable, getting saltier in his lungs with every breath he takes. Soon he’ll cry. Oh, no. He doesn’t want that.

He knows.

Damn, he knows how he works. He shouldn’t be here. He’ll distract her. He’s distracting her. Allura hates distractions. He’ll die if she ever hates him. He wants to hide in the cushion when she walks to him, her heavy socks muffling the sounds of her steps.

“You only say I love you when you’re depressed.”

He knows he should feel indignated. But he doesn’t feel like there’s any kind of dignity in him now. He can’t answer with a playful tone, his voice is flat when he says:

“No, I don’t.”

And he closes his eyes, because if she looks at them she’ll know everything, and it wouldn’t be fair. She’s in a good mood, she deserves to stay in a good mood.

“Right. But you said it five times just this afternoon. And you are more affectionate when you’re down. That’s how you get attention.”

“I’m sorry.” He wishes he could be more convincing. He would be, if he wasn’t relishing the contact of her fingers on his forehead, if he didn’t wrap his arms around her waist, keeping her close. He can hear her heartbeat. “Get back to work, I’ll make tea.”

Her fingers are slow, careful in his hair. It’s messy, but not long enough to get really tangled. Not like hers. “I do have to work. But you’re more important.”

He breathes in sharply, it’s a blade in his lungs, it begs the tears to come out. “No I’m not.” He’s not. He’s not worht it. But he needs it. How can it be, that all options are awful?

“Yes you are. You’re my bae, boy.”

He almost scoffs, it’s almost a laugh, but tears come out instead, a small sob and she holds him closer. His breath is hard to keep even. He hates it, hates it. He doesn’t want to be like that. His throat is tight. He doesn’t think he can talk.

“Do you want to do a face mask?”

He wants to say No, I’m ugly, but he knows she’ll argue. He wants her to. He wants her to say he’s pretty. If she means it enough, maybe he’ll believe it. But he can’t do that. Can’t manipulate her into reassuring him. No, that’s what bad people do. So he just shakes his head. He wants to do xanax and smoke and sleep in her arms. He knows he can’t ask that either.

“Rose tea?”

“I’m sorry I’m like that.”

She holds him tight. So, so tight. He believes, for a second, that she’ll never let him go. “It’s okay, Lance. I’m here.”

“You can’t always be here for me. It’s not fair.”

“Well, right now, I can. So I’ll make us tea. And I’ll tell you I love you, and I’ll tell you how happy you make me until you believe it.”

“You’re not that patient.��

She laughs. And it’s a miracle, really. That he can feel so bad and still make her laugh. She’s a miracle. A blessing.

“You’re the exception, Lance. You’re worth spending all my patience on you.”

He can’t answer. It’s too sincere. He doesn’t want to ruin it with his bad mood. He doesn’t want to make her elaborate. She means it. He knows it. It’s perfect as it is, it has to be. He sniffs, and as she drifts away, her scent lingers. She’ll be back. She’ll make tea, and then she’ll be back. Her lips are soft on his forehead.

“I love you, too.”

#allurance #platonic allurance #qpr allurance #qpr #queerplatonic #lance #allura #lance mcclain #allura vld #allura voltron #voltron fic #tw depression #hpd #actually hpd #watch how hard i can project on this character #voltron #vld #my writing

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ithinkwehitametaphor · 3 years

Text

Past/Present/Future

Warnings: tw terminal illness; death of a loved one; hospitals Rating: sfw

Chapter 6:

“All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes.” ― Cormac McCarthy, The Road

“Kaden? Kaden! Your phone has been going fucking crazy in the changing room for the last ten minutes!”

Coach raises an eyebrow and glowers at Mike, who holds up an aggressively ringing cellphone.

“No phones in here!” he barks. “You know the rules. You’re not kids anymore. No phones in the gym. Silent mode in the changing rooms.”

Kaden ignores the reproach. His face has gone from ruddy workout glow to ashen white in an instant and he’s already on his feet, reaching for the device with shaking hands.

Anouk’s ringtone.

“That’s a family emergency!” he blurts out. “Ten minutes?! Shit.”

Coach grumbles a few more words but a nod of the head indicates for Kaden to go sort out whatever is happening.

“Don’t forget. Day after tomorrow’s the big day!”

In the changing room Kaden frantically taps the broken display.

You have 10 missed calls.

Fuck.

He plays the only message left on the mailbox.

“Hi. Hey. It’s me. Anouk. You – you probably know that by now because I tried to call you several times. Sorry. I didn’t know – I didn’t know who else to call. I’m – we’re – at the hospital. I had to get an ambulance for mom because she had this really high fever. She’s – she is okay for now. They’re making tests. I’m in the cafeteria. Waiting. I –”

There is a pause and some heavy breathing before the message resumes.

“Could you maybe – I don’t want to be alone. Please. Sorry. If it’s not convenient. I—I’ll try again later.”

You take a sip from your plastic cup as you leaf through one of the old magazines offered in the hospital’s small self-service restaurant. The coffee tastes flat but the brew is hot enough to burn your mouth.

Since they wheeled your mom away for tests, you’ve tried to call Kaden about a dozen times. It was a sort of reflex and you feel a bit ashamed of yourself. He’s most likely doing a last training session before the World Cup qualification jumps on Sunday. The last thing he needs is to be involved in your family drama on a Friday afternoon.

The clacking of your fingers drumming on the shiny formica table creats a constant background noise while you stare at the pictures in the magazines, too busy worrying to notice Kaden approach.

“Bee? Bee, are you okay?!”

You look up, uncertain for a second if he’s really there or whether you’re imagining things.

“Kaden!”

He nods. His face is flushed a bright red.

“How… Why?” your voice breaks and you fall silent.

“You called me so I got here as fast as I could. Sorry I didn’t call back, I was at the gym. I thought I better come here as quickly as possible.”

People are watching the two of you but you don’t care. You let him pull you to your feet and into his arms.

Face pressed into Kaden’s winter jacket, you sniffle. “Her fever was so high, I didn’t know what else to do. She told me no. No ambulance. No hospital. But I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“You did the right thing,” he whispers, kissing your hairline.

Then he gently cups your face in his hands. “Look at me, Anouk. You did the right thing. The doctors will take care of her.”

“I guess. I mean. They’re doing so now. Testing her. And she’s supposed to get an MRI, too.” You bite your lip. Yes, it was right to bring your mother here but you cannot help wonder if she was simply scared or really didn’t want to fight anymore.

“Hey…” Kaden strokes your cheek with his thumb. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

You shrug. “I can’t remember. This morning?”

“Hm. That’s no good, Bee. You need to eat.”

Kaden eventually lets go and you to sit back down.

“Tell you what, I see if I can find something edible in this place and we wait together. Okay? You and me?”

All you can do is nod feebly. There is no use in fighting him. You really don’t want to anymore either. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. What you want is for him to take charge. It’s okay to admit that you've used up most of your strength and need help. Because it’s him.

Your eyes follow Kaden as he walks over to the self-service area.

Now that you think about it, you arequite hungry.

When he arrives back at your table, balancing an overloaded tray with literal piles of sandwiches, pasta and all sorts of condiments, you can’t help but smile.

“What kind of army do you plan on feeding with that?” you ask as you reach out for a plastic container with salad and two little sachets of dressing.

“Last 48 hours before the jump,” Kaden says. “Remember the drill?”

“Carbs, carbs, carbs. Think I do. Yeah.” You open a small bag of croutons and generously pour them out over the salad.

Kaden seats himself next to you. He puts a plate filled with mushy pasta on the table and grunts.

“Bee, I don’t think these are exactly al dente.”

You pretend to study the noodle dish expertly, brows knit in concentration.

“What makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Mhm. Is that green stuff on top pesto?”

“God, I hope so.”

Watching Kaden dig into the pasta as if eating was just another sports challenge reminds you of camp days. To expertly fill the glycogen stores in your muscles, is something you didn’t have to do in a long time and you’re grateful that you can simply have your salad in peace.

“You never liked that part of the training routine much, did you?” Kaden asks.

He looks up from his plate and smiles at you.

“No. Eating shouldn’t have to feel like a chore. How can you tell?”

“You’re making that same face.”

“What face?”

“That expression,” he explains. “You wrinkle your nose just the tiniest little bit and press your lips together. Like when coach made you eat those extra spaghetti.”

The man knows you too well. Especially when considering that you haven’t seen him in years.

“Do you remember everything about me?” you mutter and munch on a crouton.

“Naah. Wish I did, though.”

For a second the statement hangs in the air between the two of you until you open one of the magazines and turn it around so he can see the pictures.

“I remembered something about you, too, today.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you say, tapping your finger on a photo of Kaden in one of the articles. “But… this is you at the gas station by the hill, yes?”

He nods.

“It says here you’re buying gasoline because your car got stuck at the ski jump right before the snow storm hit.”

Kaden shrugs, “So…”

“You went up there alone. Didn’t you? Otherwise you would have had a ride home or a friend with you at least.”

There’s no sharpness in your tone despite the words – only thick anguish.

“I thought you were past that. Secret training sessions with no supervision. No safety net.”

His face falls.

“Bee. That was a week before you came back. And. And don’t think coach didn’t tear me a new one for it when he saw that photo. It was in the local newspaper as well. I already got the telling off I deserved.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to chide you. I—Can I just ask why? I thought this was something you did when we were too young and too eager. Something you never wanted to do again because it’s dangerous.”

It’s not a trick question, not a trap. So when your eyes meet his, there’s nothing but open curiosity in them and he acknowledges it with a sad smile.

“I’m 34 years old, Bee.”

A mouthful of pasta disappears. Kaden chews carefully before he continues to speak.

“This is my last chance to win a World Cup competition. Everybody around me thinks I shouldn’t do it. I should lean back and retire while I’m on top of things. Not risk a failure. Coach thinks that, too. Said so himself.”

You nod, silently encouraging him to go on.

“I can do this, Anouk. I can win one more time. It’s just, I guess, I lost faith for a hot moment and thought I could do some jumps to reassure myself that I still got it.”

“I see.” It makes sense of course but it still worries you.

“And do you? Still got it?” you ask, finally smiling back at him.

“Hell yeah!”

Kaden has finished the pasta and you’ve helped him with the rye bread sandwiches, when a nurse enters the cafeteria.

You immediately recognize her from before.

Nurse Miller’s black hair is kept in a tight knot, her lips are pressed firmly together but her dark eyes are kind once they settle on you. She had taken care of your mom earlier and promised to notify you when the test results come in.

“Miss Gilbert?”

She waves at you as she makes her way to where you sit and your hand comes up to mirror her greeting.

“Hi.”

“Your mother is all settled in now. Dr. Wang will talk to you about how to proceed. She is already on her way so we best be quick.”

“Oh, and you can bring your partner of course,” she adds with a smile.

Neither of you correct her assumption.

In the elevator to the third floor you reach out for Kaden’s hand. You don’t even notice you’re doing it. It just comes naturally and he reciprocates the gesture, interlacing fingers with you.

Only a minute ago you felt relief at the thought that you would finally see your mother and get to talk to her doctor. That feeling has turned to dread already once more.

What if the test results are really bad? What if they have to keep your mom here? And if she doesn’t want to stay? What if – if her time will be up soon?

Kaden leans in closer and you squeeze his hand a bit harder, holding on to him. Whatever happens, he’ll be there, you tell yourself. He’ll catch you if you fall.

Doctor Wang, a woman in her late 50s, is already in the room when you enter. She’s reading through what you suppose is your mother’s file.

Her black-rimmed glasses are a bit too large and she pushes them up with one finger as she turns to greet you.

“Ms. Gilbert. Hello!”

You nod. “Hi, Dr. Wang!”

Slowly, your hand slides out of Kaden’s and you walk over to your mother.

“Hey mom, are you okay?”

She looks exhausted and yet still a lot better than this morning, not as ashen and pale anymore. Her eyes have lost their feverish glow.

“I’m fine. Fine. Just a bit tired from all the prodding and poking they do around here.”

You know it’s supposed to be one of her tough mom impressions but the old fire is missing from her voice and the annoyed look accompanying it is not quite as convincing as usual.

When she spots Kaden standing behind you, however, her face lights up.

“I see you didn’t come alone, Anouk.”

Kaden waves at your mom. He has put on his most persuasive smile.

“Hey Mrs. Gilbert. I hope I don’t intrude? I can wait outside if you like.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s kind of you to come and support my daughter. And it’s not a secret that I’m not at my best.”

After that has been settled, Dr. Wang takes over the conversation.

It’s hard to focus on the facts when it’s about someone you’re so close to, when your thoughts are in a constant state of turmoil.

You reach out for Kaden’s hand again, finding your anchor in the storm.

What you get from the conversation is that the cancer medication is giving your mom more severe side effects than expected and that – at the same time – it’s not halting the progress of her illness the way doctors hoped it would.

It’s a blow to the gut. You look at your mom in despair but she is calm, gives you a tired nod.

Dr. Wang goes on to explain the test results and that they would like to keep your mother in hospital for a week or two. They have to adjust her medication and there are a few more things they could try, too. Your mom has already agreed to stay.

It’s this last sentence that gives you a glimpse of hope. So she is still willing to try.

“Okay, yes. I understand,” you say. Tears are welling up in your eyes but you push them back, fight with all the strength you have left.

When Dr. Wang leaves there’s a moment of heavy silence. The room is fraught with tension and you have no idea how to dissolve any of it.

You want to say so many things to you mother. You also want to run away. Desperately. And you want to fling yourself into Kaden’s arms and cry your eyes out.

Oh, you want to be anywhere but here and yet you never want to leave your mother’s side ever again.

A sudden knock on the door makes you flinch. Dinner is being wheeled in for your mom. The distraction is a welcome one.

While she is busy for the moment, talking to staff, you turn to Kaden.

He reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

“I’m sorry, bee,” he whispers.

You bite your lower lip to keep yourself from releasing a bottled-up sob.

“I don’t know what to do now,” you mumble.

“Keep her company. It’s the best you can do right now, I think. Talk to her. She’s right here.”

Kaden presses a kiss on your brow. “Don’t let the time you have together slip away. Take it from me. You’ll regret it if you do.”

He’s right of course. If you run away now, there might not be a later, a next time.

You nod. “I’ll stay with her for a while longer. You go home and prepare for your competition.”

“Listen,” Kaden pauses, almost looking shy all of a sudden. “Maybe it’s not the right time but… if you need a little distraction on Sunday from all of this... just a little break...”

He pulls a lanyard with a VIP ticket out of his pocket.

“I got you this. In case you need something to do for a few hours. You can skip the crowd with it and just waltz around like old times. Maybe -- maybe it was a bad idea. Shit. I’m sorry.”

Before he has a chance to let the lanyard disappear again, you snatch it out of his hand.

“No. Don’t be sorry! I—I can’t promise anything. But… I’ll try?”

Kaden has done so much for you. It’s time to stop running. It’s time to face the past. Take it head on and jump into the present.

“Thank you, bee.”

You watch him leave, clutching the VIP ticket to your chest as if you were afraid it might disappear on you once he’s gone.

“What’s that?” your mother asks.

You turn around and smile softly. “An invitation. An invitation -- to stay and mend. Now let’s get your dinner fixed up and I’ll tell you all about it.”

——-

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

——-

Taglist: @chellestrash @chicken-nugget-puta @songsformonkeys@yespolkadotkitty @phoenixhalliwell @kaelyn-lobrutto24

Please let me know if you want to be added to or taken off the taglist! :)

You can also read this fic on AO3.

#kaden russell #two/one #boyd holbrook #kaden #two one #kaden x f!reader #kaden x reader #kaden x you #my writing #past present future

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

skin starving

tony stark x f!reader fluff. no warnings, just a few f-bombs. touch starved tony’s third person pov. words: 2,5k. no beta because i just really needed to get this off my chest.

recommended music to go with the story: two feet - 'love is a bitch' & 'quick musical doodles'. Or any lo-fi hip-hop radio really.

It started as an itch. At first, a small but bothersome thing, that kept him up at night, steering the already unreasonable hours of wakefulness into dangerous territory. The cold of his bed was unappealing and more often than not, he’d started passing out on the flat surfaces nearest to him: workshop, lab, common room couch, the lazy boy in Bruce’s apartment.

The team noticed, of course, they weren’t blind. They all had been on edge the first few months after Pepper left him. They expected him to act out, lock himself up in his lab or go back to his old habits of boozing and bringing home a different girl every night. And he had tried that, once or twice, but airheaded twenty-somethings weren’t appealing anymore. Most of the time their ass kissing and blatantly flattery annoyed him further into self-loathing abyss. He simply couldn’t step up to be the kind of man they described him to be - it seemed as if every woman on planet Earth had a whole list of expectations he specifically could not meet.

With Thor off planet, not one remaining person on the team was particularly touchy-feely. And that was the thing with Tony Stark: as an engineer, as a mechanic, he made his way through the world hands-first, every approach he had was hands-on. During late nights and early mornings, he laid in bed, sleepless and dreamless, desperately refusing to admit his own touch starvation.

Whenever Rogers threw an arm around his shoulders during a particularly successful team bonding activity, it took every ounce of willpower Tony had to not lean into it and purr like a cat. He hadn’t truly forgiven Steve for his cold, cruel words of criticism shortly after Pepper’s departing. He wasn’t going to chummy up to a man who thought him selfish, opportunistic and self-absorbed.

Tony became irritable and withdrawn. He simultaneously craved and avoided even the casual, friendlier attention his teammates gave him on a daily basis. His usual snark became that much more biting, having caused several people to storm out of team meetings.

On a cold autumn morning, Tony had found his way at the tower’s Starbucks on the employee floor. He had squeezed a generous five hours of restless sleep and he was sick of the plain black coffee in his kitchen. A spontaneous desire for something sweet and creamy and caffeinated led him to the place in line at the cafeteria, only a few early birds ahead of him.

Tony’s brain was hazy as it had been past few weeks, dull from the lack of rest and the hyperfixation of his own skin feeling alien to him. For once, he wasn’t typing away on his StarkPhone as he usually did to avoid being bothered; Tony stared straight ahead, unseeing, nothing but white noise in his usually racing brain.

Two women stood in front of him and he couldn’t help but overhear a part of their conversation.

“… Are you really horny or just lonely or touch-starved, though? I mean, Tinder? It’s not really your style.”

“Eh, I dunno. Probably the second but it’s not like men go on Tinder to find a cuddle buddy.”

“Well, maybe? I’ve heard about arrangements like that.”

“No offense, babe, but it’s probably kids in their early twenties. Those gen-z’s, babe, are weird. I’m not really up to date on all of that.”

The topic of the conversation was what piqued Tony’s interest; the world liked rubbing salt into his wounds and hysterically laugh at his misfortune. Bleary-eyed, he briefly scanned the two women: both appeared to be interns or junior techs in his company, evident by the purple employee badges hanging from their bags.

“So what are you going to do?” One woman asked the other as their turn to order took Tony one step closer to obtaining his desired caffeine.

“Unless someone normal magically appears with an offer of no-strings-attached, good ole’ snuggle fest, I guess I’m getting dicked down on Saturday,” The other replied with a teasing tone. The lack of excitement in the last part of the sentence was obvious.

“Gross,” The first one shook her head and hurriedly rattled off her order to the barista who looked about as disgruntled as Tony felt.

Hours and three coffees later, Tony’s overactive brain was still stuck on that woman from the cafeteria. Her back, her purse stuffed full of colorful manila folders, her neatly gathered hair - Tony Stark had nearly perfect memory and he remembered every single detail despite his brain fog. Objectively, she was attractive, no more no less than a different dozen of women he’d seen at any point in his life before. So why was he hung up on her?

It didn’t take him a long time to find her file, faster than he’d liked to admit. Manually sorting through hundreds of interns, lab technicians and various second-tier employees wasn’t exactly considered productive but with Pepper and her nagging out of the picture, Tony could afford to slack off a little bit.

So he found her name and her e-mail address, skimmed over her performance report with satisfaction, finding her to be a busy bee in the 90-th percentile. Her superiors considered her trustworthy, hard-working and communicative, all good traits.

Pepper’s absence meant he’d have no one to cover his ass should he get slapped with a harassment suit; however, he was the Tony Stark after all. He had more money that he’d cared to count and an army of lawyers at his disposal 24/7.

Amidst the jumbled mess of wires, circuit boards, tablets, empty coffee cups and the occasional piece of paper, Tony typed up an e-mail to the woman sharing his… Condition.

“I heard you and your friend talking at Starbucks. I could use a cuddle buddy. Wine and Netflix at my place? What’s your takeout preference?”

No. That came off way too creepy, like he was some kind of a dirty eavesdropper.

He contemplated some more, typing up and erasing multiple e-mails with various proposals: his penthouse, her place, a three Michelin star restaurant, a walk in the park. Almost all of it screamed ‘date’, like he’d drag her off to bed the very moment an opportunity wouldn’t present itself. It wasn’t so: Tony Stark, the playboy genius, had his dick firmly tucked into his pants. The thought of fucking her crossed his mind only briefly, quickly being chased away by the thought of her fingers running through his hair. Her warm, soft body in his arms. Just laying on his couch, eyes closed, reveling in each other’s arms.

Tony hit send on the least obnoxious option. He baited his breath, clicking his fingers in anticipation as the message showed itself to having been delivered.

“Mary, is this you trying to be funny? Stark is going to fire you if he finds out you’re impersonating him to stop your friend from going on a questionable date. Grow up.” Came the very prompt reply, ending with a short string of angry emojis. Tony could totally trust a person who used emojis unironically and generously.

“For the record, I wouldn’t be mad if somebody pretended to be me for the sake of saving their cute friend from a creep. The problem would be making it look credible.” Tony typed up the answer without thinking, quickly snapping a picture of himself holding the Starbucks cup with his name written on it, throwing his usual sloppy peace sign. He attached it to the email and hit send.

“WTF” Came the reply not a minute afterwards. He let it sink in, giving the woman some time to gather her wits. She did not disappoint. “Okay, even if we pretend this is real - which I doubt - what’s in it for you? If you heard our conversation, you surely know my stance on the matter.”

“I’m always glad to prove you wrong. I’m a genius - comes with the territory.” Tony simply couldn’t resist adding a generous dose of snark. “You’re welcome to meet me after clocking out. Use the private elevator, my AI will beam you up.”

The reply took a considerably long amount of time, seeing as previously, she typed back rather quickly. “Please don’t be a creepy rapist, Scotty. Fingers crossed.” Tony managed to almost break his stylus twice. His hands shook, and he had to tell himself to breathe - still, he laughed at the clever way she replied.

Several more hours later, during which Tony had nearly paced a hole through various floors on the residential side of the tower, he took a quick shower, dressed in a flattering but comfortable designer sweatpants and polo combo and made himself at home on the obscenely large living room sofa on his own, private penthouse floor.

He was up and running towards the elevator when Friday’s voice notified him of the woman entering the elevator on the employee floor. Tony tousled his hair, adjusted his glasses, fiddled with the drawstring of his pants.

The woman was wearing casual office wear, pants and a loose blouse, a lab coat loosely draped over her arm and her purse hanging off the shoulder on a thin strap. Her hair was loose now, a little frizzy as if she continuously ran her hands through it. Tony quietly rejoiced at not being the only nervous one.

Clever eyes scanned the room with unhurried interest before finally landing on him. “Not too shabby, if I say so myself,” The corners of her mouth tilted in an attempt at a smile, it was obvious she was studying him.

“Thanks, I try my best,” Tony smirked. Humble he was not. “So, how do you want to do this?”

“I see a comfortable couch,” She looked to be grateful for being given the opportunity to lead this interaction. “Let’s park our behinds on it, bicker for ten minutes about a movie choice and settle on one none of us really like. Then we can tell each other our no-no zones and, well, yeah,” She started out confidently. Probably practiced in the elevator. But towards the end, her shyness took over.

For Tony, it was kind of cute. A nice change from suck-ups that flocked him at every social gathering in hopes of getting something out of him. The woman that had tossed her bag carelessly on the far end of the couch and untucked her blouse looked and felt like the exact opposite of those people. She looked willing to give.

Tony sat next to her, keeping a couple of inches of free space between them. “Food preferences? Food allergies?” He asked, tapping the food delivery application.

“Nope, and I will eat just about anything.” He felt more than saw her side-eyeing him. Both of them were jittery. So uncharacteristic for Tony, to be blushing and stammering like a high school boy. Sex was easy, but intimacy? Complex. It was addictive and eventually, painful.

Movie decisions were surprisingly easy and she said so. They settled on a Tarantino classic, an old flick neither of them had watched in a long time. As the discussion progressed, Tony used his wits to find out more about her without making it seem like an interrogation. He had run a background check on the woman and her family but those only went that far, besides, it was a great opportunity to practice the tips Natasha had shared with him at one point or another. Being friends with spies had it’s perks.

They ate their food until their bellies were full. A comfortable, relaxing stupor, being warm from the inside out.

Tony noticed when the woman spoke, she spoke with her hands. She had caught herself grasping his forearm multiple times when they’d got more passionate about their discussion. And what Tony loved the most was that she refused to apologize. He saw a kindred soul in the woman; quiet until something struck her fancy. Then, she became a whirlwind of ideas and opinions.

In no time, it became a natural action to extend his arm and wrap it around her shoulders, reclining backwards. There was little grace in laying belly-up like a dead fish but the woman didn’t seem to mind. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she laid down sideways, throwing a leg over one of his own.

Her palm traced the outline of his arc reactor when something on the screen caught her in a moment of intense interest. Tony preferred to avoid the cursed thing - scars around it definitely did not do any favour to his aging, marked body - but he found himself exhaling the tension when it was obvious the woman really did not care. An occasional quiet hum of satisfaction was the only noise that came from her: he noticed the sound escaped her lips every time his thumb began fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse and rubbed against her arm.

He was quite content. It was warm, he was surrounded by so much warmth.

The hug was mutual when she left home, both of them comfortable with the gesture for people who had met in a rather unconventional way.

She started coming over a couple of times a week, a quiet evening of the best takeout in NYC and (mostly) interesting movies. A solace, always a single e-mail away.

Tony saw her in the cafeteria once or twice; he appreciated the brief, tiny secretive grin she gave him out of her friend’s eyesight. She never approached him. He was grateful for that. He didn’t want to deal with all the drama and all the fuss surrounding incidents between him and his employees. It was nobody’s business what any of them did after clocking out - and him and his cuddle buddy, they weren’t even fucking, for Thor’s sake.

Maybe they would get there someday. Or maybe they won’t. It was only now for Tony. The rare free Saturday night he had, he truly took a vacation from all the bullshit and lured her in with promises of very expensive wine, her favourite New York style pizza and the willingness to entertain watching a few of those funny YouTube videos she liked.

They did watch them and Tony didn’t mind. He stepped over the irrational fear and the initial discomfort and curled up around her, hiding his face in the soft cotton of her worn hoodie, his own breath tickling his face in warm puffs. The hand running through his hair was tender like it never was with Pepper - his ex was far too preoccupied to baby her grown-up boyfriend. But the woman moulded to his body like an extension of himself was happy to do so. Tony’s hair was longer now and it glided perfectly along the woman’s palms.

His heart was steady, thumping in his ears, overshadowing the noises coming from the TV. He exhaled and felt her other hand begin tracing circles on his back, as if she saw the stress and the bitterness leave his body with every caress, every brush of their bodies. Maybe she did?

He held onto her, held her back like she’d held him. Safekeeping the warmth inside of him. Guarding his peace.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark fluff #tony stark feels #bun writes #bun writes: drabbles

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willabee · 1 year

Text

‼️

#SPOTTED #TWO FOR ONE FLAT BEE FRIDAY #willabee #full disclosure I erased the dust under there

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maeve-writes · 3 years

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Summer Camp

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Rating: 18+; Minors DNi

Warnings: PWP, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex, brutally murdered teens by an immortal serial killer at a summer camp (though that is just mentioned).

Summary: You and the boys investigate the slaughtering of counselors at a cursed summer camp.

a/n: This was written on a Friday the 13th and an excuse to write Sam smut.

It was a case straight out of a campy horror movie, five counselors were slaughtered as they got the camp ready for the summer. Normally it wouldn’t have been your kind of scene, but the cops wouldn’t talk about it and the only survivor was missing two limbs and held up in a psychiatric facility. The news said she claimed that whoever killed her friends was still out there and impossible to kill, even after they set him on fire and managed to stab him in the chest.

“Think it’s a Tulpa,” Sam asked as he lugged your bags towards a cabin.

“Could be,” you hummed. You honestly hating camping, the dirt, the bugs, the heat, but living the life as a hunter brought you out into the deep woods from time to time and you learned to deal with it. But at least here at camp there was indoor plumbing and beds. “Or it could be a serial killer bent on revenge against horny camp counselors.”

Sam grinned as you pulled the rickety door open and allowed him in first. The cabin was small, but had a tiny sitting room that lead to a bedroom holding an aging queen bed and bathroom that you barely fit in, so you weren’t sure how Sam was going to use it, but at least you had your privacy. Dean was rooming with, much to his delight, the rest of the actual counselors in hopes of a hookup before facing the big bad.

“My parents shipped me off to camp every summer,” you recalled idly, unpacking your clothes into the small wooden dresser. “I hated every minute of it.”

“Why? I would’ve loved to have gone to a regular camp,” Sam laughed from where he stretched out on the bed, the springs creaked with his breathing. “Probably would’ve been better than chasing werewolves all summer.”

“I built so many birdhouses out of popsicle sticks it’s not even funny.” You tucked away the last of Sam’s shirts and moved to crawl in the bed with him, the thin mattress gave easily to your weight and groaned in protest. He reached out for you as you moved closer, his hands found your hips as you straddled his. “And they forced me to go fishing,” you grimaced. “Had to hook poor little worms, it was so sad.”

“I promise you don’t have to do anything like that while you’re here. We signed you up as the swim instructor,” he informed with a glint in his eye.

“What? You said I was doing archery,” you gasped, slapping at his chest.

“And miss the chance of seeing you in a bathing suit all day? No way,” Sam grinned and blocked the rest of your playful hits.

You rolled your eyes and fought against him as he pulled you down for a kiss. “You’re a pervert, you know that?” You lost the battle and allowed him to press his mouth against yours. “And hopefully we aren’t all chopped up into tiny pieces and eaten before the camp opens,” you muttered against his puckered lips.

“You really know how to kill the mood, Y/N,” he groaned and let his head fall back onto the pillow.

You laughed and winked, climbing off of him. “C’mon, let’s go find your brother.” You pulled him out of the bed and eventually the cabin, heading out to join the others already gathered around the evening campfire. Dean was chatting with a pretty blonde around your age, wide eyed and flushed as the other Winchester flirted shamelessly. “I see that you got straight to work,” you greeted them when you got close enough.

“This the Brittany,” Dean turned his attention to the both of you. “Her parents own the camp.”

She gave a little wave to the both of you. “They’ve been talking about buying it for a while now. They met here when they were younger, they were counselors here. Just celebrated their 25th anniversary, so they caved and guilted me into running it.”

“How sweet,” you cooed.

She nodded and smiled, but it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “Thanks for accepting the job, it was hell trying to get people to want to work here.”

You tilted your head, feigning ignorance, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widened and she quickly shook her head, “We’ve got a nasty mosquito problem. Everyone’s worried about bird flu or whatever.” She laughed loud and nervously and you played along. “Anyway, let’s get drunk!” With a clap of her hands, she was up and jogged over to the cooler the others had open and full of cheap beer.

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Think you can get it out of her, Dean?” The eldest Winchester winked and joined in the merriment of bad music and alcohol, his arm already wrapped around Brittany. “Wanna look around?” You grinned up at your boyfriend and grabbed his hand, leading him back towards your cabin. “I thought you wanted to work?”

“Dean’s working,” you replied with a half shrug. “Besides, don’t you know the best way to get a crazy serial killer to come out of hiding is for two young, beautiful people to fuck like rabbits while their friends party outside?”

Sam laughed and scooped you up to carry you the rest of the way to the cabin, “Is that right?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, “it’s in the rule book.”

“There’s a rule book, huh?” You pulled the door open once again and Sam bee-lined straight to the bed. He unceremoniously dropped you on the cheap, thin mattress and eagerly climbed on top and between your legs. “Does it say how we’re supposed to do it? Hard and fast? Nice and slow?”

You tilted your head in thought when he sat on his hunches, pulling off his thin white shirt that was already soaked through with sweat. “Hard and fast,” you decided. “And very loud.”

“Loud? I think we can manage that,” Sam chuckled and worked on his pants as you wiggled out of your own tank top and shorts, tossing them aside. Stripped down to your underwear, he was back on you, mouth attacking yours with his normal primal greed, teeth and tongue and growls. Your fingers twisted into his hair, your sweat slicked bodies clung together as he rolled his hips against yours.

The bed groaned beneath you as the two of you moved in tandem, drowning out your whimpers and Sam’s moans. Any other time, any other place, you would have complained and moved to the floor as you’ve done in past hotels, but somehow, being in a camp like this hearing the springs protest beneath you made it all the more dirty and got you a bit more hot and bothered.

“C’mon, Sam,” you whined, pulling away from his hungry lips, “fuck me.”

“I’m workin’ on it,” he grumbled, but sat back once more to pull off his boxers. Your panties were next, already soaked from your slick and sweat, peeled off with the hook of his thumbs. A devious smile split his face and he dropped so that his shoulders could spread your thighs.

“No, no,” you shook your head and tried to coax him up to you, “no foreplay, straight to the dicking!”

Sam shook his head right back at you and licked at his lips, his thumbs that removed your underwear now parted your folds and he stared hungrily at your core. “Didn’t get dessert when we stopped for food,” he reminded you.

“I’m not ice cream!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam sniggered and licked a long, flat strip from your fluttering hole to your clit and groaned at the bittersweet tang. A shiver shot through you and your legs clenched around him, a whining moan begged him for more. “Thought you said it’s gotta be loud? I could barely hear you.”

You slapped the top of his head and scowled down at his beautiful, smirking face. “That’s ‘cause you gotta fuck me.”

“I am,” Sam snorted. His eyes locked with yours as he licked another slow trail from hole to hole to your swelling bud. You struggled around him and groaned, your eyes threatened to flutter closed, but you fought against it to glare at him.

“It’s been five days since you’ve been inside me, Samuel,” you snapped. “Stop fucking around and dick me down, dammit.”

“You’re really bossy when you’re desperate,” he teased, but climbed up your body once more to give you a taste of yourself as he lined up. “I kinda like it.” You grinned up at him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders and when he pushed in one fluid motion to the hilt, your smile turning into a sinful O. “You said hard and fast.”

You nodded eagerly and he pulled back, leaving just the tip before slamming back home with the bed squeaking underneath you. “Sam,” you hissed, “just like that.” Your legs and arms wrapped around him as he started the quick, brutal pace of his hips. The thin metal frame of the bed rocked and swayed with his thrusts, your desperate moans only joining in the chorus of the whining objection of the mattress beneath you.

Sam’s lips found your skin once more, kissing and marking the slick flesh. “Louder,” he murmured against your jaw, pinching the skin off its bone with his teeth. “Want that killer to show up, don’t you,” he chuckled breathlessly.

You did as you were told, lewd sounds ripped from your throat as Sam changed his angle, searching for the right spot to get you really singing. You did your best to encourage him, sobbing out dirty words, telling him to fuck you harder, faster, and he did. His hips slammed repeatedly against your ass, the squeaks of the bed barely registering over the sound of skin against skin or your porn worthy moans.

And when he found your spot, you clawed at his back, latching onto him which signaled him to let loose. He fucked into you with wild abandon, his face buried into the side of yours, both of you losing your voices as Sam worked you closer to the edge. Neither of you registered the sound of your cabin door open or the sounds of the footsteps creeping closer.

You hit yours first, the blinding white of you orgasm burst through you and came out with a cry of Sam’s name. You clung to him desperately as you rode it out, Sam still pumping into you with a feral need until he spilled his own deep inside of you.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me,” Dean said from the doorway, a crooked grin on his lips.

“Are you fucking serious,” you yelled, grabbing a pillow and hurling to across the room only to miss.

Dean watched the pillow fall to the floor and he snorted, “Nice throw. You might want to get your clothes on. We’re getting out of here.”

“What? Why,” Sam asked, reluctantly pulling out of you. Dean gagged playfully and turned away so you two could get decent.

“Because the whole thing is a hoax. The ‘survivor’,” he used air quotes, “we talked to? Brittany’s crazy sister. And Brittany? Just as crazy. The family made the whole thing up to get people to come to the camp. There’s no killer, there was no murders, just a scam to get publicity.”

You sighed heavily and climbed out of bed, gathering you clothes on the way to the shower. “We’ll pack up and meet you in twenty, I guess.”

“If you two wanna keep playing naughty counselors, I’m all for staying the night,” Dean chuckled. “Brittany might be crazy, but she’s got some nice ti-”

You made a loud yelp to get him to stop. “Get out, Dean. We’ll meet you at the car.” You disappeared into the bathroom with Sam on your heels. As you predicted, he was barely able to get around the small room and when you two climbed into the shower, he couldn’t turn on the water without elbowing you in the face.

“You look disappointed,” Sam noted, his fingers running through your dampening hair.

“I wanted to kill something,” you pouted.

Rolling his eyes, he reached for the shampoo and started to wash your hair. “I’m sure we’ll find something for you to murder soon. Close your eyes.”

You whined pathetically but did as you were told. “Next time we agree to go to summer camp, there better be an immortal serial killer on the loose or I’m gonna be pissed.”

#Sam Winchester x Reader #Sam Winchester x You #Sam Winchester x Y/N #Originally posted on @plaided-ani

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sunflowersoonyoung · 3 years

Text

bourbon & soda water | soyeon

w.c ↠ 1.1k

pairing ↠ soyeon x fem!reader

genre/s ↠ fluff, suggestive themes, mafia au!

description ↠ An alluring stranger in a bar is shockingly upfront about her career.

warning/s ↠ alcohol, suggestive themes

author’s note ↠ this was slightly inspired by alex and piper from orange is the new black. i’m not super pleased with this one, but nonetheless i hope y’all enjoy 💕

Having finally arrived at the end of a dreadfully long week, you had to refrain from speeding on the way to your bar of choice.

The ambience there was exactly as you would expect on a Friday evening, loud conversation thick in the air. You hardly paid attention to the clusters of people, making a direct bee-line to the dark mahogany bar table at the edge of the room. It was a rather upscale joint that you could not really afford, but the atmosphere was so comfortable that it had swiftly become your favourite place to unwind.

The bartender approached you with a warm smile, dressed in a smoothly ironed black dress shirt contrasted well with a red tie.

“What will it be, Miss?”

Your interest grazed lazily over the wall of glass liquor bottles.

“A whiskey, just with ice, thanks.”

Lowering your head onto the wooden surface, you could feel the stress and fatigue soaking into your bones. A whole week you wanted only to erase with the consumption of a few drinks; to move onto the following week as if nothing had happened.

The stool beside you creaked beneath the weight of a stranger. You did not lift your head, not until she spoke, “I’ll have a bourbon and soda water. And you can put her drink on my tab.”

When you turned to face this anonymous speaker, she was already staring directly at you. You met eyes with her and she shot you a wink.

Her neatly trimmed hair had been bleached blonde almost to a shade of silver, the length sitting a few inches above her defined collarbones. Wearing a cropped singlet, you had to restrain yourself from glancing down at her slightly exposed cleavage and toned core. You would sneak a glimpse when she was not still watching you.

“What’s got you so down, honey?” She pressed her cheek to her palm, wearing an expression that seemed genuinely curious, though you knew it was merely playful banter.

“Nothing much,” you hummed, “Is that why you bought a drink for me? Because I looked down?”

The girl wore a wide grin as she spoke unabashedly, “because you’re cute. Isn’t that generally the reason?” Your face grew hot at the abrupt compliment, and she gleamed in amusement.

“So, what’s your name?” She was now brazenly exploring your figure, having earned her full attention from only a few moments of conversation.

“(F/n),” you responded, offering her a shy smile; aware and embarrassed by how her gaze was creeping up your stocking-veiled thighs, “And you?”

“Soyeon. Nice to meet you, (F/n).”

As soon as the silence stretched out a moment too long, the bartender arrived with two glasses, placing them where they belonged before the pair of you. You were almost too eager to take a mouthful, but ultimately the sensation of the bitter liquor sliding down your throat had been worth the wait.

“Cheers, gorgeous,” Soyeon had her cup raised, clasped between manicured fingers. With liquid courage beginning to warm your gut, you confidently met her eyes, a giddy beam stretching your cheeks.

“Cheers, Soyeon.”

Her name felt good to say.

A splitting headache and burning nausea afflicted you as you stirred from sleep, many of your memories from the previous night blurred. You stretched, soft bedding gentle against your bare skin, and opened your eyes with caution.

Though you recalled going home with Soyeon from the bar last evening, you had failed to remember just how lavish her flat had been. The walls were shades of brown and cream, a window stretching from the floor to the ceiling cloaked by thick curtains.

You half expected to draw them back and find a hidden glass door leading to a balcony. There was as much length to this room as there was in one half of your own apartment.

Soyeon slept soundly by your side, her crimson bralette peeking over the top of the duvet. You were equally as exposed, left from a wild night in nothing but underwear. Although you were not sure what had occurred, you could very easily imagine it. Dark hickeys littered your breasts, further painting the image.

Abruptly, the phone on Soyeon’s bedside table began buzzing, jolting her awake. Without pausing she slid onto the plush carpet, pressing her phone to her ear and disappearing from the room. She only slowed for a moment to glance back at you.

You gradually sat up, taking care not to worsen the throbbing ache in your skull, eventually hanging your legs off of the edge of the bed. By the time you had achieved this, Soyeon had returned.

You could not say you knew Soyeon well, but the grim expression she wore as she strode back to bed was very unlike her. She was running her fingers through her hair, wracked with stress.

“Is … everything okay?” You asked, not entirely sure whether it was any of your business, but too worried about her to care.

“Just work,” she hummed, her harsh visage softening as she joined you in bed once more, wrapping her hand around your wrist and lightly tugging you closer. You laid your head across her plush thighs, rather fond of the view of her sharp features.

You snorted, “what kind of job do you do that makes you stressed like that?” Soyeon raised one eyebrow at you.

“I’m the head of a mafia gang.”

The abrupt admission snatched all of the air from your lungs. You sat up, leaning on one palm to examine her. Though you thought she was joking, the way her face did not shift even slightly warned you perhaps she was not. You laughed awkwardly, but her expression still failed to break.

“A-Are you serious?” You stammered, shifting onto your knees so that you could face her directly.

“Do I seem like I’d joke about that?”

Her touch skimmed your face, with such a subtle presence that chills ran down your spine. It took only a breath’s moment for her to advance till she was just inches from you.

Butterflies tickled in your belly, her proximity bringing you back to school days; the innocent days when you would become shy over merely brushing hands with an attractive girl. It had been a long time since you had felt like this about someone. No one had made you so flustered.

“Are you scared?” She purred, her hot breath fanning over your cheeks, “I wouldn’t let you get hurt, sweetheart. I happen to like you, a lot.”

Though your head had gone blank and mouth dry, you managed to respond with a somewhat convincing, “I’m not scared.”

A wide grin bared all of her white teeth before she leant in and pressed her lips roughly to yours.

#soyeon #jeon soyeon #(g)idle #gidle #(g)-idle soyeon #gg imagines #gg fanfic #(g)idle fanfic #(g)I-dle #soyeon x reader #gxg #wlw #jeon soyeon fanfic #soyeon fanfic #gg fluff #girl group imagines #girl group fanfic #girl group fluff #soyeon imagines

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Becoming

Halloween is Bee’s favorite holiday and while for most people it’s focused on becoming something new, transforming into fantasies, it is for others about becoming who they really are.

Related to Silver Fox. Can be read alone. SingleDad!Cal+ Halloween + Cuteness.

Read Silver Fox Here.

Enjoy my masterlist.

Support me on Ko-Fi.

********************

Anahera reads over the text several times, exits the text messaging app, reopens it and still shocks finds her when the text does not disappear. Halloween party on Saturday, 8pm You’re invited. Costume contest too! This isn’t a text message that she should’ve gotten--Anahera played on the school’s field hockey team but she wasn’t that popular to get a text message from Chelsea. Chelsea was on the school’s cheerleading team, up next for captain once the current senior graduated. They worked together once on a physics project and exchanged numbers only to talk about who would do what and to meet after school to run the lab. But that was pretty much the existent of their interactions, besides saying hi in passing in the hallways.

But here Chelsea was texting Anahera about a Halloween party. Looking up from her phone, Anahera risks a quick glance to her father. He stands outside the car, phone pressed to his ear. A call came in right as Anahera walked up to the car. He paused long enough to greet her and ask how she was doing but he had to return to the call pretty quickly after that. Her practice ran long--mostly because their coach was getting on their case about two girls that got into a physical fight in school and thus were benched for two games. Her dad’s not the type to be overly strict about her going out. But he was a small bit of a worrier and liked to know the parents or at least have their numbers.

Anahera turns back to her phone and pulled up Levi’s thread. Did you get an invite to a Halloween party on Saturday?

It’s only a couple of moments before Levi replies. Yeah. ‘rents already said yes. What about you?

Levi was the last child in a line of four, so it was never really a shock that their parents let them do pretty much anything as long as they could say who they were going with and what time they were going to be back home by. Anahera glances back out to the window and notices Calum nodding along to whatever is being said. When they catch eyes, Calum puffs up his cheeks and crosses his eyes just to get a laugh out of her. Anahera shakes her head with a small chuckle and sticks her tongue out in return before returning to her phone.

Haven’t asked yet. Afraid he’s going to say no.

Your dad’s not like that. Let him know you’re going with me. My curfew is midnight. Dan’s on dial too--just in case.

Dan was nice, and even though he was the oldest of their siblings, he wasn’t big on partying. He was quiet, played video games mostly and occasionally went out. But as the only one with a car, he became the go to one for rides to and from places or as a quick line of defense. Anahera normally had a curfew around eleven. However, if she led the question with Levi’s plans and Dan being their ride, then her dad might be more flexible about extending the curfew. Anahera would also have to promise that her homework would be done Friday night because if she didn’t, Calum would certainly use that as a way to be hesitant.

The only way to find out her answer is going to be just asking flat out. Leaning across the console, Anahera rolls down the window. The buzzing and whir catches Calum’s attention and he takes the phone from his ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be off in five and get you some dinner. I know you’re probably starving after practice.”

“Thanks. Um, actually I wanted to ask you if I could go to this party on Saturday. It’s at Chelsea’s. Levi’s going and they have to be back home by 12.”

“Halloween party?” Calum asks.

Anahear nods. “I’ll have all my homework done on Friday. I’m already done with one essay and I think there’s a math set packet Mr. M is handing out on Thursday to help as extra study material for the test on Monday. And Bee’s already reading over my college essay so when I get the edits it’ll be like super quick.”

Calum sighs, hearing the voice on the line droning on. “Levi’s going? And their parents know Chelsea’s parents or have their number?”

“I-I don’t know. I just know Levi got the approval to go. Please, Dad. I can ask Chelsea tomorrow about the number thing. But please can I go? Dan’s on speed dial in case we need a ride.”

Calum holds her gaze, mouth twisting up. Bee had asked what Calum and Anahera had planned to do for Halloween. Normally, the two of them dressed up and handed out candy to the kids in the neighborhood that came by trick or treating on the day of Halloween and during the weekends, sometimes they went to haunted houses or Anahera hung out with Levi in her room, watching scary movies until ungodly hours in the morning. Anahera’s eagerness to go the party didn’t strick Calum was strange. She’s settled into her junior year, her birthday passing in September. However, Calum did start to miss things from before. Like the way Anahera always wanted to hang out with him and how they always had plans for Halloween. But things were changing. She was growing up and Calum was going to have to grow with that too.

He nods. “Yeah, you can go. But,” he starts interrupting the squeal from Anahera, “the edits your college admission essay need to be done before you leave on Saturday. You’re not struggling in math too much, and I trust you with whatever you need to make sure you get a good grade on that test on Monday.” Anahera wants to apply early decision to a couple schools and the rest are regular decisions. Bee advised that it would be easier for her to finish the essays early and that way the only thing to stress about come the summer and start of senior year were getting the letters of recommendations. Though the essays that Anahera were drafting for college apps right now were samples/examples. Anahera wanted to have a bank of a couple different kinds that wouldn’t need too much extra work to fit to the questions before being submitted.

Though Calum suggested that she not worry that not much closer until time, Anahera insisted that she wanted some practice and considering that the beginning of the semester wasn’t that congested with work, it worked out well.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Anahera exclaims crawling over the console and hugging Calum through the open window of the car.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Love you.” He knows he’s clinging a little too long but he doesn’t want to forget the way Anahera squeezed in her hugs. It was a trait she had since she was little and Calum’s not sure where she got it from. However, there was nothing like a hug from her--even when she was small and she sensed something was wrong, she would run up to him with her favorite toy at the time in her hand and squeeze him tight in a hug. She would always tell him not to be sad because she would always have hugs for him.

“Love you too!” Anahera replies easily.

Calum gets off the work call soon after that and climbs into the driver seat, or at least he attempts to. Anahera hasn’t left the driver side seat since getting the okay for her venture to the party. “Ma’am. I know you’re getting closer to that license but I think I’m still in charge of driving for just a little bit longer.”

Anahera laughs. “Oh c’mon, Pops. You know I can handle this no problem.” She over dramatizes taking a sharp turn, hands passing over each other and lightly brushing the cover of the steering wheel. She hasn’t tested yet but they get out early on the weekends for practice and Calum keeps encouraging her to test. It’s yet to happen, but he’s hopeful.

“Maybe on Sunday you go for a spin. But it ain’t Sunday yet.”

Anahera looks to Calum with her brows raised. “Promise?”

“Promise.” They hook pinkies and she climbs back into the passenger seat. “Subs?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I was thinking. But that might just be that you’re my dad.”

“Maybe,” Calum laughs, “maybe.”

Anahera relays the news to Levi about her approval to go to the party. Any costume ideas? I’m a giant nothing. Levi asks. Anahera thinks about usual superheroes, the sexy costumes. But those wouldn’t work out too well.

Couples costumes? Or too lame?

I love you, Ana. But I am not going in some dumb het. normative costume.

Anahera snickers at the text. I didn’t mean like couple couple costume. But like matching/same universe or something.

Oh, oh, hmm, that could work.

Stranger Things--Scoops Ahoy Steve and Robin? That message comes through at the same time that Levi suggest pirates. Oh, pirates could be cool? We’d have to get to the mall to shop possibly. but I promised to have homework done before Friday.

“Wanna eat inside or get it to go?”

Ana looks up and sees that the car is parked outside their favorite Italian place. Anahera shrugs and unbuckles. “It’s everyone else’s problem if I stink, not mine.”

Calum laughs. “That’s why there was the option to not kill everyone with your funk.” He locks the doors, taking a quick glance at the parking lot. He doesn’t spot Bee’s car. He know she doesn’t take too many hours at the restaurant during the week, but occasionally she takes a few or she comes in when they need more help. He wasn’t sure if she was working both jobs or not. But given the number of cars in the parking lot, he can’t really get a good look around.

Inside is crowded. Though most people seem to be getting orders to go, lined up at the counter as compared to the pretty empty dining area. Calum and Anahera stand the podium to be seated for a couple moments. Anahera is buried in her phone while Calum glances around. He spies Bee at the counter, handing over a stack of three pizza boxes to a man. The woman he’s with comes up and takes the bag Bee hands over. “Just two?” a voice close by cuts in. A younger guy who Calum hasn’t seen before stands in front of them.

Calum turns with a nod. “Yes, just two.”

“Booth or table?” the young man asks.

“Booth,” Anahera returns with a smile and follows behind as they’re escorted to the booth. Calum throws one last glance back to the counter. Bee happens to glance up and throws a small wave which Calum returns.

“Can I start you all out with something to drink?” the young man asks, pen in hand.

“Water,” Calum answers, slipping the sunglasses up into his hair and Anahera replies with the same.

The young man nods. “Lemon on the side okay?” With nods all the way around, he starts over to the drink mission.

Anahera turns directly to the sub and sandwiches section of the menu. “See your boo,” Ana teases glancing up for a moment.

Calum shakes his head, cheeks heating for a split second at the tease. He and Bee have been dating for a little seven months. Anahera wasn’t shocked after discovering the hickies that fated day but she never fails to say that she’s the thing that brought them together. “Yeah, I saw her,” Calum returns. “So about this party? You and Levi know what your costumes are going to be? Like going in something matching or separate?”

“We’re thinking about something matching. They suggested pirates or something but I don’t think I have anything in my closet that could work and I would ask to go shopping on Saturday before the party but I wasn’t sure how that was going to go over.”

“Hmm, if you needed to borrow anything from me, you could. Or if Levi wanted too, they could as well. And it comes down too, I could take y’all Friday after school.That would give you Saturday morning to work too and then get ready. Or whatever works better.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll let them know.” Anahera works her fingers over the screen, the keys highlighting for a second before dropping back down to their normal size. “And thanks. For offering to take Levi and offering your closet.”

Calum knows Levi’s parents haven’t super well to their coming out and using they/them pronouns. However, Levi’s siblings have defended them and Anahera too. He wishes he could do a lot more. He’s tried to help as much as he can, being there for Levi when they need someone but he knows it’s not always the same--it’s not like having their actual parents being supportive. “Of course. You two have been friends since elementary school. Almost feels like a second child at this point--Levi’s family at this point.”

“You’re pretty awesome, Dad.”

“I can only ever do my best, sweetheart. That’s it.”

“Yeah, but your best is still pretty great.” She’s quick to return to her phone no doubt relaying everything to Levi. The waiter returns with their waters and runs down the specials for the day. Anahera orders her turkey panini with salad and fries. Calum overs the Philly cheese steak with just fries.

“Hey guys,” Bee says as she stops by their table. The dinner rush has slowed for the time being.

Calum tugs on her wrist and she falls into the side of the booth, his bumping against his side. His arm slides around her waist in a quick hug. “Shocked to see you here. Not even a Thursday, so you can’t tell me close to the weekend.”

“Terence’s books were more expensive this semester--so I’m trying to play catch up right now.”

“More expensive?” Calum questions, twisting in the booth to look up at her. Bee gives Anahera a quick hug before turning to stand at the edge of the table. “Why don’t you sit?”

“Boss is here today. Don’t want him complaining. And Terence signed up for an extra class, said he was going to be a class short if he didn’t fully load up his schedule. And it’s cheaper to do it now than it is to take the one class during the summer. I budgeted for right around 250 for books but the extra class was in English and it ran just under an additional 200 dollars just for that class.”

“Another 200 hundred?” Calum gaps. “You’re telling me you spent over 400 dollars in textbooks?”

“Just about 400 dollars. He’s looking for scholarships to help with textbooks. But with basketball it’s not like he can pick up a job. I need him focusing on his grade to keep the scholarship that he does have. The refund should help recover costs some but most of that I’m giving right back to Terence in installments.”

Calum nods, knowing about how Bee likes to put money into Terrence’s account. She does it so that Terrence can take care of anything that comes up in case of emergency, but she know sometimes the team goes out for dinners and other things. He’s got to be a kid in college while still in college. What Calum didn’t realize is just how much Terrence didn’t know about what Bee did behind the scenes for him. Terrence came home for the summer, well before summer conditioning and they hung out, and Terrence knew Bee worked her ass off to help him but she hadn’t pulled the veil back to reveal just how much she busted ass to make his games, keep him afloat and never stressing about money.

Calum respected that and never discussed money in front of Terrence. But part of him did want Terrence to know just how much Bee was working so that textbooks were the least of his worries. “You know I’m here, for anything,” Calum offers, wrapping his fingers around hers.

Bee nods. “Thanks. I appreciate it. But get ready, you’re next,” she teases, laughing before glancing over to Anahera. “Once I get home I can send you my suggestions. They’re on my laptop and I didn’t bring it with me to this job.”

“Don’t worry, Bee. I appreciate you just taking the time to read over it.”

“Of course.” The bell above the door chimes and Bee turns, greeting the family that just entered letting them know she’ll be right over in a moment. “Alright, duty calls. Enjoy your dinner.”

Bee squeezes Calum’s hand and then turns on her heels to go to the podium. “How are we tonight? Besides just a smidge hungry?” Bee jokes, grabbing menus. The group laughs just a little bit before following Bee to a booth about three down from Calum and Anahera.

“You think Bee would take me and Levi shopping?”

Calum perks up at the question. Anahera and Bee get along well but Bee’s careful about suggesting that she and Anahera spend time together. As Calum knows and understands, Bee doesn’t want to come across as being pushing or trying too hard but she doesn’t want to seem like she doesn’t care. They’ve gotten manicures together or gone out just for ice cream--it’s always been small things. However, Anahera seems to enjoy that time together.

“Ask, can’t hurt. If her schedule allows, I think she’d be happy to take you and Levi,” Calum answers. He bites down on the corner of his lip to contain a small portion of his smile. Bee’s been the one to schedule most of their activities together or at least initiate them. But seeing Anahera take the lead on this one is a good sign.

“Oh, you’re right. She might be working. I don’t want to make her feel bad if she’s working?” Anahera enjoys the time she’s spent with Bee. When they got the gel manicures, it was fun. Bee picked out Anahera’s color and they were able to sit next to each other as they talked about watching True Crime documentaries and Ana told her all about the new music she had been listening too. Bee was cool about all the jokes Anahera made, and once their colors cured under the UV lights, Anahera spent nearly thirty minutes sitting outside the shop just showing Bee all the videos and memes that she had saved recently.

Bee felt like her dad’s girlfriend, but she also felt like someone that cared about Anahera too. It was a nice feeling to have another girl to talk about things that just got it. And whatever Anahera didn’t want to go back to Calum, didn’t get back to him. Anahera mentioned to Bee before Calum about Levi and what was happening at home for them. Anahera begged Bee not to say anything to her dad. Not that she thought Calum wouldn’t be understanding but because Anahera just didn’t want to out her best friend to someone they weren’t ready to be out too. However, when Anahera needed someone to talk to about Levi, Bee was gracious and patient and promised not to breathe a word to Calum. So when Levi came over for the first time to come out, while Bee and Calum were fixing dinner, Bee’s reaction was like she had heard the news for the first time. Calum was shocked but grateful to know and the change was immediate, though a little bumpy at first. Anahera called Bee later that night to thank her for being supportive of her best friend.

Also in terms of pirate costuming, as much as Anahera adores her dad, she knew only Bee would get her vision for her costume and be able to help her. Also Bee could also help Levi put together their costume so that the two of them matched but still kept a distinct air to the both of them.

Bee passes their table right after they get their orders with a tray full of drinks for the table that she has. However on the second pass by, Anahera manages to snag her attention. “Do you work Saturday morning?”

Bee ponders for a moment. “I work here starting at 2. What’s up?”

“I got invited to this Halloween party and Levi and I want to go as pirates. But we both need a few things to help with our outfits. Would you mind taking us and helping us out?”

The grin that breaks across Bee’s face is so big Calum’s sure her cheeks are going to split right there on the spot. “Yeah, I’d love to. Mall opens at 9. How does 10 sound? Would that time work for them as well?”

“I can ask.”

“Text me whatever works best, okay. I’ll pick you up first and then we’ll swing and get Levi.”

Anahera nods and turns back to her salad just as Bee turns back and continues down to the kitchen. “So I’m getting the boot I guess.”

“I guess you can come too. Do you and Bee have plans?”

“Bee asked if we had plans. I told her our normal plans are using dressing up and doing a little decorating to hand out candy or you watching movies with Levi but now that’s different. So I’m not even sure.”

“Just remember, I’m coming back home at midnight sharp.” Once or twice, Anahera’s caught the embarrassing glimpse of a kiss getting pretty heavy. That’s enough, she doesn’t want to see anything more than that.

Calum gapes for a moment around the sip of his water. “Missy, who’s the parent here?” Anahera goes quiet, shoveling the last bite of her salad into her mouth. “That’s what I thought.” With their dinner finish and check paid, Calum and Anahera slip out from the booth. They both say goodbye to Bee before leaving. Anahera promises to text Bee the second she gets a time that works well before 2.

It’s only later in the night, after Calum gets a text from Bee that she got home safely that he calls her. She doesn’t answer immediately. However about 20 minutes later, his phone rings from her. “Hey,” he says settling into the pillows. Tammy’s curled up on his lap. The click of paws outside the door alerts Calum that Anahera’s moving around the house and Jake’s following right behind her. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good. The restaurant was crazy when I walked in but the rest of the night calmed down. How was your day?”

“Nothing too grand until I surprisingly ran into you,” he chuckles softly into the receiver. “I just want to say thank you for agreeing to take Anahera and Levi shopping. That-that means a lot to me.”

“No need to thank you, Cal baby. But you’re so welcome. I love Ana and Levi. I’d do whatever I could for them.”

“No, I do need to thank you. I know you’re working hard to cover what you had to spend on Terrence’s books but you taking the time to spend with my daughter and her best friend--it says a lot more about your character than anything.”

“Thank you, Calum. That means a lot.”

“Of course.”

“With Anahera and Levi going to the party, are you just going to hang out on Halloween?”

“I guess. I don’t know. Unless of course you’d like to spend some time together after work if you’re not too tired of course.”

“I’m only working a 5 hours shift. I picked up part of someone else’s shift. So if you wanted to do something after 7, we can. Your neighborhood’s plenty active right? Like you hand out candy and what not?”

“Yeah, there’s enough kids that come out. Would you want to dress up? I totally get if you don’t want to, with work and everything.”

“I would love to dress up! Halloween’s my favorite. But once Terrence got too old to trick-or-treat, I kinda didn’t have much reason to do a lot. The apartment complex does like a small thing for the kids, but nothing like the neighborhood I was in before Terrence and I moved.”

“Might I crash the shopping party on Saturday? I know depending on how long it takes you might have to duck out before things finish but while they shop for their costumes you and I can plan something too.”

“Sure, you can crash the shopping party. Do you decorate?”

“Used to when Anahera was younger. Not a lot much inside. It’s more outside decoration for the kiddos as they come up to the door.”

“Well I look forward to a fairly spooped out house. Trick or treating starts around 6 so I’ll miss the first hour but after my shift ends, would it be okay if I just came directly to your place and changed? What time is the party for Anahera and Levi?”

“Yeah, sure you can come straight to my place. Their party starts at 8 and Levi’s brother Dan is dropping them off at the party and dropping them Ana back off afterwards. Or at least I need to make sure that’s the plan. Even if I have to drop her off, if you come to my place, trick or treaters can still get their candy fill while I drop her off.”

“Okay, cool. Thank you.” A yawn cuts off the last little bit of the sentence. “God, sorry.”

“It’s been a long day. I get it. Get some rest, babe.”

“Wait, I gotta email Anahera. Stay on the line with me until I finish that. Then I can go night-night.”

Calum chuckles at the repetitive phrase. It reminds of when Anahera was younger. He’t tuck her in at night with a kiss to her forehead and a sweet bid of “Night-night. Sweet dreams,” without fail. And it appears that even though children might grow out of the phrase, parents never do. “Okay, I’ll stay on until you do that. Do you have any costume ideas?”

“Something witchy. Or vampires. Or we can go with something with a bit more gore. I think I have some special effects makeup left in that kit.”

“I know you said Halloween is for favorite but for someone that doesn’t celebrate like before, I’m a little lost on why you have a kit.”

“Library holds some special readings every quarter. Theme was fairytales so we dressed up and used some special effects for some wrinkles for the old fairy godmother. And I just got the big kit because I figured it would last for more than reading. There’s some fake blood in it too. I like to have all my options.”

Calum hums, the pillows surrounding him starting to pull him into sleep as well. Just closing his eyes won’t hurt. It’s quiet for a moment, faintly he can hear the taps and clicks of Bee on her computer. “Oh, what about something with Bonnie and Clyde?”

“Like them dead? Because I think I could be down.” The sentence is a little slow to fall from Bee’s lips.

“Hmm yeah maybe.”

“Thanks for staying up with me even though we both about to pass out.”

“Anything for you.”

“Goodnight, Calum.”

“Hey, that’s a good night-night and sweet dreams to you, Bee.” She laughs softly into the receiver and it’s the only sound Calum distinctly remembers hearing too.

Friday night Anahera is sure to show Calum her changes to the essay and when he nods, kissing the top of her head, Ana tries to hold back her excitement. She and Levi have talked about their costumes. Though Levi’s unsure of if they should go with a vest or not. They don’t have one and buying one would be pointless just for the one costume. Anahera suggests if they find one cheap they could add it to the costume without fear of not necessarily wearing it out again.

Calum agrees to drive separately from Bee, Anahera, and Levi when Saturday rolls around. The second Bee showed up Anahera dove into the vision she and Levi had for the costumes and what they both already have in their closest. Calum catches wind of a skirt and he waits for a moment unsure if that’s a smart idea. However, Bee is quick to suggest fishnets in addition to the skirt. Fishnets isn’t the answer he would’ve given, but Calum knows this is not his time into the court and let’s Bee take the lead on how to best handle wearing a skirt to a party that Calum’s almost certain alcohol may sneak its way into the mix. He knows he can’t shield Anahera forever from the world but he definitely doesn’t want her introduction to be harsh. Amongst the glimpses of conversations that he catches about the skirt, he catches onto the addition of shorts underneath too and lets out a tiny sigh of relief.

Levi hangs back as Bee and Anahera enter the first store. Calum lingers back with them.“Skipping this one?” Calum asks. It’s an H&M and there’s no doubt in Calum’s mind that they can find something here. They mentioned wanting either a jacket or the vest and then needing a thick belt or fabric to help with their look. They already have the white button up, jeans and boots for the costume.

“I-It’s a lot easier to like look online at clothes.” The confession leaves Levi’s lips softly. Calum nods, understanding that online no one says anything if they switch between men or women’s. However, the physical stores has to be a whole different ballgame, the anxiety about looks that people might give tot hem.

“If you want, I’ll stick with you. Whichever section, I can be right there.”

“You-you don’t have too, Mr. Hood.”

“It’s Uncle Cal and you know that, Levi. Besides, you’re not Anahera’s best friend. You’re part of my family. So whatever you need me to do is out of love, not obligation.”

The tears collect on their lower lids. “You consider me family?”

“Always have, kid, and always will.” With an arm slung over their shoulder, Calum proposes a deal. “What if you help me with my costume and if we just happen to find something for you, then we just happen to find something for you? How does that sound?”

Levi gives Calum a quick hug before nodding. “Sounds-sounds good to me.”

“C’mon. I think I see a suit jacket that might be perfect for Clyde. But I need younger eyes because I forgot my glasses.”

As the pair walks towards the suit jackets, Bee slides over and slips a few tissues into the palm of Calum’s hand. He hands them over to Levi and there’s a silent nod of recognition between all of them. Bee zips back over to Anahera, knowing that she had to talk the young girl out of the platform boots that Anahera doesn’t need considering the pair that she just got for her birthday.

As Calum and Levi thumb through the blazers, Calum can see one particular red ornate blazer has caught their attention. So he plucks if off the rack, pulling the medium size one off the rack to start. He can’t quite gauge their size and he doesn’t want to ask someone to measure Levi. Holding the jacket open for Levi, Calum silently asks them to try it on. “I think it might look better on you than me. I think my days have passed. Besides the red blazer I have at home reads more captain than pirate. But it’s always a look you could go for.”

Levi slips their arms into the blazer. The sleeves swallow their arms and hits them too low on their legs. But the light is evident in their eyes as they look into the mirror on the wall. “Wow,” they breathe, turning to see what it looks like from the back.

“I say we try the small. This is a medium.” Levi nods, slipping out of the jacket and taking the small from Calum. “This isn’t a tailored cut. Meaning it doesn’t cut in or cinch at the waist. This is a standard fit.” He straightens the collar out for them and grins at their smile. “Arms out straight in front of you,” he directs looking to see if the sleeves come up just a little or not all. They rise just a smidge. “Okay, reach up for the ceiling.” Levi does so without seeming restricted. “Is it tight anywhere?”

“No,” they return, shrugging their shoulders. “Not tight. It’s a little loose but like a good loose.”

“Fitted jackets and blazers can be harder to get in smaller sizes sometimes. If you want this, we can get it today and then after the party to get fitted a bit better, go to a tailor.”

“My parents would not be happy though,” Levi counters.

Calum nods. “I know that’s rough. But what if for right now, we get this and if they ask, you tell your parents it’s mine and I let you borrow it for the costume. The next time you come for to visit Anahera, I can take you to get it properly fitted.”

“How would I get it back home? My parents don’t like spot check my room but they’d notice me with this kind of jacket.”

“You leave that to me. While it’s easy to say smuggle it in your backpack, they’ll wrinkle it. But trust, between Anahera and I, we’ll make sure you get it to your room undetected.”

“I don’t know Mr. Hood. Seems like a lot of trouble.”

The nerves are understandable and Calum does not want to push them to do anything they wouldn’t want to do. “Alternatively, you find a vest for the costume and Bee and I find some fabric that’s fancy and you use that to tie around your waist as as the glamour you and Ana want. The blazer’s a dream for when you feel safer.”

“Yeah, yeah I like that.” Levi slowly removes the blazer and puts it back onto the hanger. “There’s, uh, there’s this,” they state, lifting up a standard black denim like vest.

“Okay, so something along that vibe. Gotcha.” Calum thumbs through the rack and pulls out a similar vest but this one has silver buttons and embellishments that make it feel a bit more elevated, more pirate-y.

As Levi tries that one on, Calum texts Bee to grab the red blazer from off the end of the rack and add it to the pile that Anahera’s collecting. He promises to pay her back. Within a minute of the text sending, he watches Bee approach in the mirror and grab the blazer, quickly stashing it under the racks in her hand. There’s a yellow sweater on top and a few black items beneath it as well.

“Lookin’ good, Levi!” Bee calls out, leaning behind the racks to make sure the blazer is concealed.

Anahera isn’t far behind, dragging Levi over to the shoes. “You should get this vest,” she says before returning to her point about not knowing which sneakers to get.

“They didn’t go for the blazer? It looked good,” Bee ponders quietly.

“Worried about their parents blowing a fuse. But Christmas is coming up, so hopefully things are different then. If not, I think they’d still appreciate it. And I know if I wait, it’s going to be gone.”

“You’re right about that. Ana and I are done for Halloween. You might have to convince her she doesn’t need 80 pairs of the same shoe. But while you distract, I’ll check out.”

Calum nods, heading towards the clearance shoes where Anahera and Levi are huddled. “I’ll give you the money tonight.”

Bee nods and makes a straight shot for the registers. After a trip to the fabric store for Levi’s belt, and a dive into Bee’s favorite hair care store to get headwraps for the both of them, Anahera and Levi are set for their costumes. Calum knows buried in his closet is a white dress shirt that he can throw on along with a black suit jacket, so he’s not too worried that he’s walking out the store empty handed.

Bee looks down at her phone again, teeth capturing the skin of her lips--her boss at the restaurant texted if she can come in an hour earlier. She almost doesn’t take the extra hour but Calum assures that now the costumes are set, that if she needs to take the extra hour then she absolutely take it. None of them will be mad, or feeling like she’s dipping out just to get away. “You sure?” Bee asks Calum after relaying the predicament, watching as Levi and Anahera duck in line for pretzels. “Ana’s not going to feel like I’m being mean or dodgy?”

“Babe. No. I don’t think so.” He kisses her forehead. “I know things are tight after the textbook fiasco. If you need to take the extra hour, do it.”

“I’ll keep the blazer in my bag and then bring it back to your place after they leave for the party.”

“Okay.”

She gives her quick goodbyes with hugs to Anahera and Levi, before kissing Calum softly goodbye and backtracking to the opposite end of the mall, where they parked. The shopping continues for a little bit longer, but Calum doesn’t linger too much allowing them their space. They agree to reconvene outside the sporting goods store in an about hour.

It’s a dangerous game to duck into one of the jewelry stores. Calum’s not even looking for himself and it sounds crazy and too soon for thoughts of a ring cross his mind. But he tells himself he can just browse, just fantasy about what that might be like.

“Who you looking for?”

He turns to the voice and see Anahera saddled up beside him. “You two have another like half an hour to be free.”

“Not much else here,” she returns. “Looking for Bee? Is her birthday soon or something?”

“Just looking,” Calum returns with a shrug, trying not to draw too much suspicion.

“Ana, look!” Levi calls out, waving their hand to beckon her closer. “It’s an anklet like you were looking at in the other store.”

Anahera ducks over, just to look. Soon they leave the mall. Levi asks if they can just get changed at Calum’s place which is an easy yes. Calum takes Anahera and Levi for a quick lunch before Levi grabs their costume, an overnight bag and their backpack from their house. Tammy and Jake run up from the depths of the house to greet all of them. The pets and scratches are happily received. “So scary movies to pregame for the party tonight? What’s on the agenda?” Calum asks.

“I should do the World History homework before the party,” Levi starts, laughing a little.

“But we probably will watch scary movies,” Anahera finishes.

“Go figure,” Calum agrees. “So what time should I pick you both up tonight? Or is Dan still your main man?”

“Dan said he’d pick us up from the party and just drop us off here. He said he was going to be out at that time anyway,” Levi relays.

“He won’t be drinking?”

“Nah, Dan doesn’t drink. I think some friends of his are also throwing a party and he’s used to being the DD. He said it was something about a mixer? I don’t really know. But we’ll text him when we’re ready. Is midnight still okay?”

“Mixers are just different clubs, or whatever, getting together,” Anahera cuts in. “Girls field hockey has them with the guys division and other sports after school sometimes. I assume college mixers are way different than ones in the high school gym though.”

“Yeah, midnight is still fine,” Calum answers.

Once they return to the house, it’s fairly silent. Anahera and Levi go into her room and Calum takes the moment to decorate the outside of the house. He started yesterday, mostly with the hanging decorations and the lights. Today’s mostly putting on the certain yard decorations. There are some tombstones that he stakes into the ground and a few giant fake spiders that he sets out. The decor was more extravagant in years prior. But knowing Bee will be stopping by means that the lazy decorating won’t cut it.

With the outside done, Calum pulls down the bags of candy from the pantry and pour them into bowls. He’s sure to separate the chocolate from the non-chocolate stuff. He even has a separate bowl for any candies that are chocolate and have peanuts or other nuts in it knowing that some kids in the neighborhood may have allergies. A few parents put out an alert on the neighborhood watch app. There was a year, now as Calum recalls it must’ve been three years ago, where the majority of the houses had only chocolate candy making it impossible for one kid to get any candy that they could enjoy. Calum took the leftover non chocolate candy to the house after reading the heartbreaking plea from the parents.

“What’s for dinner y’all?” Calum asks after both Ana and Levi resurface in the kitchen rummaging through the snack pantry. “We got about an hour before trick-or-treaters start showing up. Pizza? There’s leftovers too, but I think I’ll be nice and order something.”

Both of them readily agree to pizza and Calum places the order without needing much more convincing. He’ll finish off the last of the spaghetti leftovers he fixed yesterday. The pizza will not last long between the two of them--never a shock anymore to Calum anymore. He changes first into his costume knowing it won’t be fully complete until Bee shows up from work however, he would rather be one half when kids start showing up.

Though Calum slips into an older black suit. It’s somewhat of a shock that it still fits. But it’s a testament to the personal trainer for sure. Calum does make sure to include the hat. The curls don’t cooperate off the bat, requiring a little bit of assistance from some hair gel Anahera suggested to him to help. Finally, he gets the curls tamed enough to slip the hat on. His dress shoes click over the hard floor and it is echoed by Tammy and Jake finding him and walking behind him.

“Uncle Cal did not come to play,” Levi jokes around a bite of pizza.

“Dad, who even are you? I don’t know this man,” Anahera laughs. Calum does a spin and laughs as the two of them whistle. Soon Thriller comes over the speakers. No doubt Anahera pairing her phone to the speakers downstairs. “Show ‘em, Dad. Show ‘em how you groove.”

“Miss Bee’s gonna faint when she sees you like this. I want a video,” Levi laughs.

“The old man’s still got it,” Calum returns and slides his fingers over the brim of the hat. The giggles are quick to subside after the song fades out. They toss out the pizza box and wash their plates before going back to Anahera’s room.

“I’m stealing your dad’s wardrobe,” Levi says as they pass through the living room. “Taking notes.”

“Oh, don’t make his ego even better.” The two of them laugh and the door closes before anything else can be said.

The first half hour of trick-or-treaters is a little slow and mostly toddlers or infants being carted around by their parents. However, Calum enjoys seeing the various pumpkin costumes on the babies as they walk up the driveway and porch. They don’t seem bothered by the night which he knows the parents are grateful for. Exactly at seven, his phone chimes and interrupts the Halloween Party playlist Calum turned on, playing on the speaker he normally uses for outdoor parties.

I’m headed out now. It’s from Bee and he replies in acknowledgement before setting the phone back down and grabbing a couple handful of candies for the group of sheet ghosts that waddle up the driveway. “Trick or treat,” they chorus.

Calum laughs. “Well, this is a predicament.” He looks over their hands. “I can hear some trick-or-treaters but I don’t see them.” He looks over his yards, hand above his brow to emphasize the point.

“Boo!” One child giggles.

Calum jumps, finally looking down at them. “Oh there they are.” The candle rustles in their bags as he drops off some for them and they reply with their thanks before going back to the parents waiting at the end of the driveway.

“I scared him, Momma!” The kid cheers and the parents laugh, with a nod. “I’m so scary!”

“Oh I know. The scariest,” the mother returns. They move down to the next house. Another fifteen minutes later, Calum notices headlights slowing down and turning into the driveway. Bee continues up and pulls right up to the garage door.

“Oh my god,” she gapes walking up on the porch. “Look at you.” Calum greets her with a hug and a kiss to her cheek. “By God, you look sharper than Sunday morning.”

The heat in his cheeks only increases. “Thanks. But I’m missing my other half.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Bee teases, kissing him softly.

“I think it’ll get me plenty-where.”

“Be back in two shakes and a twist.” Calum nods, watching as Bee walks into the house. More children come up to the house. He drops off candy to some Cookie Monsters, witches, Captain America’s, and Spiderman’s. Ten minutes later, the front door opens and there are only a couple clicks of the heels. When Calum looks up, he nearly loses his breath. The sweater and skirt are fitted to her figure, hinting to what he’s always known is there, has witnessed more than once, but she keeps it hidden under jeans or skirts at work. Not that he’s upset about that, it all makes sense. He just wishes she showed it off a little bit more. The little beret and scarf really complete the look.

It’s Calum’s turn to be gobsmacked. “Holy shit, you look great.”

“Thanks. I’ve been told to remind you that the party starts in about ten minutes. And they’ll come to the front porch once they’re ready. I got stopped in the hallway,” Bee laughs, sitting in the seat next to Calum.

“Noted.”

Another group of children approaches, this time a group dressed in various costumes from Winnie the Pooh. One girl is Eeyore, there’s a Pooh, Tigger, and Piglet. The parents are dressed as Owl and Rabbit. “Twick oh tweet,” the one dressed as Tigger says quietly a shy smile on their face.

Bee gasps, chest clenching at the matching costumes. Terrence and his friends would do something similar, group costumes. His group costumes weren’t as cute as Winnie the Pooh but still memories come flooding back of superhero costume debates. God, sometimes she wishes she could make Terrence small again, cherish the moments where all he wanted to do was be up under her as she cooked or cleaned. It all just happens too fast.

Bee drops some candy into their buckets. “It’s the whole 100 Acre Woods. I won’t tell Christopher Robin that guys you dropped by.”

The kids laugh and say their thanks. “I miss dressing babies up,” Calum confesses. “Anahera and I used to always do matching outfits and she was so happy to bounce up to houses.”

“Terrence would go as athletics or power rangers. I wish my complex did more. I miss the decorating and having to hide the candy from Terrence.”

“High up in cabinets,” Calum laugh.

“He got too tall for that and too crafty. Hide it in my drawers. He didn’t mess too much in my room.”

Calum chuckles. “Smart. Did you hide Christmas presents in there too? Because I still struggle with that.”

Bee nods, watching more kids walk up and shouts “Trick-or-Treat!” The two of them drop off candy into their buckets and bags. “I leave it in the boxes, if I order online. With Terrence in college now, it’s easier now. Get crafty and hide it in the bathrooms.”

“Now that’s a thought.”

A family comes up, dressed up in leather and bling. “Oh, we got some rockstars,” Bee teases, nudging Calum.

The little girl is dressed in her leather jacket and her brother is in a jacket that matches and it melts his heart. Calum tries not to show it, tries not to gush too much at the costumes but they are adorable. He sneaks them a few extra pieces of candy. “Keep on rockin’ out,” he grins at them.

They smile in return, “Thank you!” in their excited squeals leaving both of them.

Calum clutches his chest as they leave and Bee laughs, “Don’t die on me. You gotta survive.”

“We did that one year,” he sighs, finally sitting up in the chair. “Anahera wanted to go as me and I bought her this silver blazer. I’ll show you the pictures.”

“Oh, that’s precious. I can’t wait to see them.”

The trick-or-treaters slow down and Calum knows the end is nearing for them. Things usually end right about 8 in the neighborhood, though the general unspoken rule it so linger until about 8:30 just to catch all those that might’ve gotten a later start. But he and Bee stay out on the porch. She stacks the empty buckets and sneaks an Almond Joy for herself. “The decorations look good. And I just realized we completely forgot the fake blood.”

Calum shrugs, grabbing a small Snickers. “It’s alright. Most of the parents got it regardless.” They received a few compliments throughout the night but not too many. Most of the time the older kids walked up by themselves but when parents did shadow behind, they were quick to gush at the couple’s costumes.

Anahera and Levi pop out onto the porch a little while later and Calum excuses himself to drop them off. Though, Bee snaps some photos for them and Anahera returns the favor by taking some photos of Bee and Calum together. The teases from the two are more than enough even when they don’t attempt to pose Bee and Calum in the standard high school prom pose. Calum and Bee go along with it mostly for the laughs.

Bee starts to clean up in Calum’s absence and puts things inside the house. By the time she starts to wrestle with the speaker, Calum’s returned and helps her get it back inside. She ducks back to her car to grab the blazer for Levi and takes it from the bag so it can straighten as much as it can. Calum’s quick to hang it up to help as well. “Do you work in the morning?” Calum asks, pulling the hat from his head as he reenters the living room from the back of the house where his bedroom is located.

“At the library, yeah. But I can hang for another hour or two. Unless of course I pass the fuck out.”

“I know that feeling. You hungry?”

Bee follows behind into the kitchen, her own beret and scarf removed as well. “I ate at work, but thanks.” She leans into the counter, eying the box of popcorn that seems to have been left out. Popcorn does sound good. She knows she shouldn’t. But just a little wouldn't hurt as they watch a movie. Sneakily, she pushes the box closer to Calum.

He giggles, noticing the green box moving closer to him. “So I’m going to assume you want popcorn.”

“Please?”

Calum nods, waving for her to come closer. She steps in close, resting against his chest. The microwaves beeps before whirring. Calum kisses the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her waist. “The hottest Bonnie to walk this Earth.”

Bee laughs, kissing along his jawline. “Thank you. I think you cleaned up well as Clyde. Almost cut me looking so sharp in this suit.”

They share a kiss and the beeps of the microwave interrupts them. “What’s on the movie menu tonight?” Calum asks, bumping the bag into a bowl. Bee’s not in love with horror films but can generally stomach more gore than straight up horror. Rather than dominating the conversation with suggestions, Calum lets her take charge. However, they settle on whatever is playing on the TV, after a good twenty minutes of failed decision making. Bee snuggles into his side, a blanket wrapped about the both of them.

“Where’s the picture of Anahera dressed up as you?” Bee asks during a commercial break. “I need to see this.”

Calum stretches forward to grab his phone and scrolls for the photo. “So this is the look she wanted to recreate,” he says showing her a picture of himself from so long along Calum’s shocked that he remembers it was actually him. But the picture of him in the silver jacket on stage instills a lot of memories.

“Oh look at you! How old were you in this photo?”

“Twenty-two, twenty-three. It feels like a lifetime ago. But,” he starts swiping through the pictures again and pulls up the one of them side by side, rocking the glittery blazer and slicked back hair. “Here’s my little girl matching her old man.”

“God, she looks so much like you. It’s insane. But this is so cute.”

“Thanks. I will say if you think Anahera and I look alike, it’s a family trait.”

“So you look like your parents, huh? Like you got spit out.”

Calum nods. “Yeah. My mum’s the culprit. My sister and I look like she sculpted us personally. Also speaking of blazers, I still have to pay you back. How much was it again?”

The movie continues on around them as they settle the payment. Stories filter on about their children’s past successful or failed costumes. There are some stories about their exploits in their younger years. Kisses are shared, soft and languid. Some are sweeter due the candy they snuck during the night too. Hands slips under dress shirts or sweaters but Calum and Be don’t go too far. Just kisses and exhales and intoxicating themselves with the other. During a commercial break, Bee excuses herself to the bathroom and it’s only then that Calum realizes that it’s closing in around 11 pm.

Calum cleans up their mess of kernels and wrappers. When Bee returns she finds Calum in the kitchen, hugging him from behind. “I’m gonna head home to get some sleep.”

“No, don’t leave me,” he whines.

“I know. I don’t wanna either. But out of respect, ya know. Can’t just be randomly spending the night.”

Calum kisses across her knuckles. “I appreciate it. Let me know when you get home safely okay.”

“Will do.” Calum walks Bee to her car and kisses her goodnight before watching her pull down the driveway. Not even before he can get to the porch, another pair of headlights cuts through the night. He watches it pull up into this driveway and notices the tag--it’s Dan.

Levi and Anahera step out of the car both of them giggling incessantly. “Oh fuck,” Ana says loudly upon seeing her dad. “Shit.”

Calum can already tell alcohol’s been involved. But there’s only amusement as both of them attempt to pass off like they’re sober. He takes Anahera while Dan helps Levi up the steps. “Seems like there was definitely been some fun tonight,” he teases, fixing both of them classes of water.

“We won the costume contest!” Levi declares. “And maybe had a shot or two.”

“We got third,” Ana corrects.

“Sstill placing.”

Calum tries his best not to laugh at their not sober antics. “Drink some water. Honestly, how many drinks?”

“Only like two, two and a half,” Ana confesses hiding behind the class.

“It’s clear sweetheart, so I can still see you.”

“Damn.”

Levi laughs, slipping down into the cushions. The headscarf slips off their head with the action but they don’t seem to notice. “Are we screwed, Uncle Cal? I really really can’t afford to get into trouble.”

“We’ll wait to see if you’re screwed when you wake up tomorrow. If you feel like ass in the morning, you’ll have to deal with that and there’s no reason for me to dish out any punishments.”

“If we don’t feel like ass?”

“The fear of getting caught coming home shamby from a paper is punishment enough,” Calum chuckles.

With a glass of water down each, he helps them to the room, mostly herding them from the walls to keep anyone from knocking their head on a picture frame. “Thanks, Dad,” Anahera sighs, leaning into the wall for a little bit of support.

“There was a reason why most of your homework had to be done before the party,” he grins. “Holler if you need me, okay?”

Calum texts Bee about their return, safe but not sober. Damn, should’ve stuck around to witness that. Need an extra pair of hands? Bee replies.

Seems like we’re all good. Thanks.

Also please send me the photos of us from tonight? Whenever you can of course. I think if we had gone to a costume contest we would’ve won too.

Of course. Definitely would’ve won with a woman like you on my arm.

Calum rises first the next morning, and doesn’t disturb them immediately. However, closer to late morning, he knocks softly on Anahera’s door. “Yeah?” Ana calls out and as he peeks inside he notices they’re still up. Levi is sitting on her bed and Ana at her desk.

“Oh, thought you two might’ve died at some point in the night. Glad to see I was wrong.”

“We didn’t drink that much.”

Levi snorts. “I had to get you Advil.”

“Shut up,” Anahera huffs, dropping her head in her hands. “I’m okay, Dad. Really. I’m fine. Just like a minor headache that’s all.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll learn eventually. Pancakes on me this morning, how does that sound?”

“I’m down,” Levi answers. Their attention is locked on the screen.

“I’ll let you know when food’s ready.” Calum states to the room and begins to shut the door but still can faintly catch Anahera asking Levi about the blazer. He leaves the door slightly ajar but walks back to his room the jacket hangs right where he left it. He wanted it to be a present, wanted to get it tailored. But he knows he can’t wait. Calum pulls it off the bar and shuffles back to Anahera’s room. Slipping his arm through, he hooks onto the knob on the inside and then closes the door. He waits for a moment.

“No way! No fucking way!”

The door swings open, Levi gripping the hanger and shaking the garment. “You totally didn’t?” Their voice cracks just a little as the emotion rocks them visibly.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. But I mean you’re holding the jacket, so I’m pretty sure I did.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” they gush, tackling Calum into a hug.

“Anytime, kid, anytime.” While Halloween’s typically celebrated and seen as a way to become and dress up like someone else, it doesn’t mean Levi doesn’t deserve the chance to dress like themself. “If you have to keep it over here, I get it. And I had anticipated waiting on giving it to you, but felt like now was a good time.”

They dance up and down the hallway with the suit jacket and Anahera laughs, recording their excitement. She’s careful not to post it on anything public. Her socks cause her to nearly slip and fall as she rounds the corner to the kitchen. Calum’s at the stove, flipping over pancakes when she hugs his side. “Thanks for being awesome. About the drinking and getting Levi that blazer. They love it.”

“The drinking’s one thing because you embarrassed yourself. The blazer--well I couldn’t not get it.”

“I know it’s because you’re amazing and awesome and like the best person to walk the planet, but it really does mean a lot.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. I’d do just about anything for you and Levi.”

“Only just about anything?”

“Hey, that’s still a long list and included on it is making the two of you pancakes so you two can study because there’s still school on Monday.”

“Oh don’t remind me,” she laughs, popping to kiss his cheek and then scurrying back around the corner of the kitchen.

“That’s my job!” Calum shouts.

“You do it well!”

#calum hood #calum hood x oc #calum hood fic #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #calum hood fluff #calum hood blurb #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos fluff #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer fluff #h writes #calum 5sos

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

that thing with feathers

[Wing AU]

[Tour]

Word count: 3000

TW: Vomit

---------------------

Monday was when it all began, Howard believed. She hadn’t been the first to realize something was wrong, but it was the first day that things started happening.

“Oh my god,” Anne groaned, rubbing her temples. “She has been crying ALL MORNING. WHY WON’T SHE SHUT UP?”

Cleves laughed slightly at her frustration. “Who knows at this point,” She said.

“So much for rehearsals,” Jane muttered.

“Who cares?” Maggie piped up. “We don’t need her!”

There were a few scattered agreements, but Aragon just frowned. She quietly slipped out of the room and followed the sound of crying until she found the source.

The girl inside was the definition of an eyesore. Her wings were a mess, with the outsides being the sleek green-blue of a bee hummingbird and the insides being a smooth expanse of skin and membrane like on a Honduran white bat. Golden brown barn owl fluff was ruffled on her chest and stuffed in her big yellow bat ears. Tiny white, deer-like antlers peeked out from her forehead and red-orange crest feathers were folded back against her head.

She was a hybrid, but everyone just called her a freak.

There were feathers everywhere, red and green and blue and golden brown all clashing horribly together on the floor. Joan was slumped against the wall, bawling her eyes out, shielding her weird body with her strange wings. Her head snapped up when Aragon cleared her throat, and Aragon could see that she was missing several feathers on her cheeks and inside her ears.

“Why are you crying?” Aragon asked.

Joan sniffled. “I’m sorry,” She whispered.

“That’s not what I asked.” Aragon said. She stepped closer, peering at the girl below her. “Are you molting?”

“I-I don’t know,” Joan answered, her voice hoarse from crying. “It hurts…”

Aragon furrowed her eyebrows. “It does?”

Joan nodded and then wrapped her wings around herself again to sob. She looked absolutely pathetic.

“I don’t feel good,” Joan mumbled.

“Well, a lot of people feel that way when they molt,” Aragon said with a light chuckle. She stopped laughing, however, when Joan sobbed once more. She frowned. Something was seriously wrong with this girl.

“Joan?” Aragon knelt down in front of the hybrid. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Joan whispered. “M-my stomach--it hurts.” She looked up from her wings, and her eyes glowed with tears, “S-something’s wrong, Catherine.”

“Maybe it’s just a premature molting,” Aragon said dismissively. “I once had one of those and it--”

“It’s not!”

Joan’s voice was so shrill, like a barn owl screeching, that it made Aragon jump slightly.

“It’s not! Something--something is wrong, Catherine! I don’t f-/feel good/! Why don’t you believe me?”

“I do,” Aragon said. “Calm down, okay? I believe you.”

Joan whimpered feebly. She reached out, grabbed tightly onto Aragon’s sleeve, and whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”

------

Tuesday.

Joan’s fingernails felt like they were shooting out of her fingers. They only stopped hurting when she grated them against a solid surface. Jane dealt with the sound it made when they were sitting together in the rehearsal room waiting for the others to arrive until she couldn’t anymore and politely asked her to stop. Joan obeyed.

Twenty minutes later, Joan started again without even realizing it.

Jane doesn’t say anything this time.

------

Wednesday.

Joan felt itchy and achy all over. First, it started at the plumage over her chest she accidentally made it bleed when she scratched desperately, then it spread to other parts of her body until it felt like she had rolled in poison ivy.

“Uhh... Joan?” Howard said during show preparations that day.

“Yes?” Joan replied.

“Are you okay?”

Joan blinked at her. She lowered her hand from where it had been itching her neck for at least five minutes straight. The marks it made glowered a seething pink in the open air.

“Yes.” She said again.

“Joan has fleas,” Anne said helpfully.

“I do not have fleas.” Joan growled as she scratched behind one of her ears like an itchy dog.

She didn’t have fleas, but there was something under her skin, making its home in her body. She wanted to claw her flesh open and rip it out, and such a lust for that violent alternative scared her.

------

Thursday.

Fangs are growing in over the teeth that are already there—flat teeth, normal teeth. Those have to go.

Her joints ache from kneeling on the cold hardwood floor of her bedroom; even the thin cloth of her pajamas dress did not dispel the chill.

The scales don’t come in right, growing into her skin, itching and scratching. She raked her long, hooked nails over her ribs until she ripped her shirt and drew blood and pus.

Feathers bristled beneath her flesh, as itchy as the scales.

There are bruises on her wrists and wasted biceps, purple and yellow. No fault of anybody- her skin has become so delicate that even the gentlest bump against a surface left a mark.

Fever chills, seizures, blood from her bitten tongue, staining her blankets and drying in a crusty mess on her face.

She hid in her room and told the director over the phone with the most human voice she could muster that she would not be turning up to work that day.

———

Friday.

After the show, everyone got out of the theater as quick as possible to get to the dinner they all had planned. Howard lingered behind for a few minutes to find something she had left, which allowed her to see the one other person still remaining inside the building.

Joan leaning against the wall with her head pressed firmly against its surface, eyes squeezed shut. Her ears were pinned back against her scalp and the feathers on her tightly folded wings were broken, messy, and in disarray. Most of the green-blue color, which usually looked quite beautiful, was splotched with baby down and ugly fledge feathers. Her chest plumage looked a lot patchier than usual.

“Joan?” Howard circled around in front of the girl, keeping her own wings tucked in close. If this was Drop Feather, then she certainly didn’t want to touch Joan. “Are you alright?”

No answer besides a tiny twitch of one of Joan’s ears.

“Joan? Love? Can you hear me?”

Howard noticed that Joan’s cheeks have an odd color tinting them. She also noticed her eyes are kind of glassy when she pried them open and she’s…hot. Like, fever hot. Howard bent closer and set her hands on the girl’s shoulders to steady her, and she could feel her shaking slightly. Joan opened her mouth and panted like a tired animal, and her teeth looked really sharp. Glinting.

Joan reached out and gripped her arms for some kind of grounding, and her nails started tearing her sleeves.

“I think something is wrong with me,” Is what Joan whispered hoarsely right before she went unconscious in Howard’s arms.

------

There’s an unconscious girl in Howard’s bed and claw marks on her neck and back.

The rumbling, fire breathing sky was pouring out rain, and the wind was howling as if the city was falling beneath its elemental talons. Raindrops that had to be as big as oranges pattered against Howard’s bedroom windows loudly, making her worry that they may break, but she quickly turned her attention to the bigger issue at hand.

Joan looked like death itself. Her skin was paler than usual, except for her cheeks, which were dark red from fever. Her face was soaked in sweat, plastering tendrils of damp white-blonde hair to her forehead. She was breathing harshly and blinking her eyes rapidly, fighting to keep away black spots from her vision—or maybe it was to keep back tears.

“Joan, can you hear me?” Howard called out. She sat down on the side of the bed, carefully brushed back Joan’s sweaty bangs, and placed a wet cloth on her forehead. Doing so elicited a small noise of relief through grinding breaths and feeble whimpers. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t--I don’t know,” Joan panted. Her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment, but she forced them back open. “I-I’m sorry--”

“Shh, shh,” Howard shushed her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. No need to apologize. I’m not mad.” She tentatively reached out and rubbed behind one of Joan’s ears, earning a hoarse sigh of contentment. “I think you may be molting, honey. But since you’re a hybrid, your body doesn’t really know what to do with all the different genes. The old feathers and scales still hanging on could be making you feel ill.”

“Oh,” Joan whispered. “Wh-what do I do?”

“I’ll give your wings a nice brushing,” Howard said. “Then, if you’re up to it, maybe you can take a shower to try and wash any old scales off. The hot water may help.”

Joan nodded. “Thank you, Katherine…”

Howard smiled warmly. “No problem, sweetheart.”

But there was a problem. Two hours later when Howard was cooking dinner for herself and Joan, since they had both missed the plans with the others, and Howard heard heavy thumping coming from her shared bedroom with Anne. When she ran in there, she found that the window was wide open and Joan was nowhere to be seen.

Howard flew after the girl immediately, beating her wings through the rain and swooping low over the ground until she finally found her.

Joan was over a pigeon she had apparently killed, the smell of its blood and flesh and guts a putrid perfume. What exactly did Joan think she was doing? Her jaws ripped at the feathers covering the body, its insides exposed to the cooling rain that continued to drench their bodies.

“Do you know what you’re doing? Don’t you dare!” Howard yelled, running up to her.

Joan turned and, lowered on her legs, growled insanely at her figure. She spread her wings like an owl did when it was angry, ruffling her feathers, and Howard halted mid-step, backing away a few paces. The girl had become deranged or something. Her eyes said that alone--glazed and wide and blown way out of focus.

Then, Howard realized, this all may have been caused by Joan’s conflicting instincts as well. Being a hybrid didn’t just make molting difficult, it made the emotions that came with molting difficult, too.

“Stop that right now! You’re not like this! This isn’t you!”

Joan ignored her presence and dug her mouth back into the flesh. She tore at all her shard dragon teeth and bat fangs could reach, feasting upon the dead bird with a passion that scared Howard. How would she ever….

“Joan, do you understand what you’re doing? You have to stop right now. If you don’t, you’ll just be a monster, just like the one people saw your kind is.”

Howard didn’t mean for her words to come out like shards of glass, but maybe the harshness of her tone would make Joan realize what exactly she was scarfing down and bring back her regular avian mind.

It didn’t.

No, instead, Joan snarled like a wild dog with rabies. She flexed her claws in the dirt before rising up to her feet. She may have been scrawny and shorter than Howard, but with her feathers all puffed up and her mouth covered in blood, she was quite intimidating. Even in the dull, grey lighting of the rainstorm, her eyes still glinted with the ferocity and hunger of a feral beast.

For a long moment Howard wondered who she was even looking at anymore. Was that Joan? Or was it the mutated beast? Had she lost herself to the creature within? It seemed that way, with her claws primed for blood and her jaws dripping with gore.

And yet? She held out her hand. She held back a flinch as blood dripped to her fingers and palm, held tight Joan tight to her body even when she thought she would be eviscerated for it. She held Joan’s face, held her breath, and held tight to all the courage she could muster.

The mutant she was clinging onto let out a long, inhuman snarl that vibrated Howard’s rib cage as she was pressed against the thing. Hooked, barbed black claws raised up and hovered mere inches away from her back. She felt blood and drool and maybe some foam drip onto her head and run in gooey trails down the back of her neck.

Her neck.

Fear poured through Howard when she realized how easy it would be for her to meet the same fate from her first life, but she did not let go.

The deadly talons flexed, just barely tore the fabric of her shirt, and then fell down limply to the mutant’s side.

Joan, and Howard was sure now that it was still Joan, pressed her head to Howard’s chest, horns bumping into her collarbone, flicking her ears back and then drooping them in a deeply anguished gesture. Her wings fold in tightly to her back and her feathers resettle.

Howard gently stroked one of her quivering hands over the top of Joan’s head. She murmured to her softly and it doesn’t matter how softly she spoke because she knows Joan will always hear her.

For a long time, avian and mutated stayed tangled in an embrace.

“Are you all right?” Howard finally asked. The rain is beginning to lessen its brutality as it lashed against their bodies.

Joan did not respond. Instead, her face became rather pale, which was impressive given that she was already ghost white. More concerned than curious, Howard raised a hand as if to draw her attention up to her eye level. However, in that moment, Joan buckled to the opposite side, a line of vomit splattering from her lips. She sank to her knees, clutching her stomach. As she rocked herself, Howard placed a hand against her forehead.

“I’m not feeling that great,” Joan gurgled through cringing lips.

“Oh, sweetie. You’re not kidding.” Howard said, “Must have been...”

She stopped because Joan retched again, so she most likely didn’t want to be reminded of what exactly she had done in her feral instinct state. It didn’t help that her mouth and hands were still wet with blood, gore, and goop from marred pigeon. Joan vomited once more.

“I’m just gonna...sit here for a moment.” She panted.

“That’s alright.” Howard assured her, rubbing her back and quickly pulling her messy hair out of the way. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. Just get it out.”

She was trying. She was trying really hard but it came to a point where her body felt like it didn’t need to throw up anymore and was ready to start feeling normal again. But she wasn’t ready. She became so desperate to purge the bird flesh from her stomach that she shoved her claws down her throat just to make herself vomit again.

“Joan!”

Howard grabbed both of her wrists. Joan was crying, struggling to breathe over an oncoming panic attack that’s taking over her mind, just like the instincts had.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s over now. Nobody is going to hurt you, I promise.”

Joan whimpered and shook her head as tears spilled over.

“Other people aren’t going to be the ones doing the hurting.”

Howard stared at her in disbelief as she sobbed below her.

“It’s like I was hallucinating,” Joan started softly, “I couldn’t control myself anymore. I smelled meat and thought I saw something, so I went after it. Howard, I was hunting it.”

Joan put her head in her hands and shook it miserably. Her ears drooped and she wrapped her wings around herself to hide her body.

“Oh god, Katherine, I’m a monster. Just like everyone says!”

“Don’t say that.” Howard said firmly, “You are not a monster.”

“I chased the people I thought I saw,” Joan whispered hoarsely, “I chased them to the ends of this city and they ran from me. They were scared of me.”

“You won’t be like that.” Howard assured her. “It’s alright. I promise. It was just your instincts, sweetie. It’s happened to Bessie before.”

“No,” Joan croaked, shaking her head. “No, no it’s…s’not alright, is it? For you to be--”

“Joan, honey,” Howard interrupted softly with a sigh.

Howard cupped Joan’s cheeks and the poor thing flinched, like she thought her neck was going to be snapped. Instead, Howard lifted her chin until the girl made eye contact with her.

“Whatever you’re going to say, save it.” She said. “There’s no use, because you’re not going to get rid of me.”

“But--”

“But nothing.” Howard stopped her. “If you think this is going to be the defining factor that ends our friendship, then you must be crazy.”

Joan blinked up at her, eyes sparkling. “I-I…” Her words caught in her throat for a moment. “I’m your friend?”

Howard’s heart simultaneously broke and melted. “Of course, sweetheart!” She said, sliding a hand back to scratch behind one of Joan’s ears. Joan cooed happily and leaned into her touch. “Of course we’re friends!”

“I’m--I’m happy that we are,” Joan said shyly.

The little hybrid curled against Howard, nuzzling into her like she was her mother bird. Howard smiled down at her, wrapping her up in her fluffy wings.

“We’ll get through this, Joan. I promise.”

“I’m just-- I’m so glad you’re okay,” Joan whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if I--”

“It’s not going to happen,” Howard answered definitely. “I’m okay and you’re going to be okay too, darling. You’ll see.”

Maybe, just maybe, one day Joan would be able to see herself the same way Howard saw her. But for now, with the help of Aragon, who would surely want to pitch in once she was told about the incident, the best thing that could be done with Joan was to raise her right and teach her about her mutated body, since nobody else seemed to ever care enough to do so. Starting with molting.

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