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artificialqueens · 2 years

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Afterthought (Adorney) - Grinder

AN: Hi, so, first off; a disclaimer! This fic is heavily inspired by an episode of Inside No 9 (never heard of it? No one has lol). I just thought it fit right with the vibe I'm trying to create within these songfics. So this is the 3rd entry into my Joji inspired songfic collection. It's short this time, not like Gimme Love.

I recommend reading this, then when you get to the end, go back and read it again. You might notice you missed some things *wink*

Major Trigger warnings: mental health, depression, death mentions, dementia

I never actually wanted to go to the New Years party. It was fancy dress - a concept I had never thought was possible for a New Years event.

And the only reason I was there in the first place was the record deal.

"Rodney Sin is gonna be there. We can play some of the older stuff from high school; Princess Cut, Whole 9 Yards, Adam's Apple, you know? I mean, how is he gonna know it's like 5 years old?" Malcolm had paced back and forth, speaking more to himself before addressing me. "Anyway, it's a costume party… Don't sulk at me like that. I need you to doll yourself up. Make him think you'll suck his dick for this deal…Girl, you're not actually going to suck his dick. Don't worry."

He wasn't wrong. I wasn't sucking anyone's dick no matter how much I wanted this to work.

My idea of 'dolled up' was to dress as a zombie. Not a sexy zombie (although I liked to think of myself as naturally sexy), but just…a zombie.

"You're not gonna show off a little skin?" Malcolm sized me up before we left for the van.

I pointed out the small amount of exposed midriff, my ankles (semi-exposed with the fishnet), and my long arms. "It's about the music, Mal'."

He nodded. "You win."

We thought the party would be in a bar…or an expensive house…

It was in an apartment.

"Think we need a new manager," Spicy whispered in my ear before going to tune her guitar.

We did need a new manager. But Malcolm was my best friend. How the fuck was I supposed to fire him?

Everyone tried to tell me that professional and personal relationships didn't mesh well. I always nodded my head and said, "Yeah, I agree." Then I'd instantly realise I was lying.

And now, as much as I loved that bitch, I kind of regretted not taking anyone seriously.

But back to this party. It was claustrophobic in that place, the air was hot and damp, and the smell of stale beer turned my stomach. But despite all that, we played a damn good set.

Before the band started playing, Malcolm pointed out Rodney Sin, and I kept my eye on him all night. He was easy to pick out from the crowd, dressed up as Bob Ross. Who didn't want Bob fucking Ross at their party?

Rodney Sin, despite the choice of dressing up as the most wholesome being this world was ever blessed with, was so unlike Bob Ross. Bob Ross was the most heartwarming fucking person on this Earth, but I knew he'd take one look at Rodney Sin and say, "Now that is one sleazy son of a bitch. Let's beat the devil out of him."

He was on the couch almost the whole night, just watching, smoking blunts, drinking his beers, combing all the girls' hair who took turns sitting in his lap.

And even though I hated singing in the middle of this cramped ass apartment, giving him 'fuck me' eyes all night, the show was actually fucking cool.

And I really thought we had it in the bag.

And I thought we'd leave the party with a contract.

I left with a nurse instead.

Well…she was dressed as a nurse.

We didn't stop kissing until we were back in my own apartment. I struggled to open the door while my mouth was still on hers, but I got it unlocked eventually.

I pulled away from her for two seconds and almost fell into the place. I had too much to drink; I thought my cheap ass Christmas tree was an intruder.

Nurse girl laughed really hard at that. Usually, I would have blushed hard and told her to fuck off if she was going to laugh at me. But the alcohol made my insecurity disappear. When I say that, that's not me condoning the use of alcohol for confidence issues. Drink responsibly, please.

God, I'm so patronising sometimes…

The Nurse pulled me towards the couch, "Wow! I love this place," she said, taking in my apartment shrouded in darkness.

"Eh… you'll hate it when I turn the lights on," I glanced around at it myself. I liked the apartment. It was great by my standards. Mom always looked afraid to touch anything when she came around. Malcolm would complain there were no plants and that the "feng shui" was off.

"Let's just keep them off for now," Nurse said in her soft Australian accent. She lay down on the couch, her voice enough to make me melt.

I lay down with her, connecting our lips again. There was a chill in the air, but her body under mine was warming. She moaned into my mouth, wrapping her legs around my waist. And she giggled.

I pulled out of the kiss, joining in with her laughs, even if I didn't know what was funny.

"A zombie and a sexy doctor. The most bizarre pairing." Her thumb stroked that spot where my shoulder met my neck. It was nice.

"I thought you were a nurse," I didn't know why I felt the need to say that.

"Bit sexist," she continued stroking my skin.

I played it cool. "I bet there's zombie meets sexy doctor porn out there," I said.

"Should we contribute?"

I giggled. "Unfortunately, I'm about to bag a record deal. Gotta behave," I kissed her cheek, unaware of the phone call the next day, Malcolm telling me there would be no deal.

Nurse -actually, no, Doctor- adjusted on the couch. "What do you have to drink?"

I instantly got off her, feeling quite parched myself. "I got beer. Is that OK?"

"Perfect!" She sat up on the couch as I trudged my way to the fridge. The light inside blinded me, fucking up my already drunken vision.

"So, do you live alone then?" She asked.

"Yeah," I grabbed the first can. It was already open, so I put it back and grabbed another. It was untouched. Nice. "Just me, myself and I," I took another and closed the fridge door with my hip.

"I liked the music, by the way. I don't know if I said that already, but it was great," Doctor took the can from me as I sat next to her. We cracked them open simultaneously, foam spilling down the side of mine.

"You did say that," my green eyes flickered to hers, and then I took the first sip.

"Oh! Well, at least you know I'm telling the truth. I mean, I'm not usually a fan of that type of music. But I really liked it," She took a sip of her own.

I giggled as beer trickled down the corner of my mouth. I dabbed at it with my middle finger, "You said that too."

The darkness hid her blush. She looked down at the can in her hand. "Sorry, I didn't realise how drunk I am."

"Babe, it's New Years. Who isn't drunk?" I lifted the beer can again, taking a longer drink. None dribbled down my face this time. Swallowing, I spoke again, "Not gonna lie, I thought you were gonna go home with that John Lennon guy."

"He wasn't John Lennon. He was Harry Potter." The Doctor put her can on the coffee table.

"Round glasses. Same thing," I smirked, swirling my own can in hand.

"True," she shuffled closer to me, crossing her legs. "But nah, I wouldn't have gone home with him. He asked me if I wanted to see his wand." She buried the upper half of her face in her hand.

"And what did you say? You'd rather be eaten out by a zombie?" I couldn't resist it.

The Doctor threw herself at me, "You disgusting, cheesy, nasty…." I wasn't sure what she was trying to do; slap me? Cover my mouth? All I knew was her hands were getting grabby.

"Sorry, I had to," I struggled to get away from her hands, even though I didn't want to resist.

She stopped getting handsy, and I stopped struggling. My body was warmed by hers again, our faces inches apart. She closed the distance, pressing her lips to mine, and we kissed for another moment.

I expected to taste beer, but her lips were as sweet as the colour of lip gloss she wore.

Was I mad that we weren't immediately handed the contract? Fuck yes.

Was I made to feel better because I had this cute girl in my home? Fuck yes.

I pulled my lips away from hers, letting our foreheads remain connected. "My…" I started breathlessly, "My name's Adore, by the way."

The Doctor laughed, reaching over for her can.

"You know…uhhhh, if you're interested," I watched her take another drink, "You know…maybe in case…."

She put the can back on the table, turning a smirk to me. "I'm Cherish."

"Oh, for real?" I blinked, unsure of how to process a name like that. Then again, my name wasn't exactly normal.

She giggled again. "Nah, just making a stupid joke. It wasn't funny, I know. I'm just my own comedian."

Yeah, it wasn't that funny. But the fact that she was proud of herself made me laugh.

"I'm Courtney," she held her hand out. "Happy New Year."

I looked at her hand; the pastel pink nails were decorated with little syringe stickers. Even before I took it in mine, I knew she was a good hand shaker. That sounds ridiculous, right? We've all experienced awkward handshakes, and we've experienced great ones.

"Happy New Year, Courtney." I shook her hand.

"I hate to ruin the moment, but where's your bathroom?"

"Just down there at the end," I nodded to the left side of the room, where the small corridor led to the bathroom and two bedrooms.

"Right," she stood, "I'll be back. Don't worry. I'm not gonna try and sneak out the window or anything."

"You only climb out the window if you got a death wish," I added. Not sure why I even needed to say that. Maybe she wasn't a dark humour type of gal.

"BRB," she left me in the room alone. I watched to make sure she found the right door. The thought of her stumbling into my bedroom, seeing the absolute state it was in, was humiliating enough.

The couch would be fine for tonight. The bedroom another night…

That was assuming she'd want to see me again.

Before my mind could linger on the thought, the phone started ringing. I took the last gulp from my can, standing up and making my way toward my bookshelf, where the device pestered me with its shrilling sound.

As soon as I picked it up from the receiver, the screeching stopped, and I lifted it to my ear.

-_-_-_-

"Hello?" I put on my sweetest voice as I spoke into the receiver.

"Ugh, just the sound of your voice…makes me melty," Courtney spoke into the receiver, her voice huskier than usual.

"You like to repeat yourself a lot," I pointed out.

"I do, don't I? I sent you a Valentine's card. Did you get it?"

"The mail hasn't been delivered yet. Did you get mine?" I bit the top of my thumb, trying to contain my excitement.

"Probably. I've just got a whole pile of others to get through first," she teased.

"I'm so glad your comedy has improved," I stood by the window overlooking the street outside, fingers playing with the curtains. "So, what's the plan, fam'?"

"Well, I thought we could meet up sometime around 7. Romantic stroll, food, and then back to yours for sex. But it's up to you. Which do you want first?" The humour in her voice had me twirling my hair. Fuck, I literally turned into a teenage girl when I spoke to her.

"I'm not too fussed on the other options, but the last one…." I was back to biting my thumb.

Courtney was silent, "Is she going to be there?"

At the very mention, I looked into the kitchen where Joslyn sat at the breakfast bar, her back turned to me.

"I actually have no idea. I guess I could find out and get back to you," I lowered my tone, turning my back on my roommate.

"Oh, is she there right now?"

"Yep."

"OK, call me later."

"I will."

"Mwah."

"Bye."

I was the one to hang up, something Courtney commended me many a time for. 'Cause wasn't that the same for everyone? When no one could decide who should be the first to end the call, the awkward moments?

She always called me "a rare one". No one had ever referred to me as rare. I've gotten all of the following; dirty, scary, angry, not feminine enough, intimidating, a sket (I had to look that one up, it's British, apparently). There were a lot more.

Putting the phone back on the receiver, I made my way into the kitchen, "morning, Jossey," I sat on the other side of the island. She glanced away from her book, eyes glaring. She hated my nickname for her. Hated me even, which was a shame; I enjoyed having her around.

"Morning," she murmured, flicking her gaze back down to her book, letting me know she wasn't interested.

Don't get me wrong, Joslyn liked me at one stage. She only moved in the year before, and, in the beginning, it was fucking great. We used to go out every weekend and party hard. After too many shots, we'd hold each other's hair as we threw up; I'd big talk her to whichever boy she was making eyes at, and she'd tell everyone about my music.

Joslyn and I were pretty tight.

Then one day, after telling everyone we were "going away" for a whole day, we may have taken more than one tab of LSD each, and right after my peak…I don't know; I just kind of lashed out.

"The only reason you're living with me is 'cause I can't afford the rent 'cause Rodney fucking Sin is a cunt. You understand? You hold no real value to me other than that. So go fuck yourself!" Yeah, I really said that. Rodney didn't think we were good enough, and that really stung. She was the only one I felt like taking my anger out on.

Of course, I was just running my mouth, tripping fucking balls, but Joslyn never let it go. The partying stopped, which was probably a good thing 'cause she was a college student with aspirations higher than mine.

"So, any plans? Any dates tonight?" I leaned my elbows on the breakfast bar.

"For me, no," She flipped the page in her textbook, keeping her head down like she was trying to tell me to go away. "Just got back from a seminar an hour ago and - -"

"Ooh! The one with that girl…." I clicked my fingers, trying to remember for the life of me what the bitch was called. Joslyn used to rant to me so much about how this one girl in her class thought she was the shit.

"She wants to find a gateway to a parallel universe," Joslyn had told me one night. We lay under a dark blanket of stars in the soft grass of the park, sharing two joints. "She watches too much Doctor Who."

"A parallel universe?" I had giggled. "Like, did people laugh when she said it?"

"No. She's…pretty. Like big blonde hair pretty. Everyone was so encouraging to her." Joslyn had scoffed.

"OK…And what's her being pretty got to do with it?"

"Adore…being hot is a benefit. No one likes to admit it, but it's true. If I had said that, people would have laughed."

"But, you are hot, Jossey."

"Yeah, but she's blonde hot."

Of course, the stories of the girl stopped coming after I had my bad trip. But little moments like this, in which I struggled to remember her friggin' name, gave me some hope that she'd see how much I wanted her friendship back if I did remember.

"Brianna…" Joslyn answered for me.

"Yes, her!" I widened my eyes. "Hey, at least I remembered her. How is Miss Doctor Who bitch anyway?"

"She's fine." Joslyn pursed her lips. "She's really nice, to be honest."

Welp…there goes any more stories of hot blonde Doctor Who lady.

"I have another seminar later. So no Valentine's plans for me."

"Math?" I wasn't pretending to be interested. I genuinely gave a shit about her education. Another thing I liked about Joslyn was how ditsy she seemed and how it would show when we were in public. But her academic knowledge could blow your mind.

She nodded her head. "We've been doing continuous quantity."

"Uh-huh?" I nodded, unsure of what that actually was. Before I could ask her to elaborate, the mail was shoved through the letterbox. "Sounds super cool," I said, already forgetting what she said. I stood and went to grab the pile of letters that lay sprawled out on the floor. "And...complicated…"

"I mean…not really," Joslyn started as I rifled through the 5 letters, "I guess it depends on your approach to measurable magnitudes."

"Oh, party," I swear, I swear I did give a shit.

Joslyn must not have been convinced because she continued, "OK, so…like, you and Courtney have been dating for 13 months, right?"

"Uh, huh," I smiled when the red envelope was at the front of the pile.

"Which is one year and one month, OK?" Joslyn continued her rambling.

I opened the envelope, already excited for whatever message she put inside. Asides from handshakes, Courtney was also great at writing cards. She'd fill the whole thing with random thoughts, sweet words and cute drawings.

The front suggested it was handmade, which gave her more brownie points. It was simple; the background was white with a giant red heart in the middle and pink writing at the top. 'To my one and only….' Red stained my cheeks as I opened it.

"OK, so that is what's known as a portable vector…."

"The fuck?" I cut Joslyn off, my eyes taking in the message inside the card. I reread it. And then once more.

"What? I'm sorry, am I boring you with my number theory talk?"

"No, it's…." I closed the card, inspecting the front again. The hairs on my arms were beginning to rise. "I've… I've been sent a Valentine's Day card…." I turned and faced Joslyn as if she'd explain it to me.

She looked back at me as if I was on crack.

"I've been sent a Valentine's Day card from my ex-boyfriend." I glanced down at the card as I made my way back to the seat.

"Awww," Joslyn faked her smile, "I guess he still likes you."

"Yeah, but…" I put the card down on the island between us, "I haven't seen him since we were 12. Like…I don't even remember that much about him…."

Joslyn picked the card up, a sigh disguising a scoff as I further interrupted her studying. "Roses are red…Never have I ever…loved someone this much…be mine forever…." Her eyes met mine again, unsure of what to make of it.

"Yeah," I rubbed my goosebump covered arms, "He rhymed ever with ever…." I tried laughing.

"This is giving me Netflix You vibes." Joslyn put the card down, glancing at the door.

"How did he get my address?" I was speaking quieter.

"On that note," Joslyn closed her book shut and stood up from her chair. "I got that seminar."

Hell no. She was not leaving me alone here. "But…you said it was later."

"By later, I meant now," she packed her book into her bag and hurried to the door.

"B-But…" I tried.

She hesitated at the door before swinging it open quickly.

I flinched, waiting for the creepy card sender to pounce on her.

But that didn't happen. The coast was clear. Thank fuck.

She scoffed, putting a hand on the door frame. "I won't be back until 9 tonight. So you and Courtney have plenty of time to fuck." She said with a scoff.

"Oh, I…" I blushed, unsure of what to do with my emotions now. Joslyn left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Now that I was alone, it didn't exactly feel like that. The goosebumps on my arms were still standing stiff. I picked up the Valentine's Day card again; it felt gross just holding it.

And I grabbed the top, tearing the thing in half.

-_-_-_-

Courtney made her way through the small pile of photographs, giggling and cooing at whatever was printed. I prepared the tea tray in the kitchen, the room completely spotless. The whole apartment was spotless, which...I know; I should've been ashamed for not taking better care of it.

"Oh, Adore! Do you remember you used to always beg me to tie your hair up with those green ribbons?" Mom called out to me, sitting on the couch next to Courtney.

It was normal to feel embarrassed by your Mother exposing all your younger pictures to your significant other. Still, I wanted to crawl under a rock and for someone to stamp on it repeatedly.

I didn't answer, only did my best to laugh.

"Oh, wow, Adore!" Courtney gawped with amusement. My stomach was already twisting.

"Adore hates that one. But her little bottom was so cute!" Mom bubbled.

Fuck. The cursed bath picture from when I was a year old. I never thought this day would come, her showing it off to my significant other. I carried the tray into the main room like my life depended on it.

Courtney nodded in agreement, her smile wide as she moved her gaze to me. She turned the picture to me as if I hadn't seen it 100 times already. "You little cutie."

I took the picture from her hand and sat next to her. "You're both so embarrassing. I'm hiding this forever."

"You can't," Courtney whined. "It's adorable."

"It's my picture. I won't let you hide it on me, Adore." Mom scolded me. "Anyway, would I even be your Mom if I didn't embarrass you a little?"

She was right. I smirked. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom." She returned the smile, reaching over and squeezing my knee.

Courtney made another exciting noise at the following picture in the pile. "Oh, who's this handsome devil?"

I avoided looking at it, afraid of what it was.

Mom still smiled as Courtney showed the picture to her. But it curved almost, the corners wanting to drop down. Her eyes moved to her lap, closing her mouth and clearing her throat. "Uh, that…that was Adore's first boyfriend."

I played with the mug of tea in my hands and glanced at the picture with a wariness. I couldn't even remember what the kid looked like, but I also didn't really want to look. Speaking of which, why did Mom even have a picture of him anyway?

My eyes narrowed for only a moment as I sipped my tea.

"Poor guy, he…um…." Mom's eyes were still lowered for a moment when she lifted her green eyes to meet Courtney's blue ones, "he died when he was just 16."

My face shot up to look at my Mom again. My brows struggled not to furrow as I tried to maintain my neutral reaction.

But Courtney blinked. Then she looked at me with confusion. I could read her mind. Why hadn't I told her about that?

"He did?" I finally asked, taking the picture from Mom.

"Yes!" Mom answered as if it should have been a given, "He had…you know…" she then mouthed, "cancer." She nodded her head as if willing me to remember.

But I didn't remember. Like I told Joslyn so long ago, I barely remembered anything about the guy.

Was he even really dead? He did send me that Valentine's Day card. And surely Mom wouldn't have ever let me forget something like that.

I was scratching the back of my neck, feeling more like a dick for appearing so forgetful.

"God, Adore, you've got the memory of a goldfish," Mom sipped her tea, her smile returning, "but ever since she met you, Courtney, she's been doing a lot better for herself. Not focusing on the music as much. I mean, I'll be honest. When she told me she was seeing a woman, I was sort of shocked. She never liked girls as far as I knew anyway. But I'm so glad I'm finally meeting you. You seem like such a lovely young lady."

Courtney was the one blushing now, and I loved every second of it, seeing how bashful she could get.

"You're not like those unfriendly lesbians I see outside those bars…."

My eyes widened. "Mom!" She meant well, I swear to God. She was just…a little old fashioned.

Courtney didn't seem to mind, knowing Mom was stuck in what she knew, and the fact she even accepted that I was with another girl was enough.

"Are you planning to marry?" Mom asked a bit quieter, even though I was right there.

"Ummm…" Courtney looked at me and rubbed the back of her neck.

I felt just as under pressure.

"2 years is a long time to be dating." Mom continued. "I was married and pregnant by then." She was really pushing this.

"Mom?" I stopped her. "Times have changed since you were our age," I tried my best not to sound patronising, "We wanna live a little first. And I got my career to focus on." I sipped my tea.

"Career? Honey, you sing at a bar one night a week and work in that…rock and roll shop that smells funky," Mom said disappointedly.

"Thanks, Mom." I refused to look her in the eye.

"Look. Last year, your Daddy told me he'd love to walk you down the aisle. Don't you want to give him that opportunity? Before it's too late?" She looked away, a sad look in her eye.

She wasn't expecting me to answer. And I wasn't going to.

I just sipped the tea more, avoiding her eyes.

And Courtney and Mom sipped at their own drinks - sipping sounds were the only thing filling the silence.

"Gosh, I'd love some Oreos. Anyone else want some Oreos?" Courtney asked.

"Yes, please." Mom said graciously.

"I'm good," I answered.

And Courtney stood and hurried into the kitchen. When she rounded the corner, disappearing from view, my jaw clenched.

"Mom, can you fucking stop whatever you're doing?" I whispered and growled at the same time. I kept glancing at the kitchen, fearing Courtney would walk in on this.

"Look, honey. All I'm saying is there's nothing wrong with getting married!" She whisper-growled back.

"Mom, for fuck sake - -"

"All you young people look at us like we're too old school. Marriage is a beautiful thing. It's a commitment."

"Mom, she doesn't even live here. How is that a commitment??"

"Well, marriage would help start all that up!"

I couldn't believe her logic. I know I said she was just stuck in her ways, but this was too much. "Mom, just stop, please. We're never getting married…." I touched the back of my neck again, eyes trailing away from Mom, "And…I don't even know if she - -"

"Adore?"

Both our eyes shot to the kitchen.

-_-_-_-

Courtney came out of the kitchen, carrying a somewhat lighter cardboard box. "Where will I put my books?" She asked groggily. Her whole demeanour had changed since the day began. Carrying the first few boxes up, she giggled with excitement. Then as time went on, the smile only started to disappear.

Understandable. I was exhausted, and so was she. What we thought would take an hour actually took 4.

I didn't have an answer to her question. What was there to even say? The rest of the boxes were scattered everywhere, a lot of them stacked on top of each other.

"Ummm, just here," I turned, pointing to one pile in particular by the window.

Courtney didn't complain, only rushed to where I pointed and sat the box down carefully.

I glanced around the living room; nowhere to even sit with all of the boxes. "There's so many…." I said aloud, crossing my arms.

Turning away from the chaotic sight, I only noticed Courtney's face. There was that look in her eye like she was trying to appear normal, but inside she was panicking. "You're not…regretting this, are you?"

"What? No." I smiled. Of course, I wasn't having second thoughts, no matter how much room her stuff was taking up.

"You're not lying?"

"Well… Joslyn's gone. Someone has to help with the rent," I quipped, putting my hands on her dainty shoulders.

"Oh, that's how it is?" Courtney's eyes widened, yet all the worry from before disappeared.

I kissed her, my mouth smiling against hers. Knowing that this was going to be our lives now, it was just…it was just…fucking everything.

Courtney stopped kissing me, "Not gonna lie, I couldn't be arsed to unpack anything for the rest of the day."

I raised a brow. "Got something in mind?"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, so you can get your mind out of the gutter," She pointed, "I wanna chill out."

"We can chill out." I nodded. "Well, you can. I was actually gonna play some music. Nothing too loud." I glanced over her shoulder at my guitar, the thing collecting dust in the corner of the room. Surrounded by the cardboard boxes, it almost looked intimidated, backed up against the wall. I needed to save the fucker.

"You know what I want?" Courtney started. "Toast shoulders."

Those two words practically gave me goosebumps, "Fuck, it's been too long."

"Should I make some?"

"Yes!"

"OK. I'll make us toast soldiers. But only me. Remember last time?"

I sighed comically. "Listen, Malcolm told me you boiled the egg for 4 minutes. Blame him for it being undercooked."

Courtney giggled again. And I wanted to kiss her again. "Do you have eggs?"

Fuck. "No."

Courtney moved away from me, heading straight for the door. "I'll go grab some."

"Are you sure? I could go if you're tired."

"It's fine. The store's only across the street. I won't be long," Courtney slipped on her baby blue cardigan, blew a kiss to me and left the apartment.

How the fuck did I end up with a girl like her?

Before I even met Courtney, I thought I'd die alone. Or maybe I'd be with someone who seemed to fit perfectly next to me - a man just as sleazy as Rodney Sin, some 50-year-old pimp who wouldn't love me but only sought companionship.

This girl was something else, this bright ethereal ball of energy. And even though it had been years since we started this relationship, it still only felt like yesterday that I ran into her at that party. It's true when they say time flies when you're having fun.

I snapped out of a trance, realising I had just been staring at the closed door, smiling like an idiot. I glanced around the room, suddenly aware of how many boxes there were. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but they seemed to bring darkness to the place.

I rubbed the back of my elbows, deciding to be a bit productive. I felt bad going through Courtney's shit, but the box of CDs caught my interest. Rifling through it, I found I didn't recognise most of these artists - whether that was because I had my own taste or she was a fan of more unheard of artists.

In particular, there was Nectar; the cover was a bit darker for someone like Courtney. It contrasted with the other CDs in the box, their colourful cover art. This one, however, was darker; The profile of a man staring right at me. Half his face was highlighted by red light, and the rest in shadow. I guessed he was the artist. There was no name, just the album title.

Checking the back of the case, I scoped out the song list. Still, nothing seemed to ring a bell. But curiosity still got the better of me.

I popped the disc into the CD player, skipping right to track 13. Every other CD I owned growing up, track 13 was always the best.

The music filled the place, and it wasn't what I was expecting. A sort of slow R&B track, the artist's voice melancholy. The way he drawled his words, I almost couldn't make them out. Despite this, however, I liked it. It was catchy, pretty even.

This was a thing. Something I was going to always associate with Courtney.

I absentmindedly started dancing, just a simple sway in the beginning. Then moving more freely around the room, like a ghost exploring this new world that was to be me and hers.

The singer's vocals continued to be mournful, mumbling like he was at his lowest, and not even the person he was singing to could get him out of it.

"Damn, Court', I never knew you had a thing for 'sad boys'," I said aloud, picking up the CD case again, looking at the book inside. The pages included the lyrics, helping a lot in deciphering what he was even singing. On track 13's page, it said 'For Blair', followed by the lyrics and nothing else.

Not that it needed it, I wanted to play along. I knew the guitar wouldn't suit a song like this, but hey, a little fun never hurt nobody.

I looked at where my guitar was, but it was gone, no longer backed into the corner by all of Courtney's boxes. It was there, right? Strange.

I glanced around the room, the front door to the couch, the bookshelf to the window. It was nowhere.

I left, swiftly making my way to the bedroom; if it wasn't in the main room, it would definitely be there.

I entered the chilly room, glancing around quickly. Nothing.

I made for the closet, pulling the doors open. Again, nothing.

SPLAT!

I flinched away from the closet, my eyes chasing the source of the sound. On the wall by my head was the shell of a cracked egg glued by the dripping insides.

Laughing nervously, I closed the closet and looked out into the hall, "fuck, Courtney. My heart's in my throat," I continued to laugh, my breath shaking.

I expected to see her standing at the top of the now dimmed hall, egg carton in hand, a mischievous grin on her face.

But the hall was empty. My smile dropped immediately.

SPLAT!

I jumped as another egg smashed in the hall, thrown from one of the other bedrooms.

"Courtney!" My tone sounded more agitated. "Courtney, what are you doing?"

I wanted to remain put, but my feet told me to move. And I was in the hall, hand right by the second splattered egg.

"This isn't funny, Courtney," I kept my eyes on the smashed egg.

Another splattering sound came from the room across the way, past the main room, in the now darkened kitchen. I flinched again, not as hard. Yet my feet continued to move me towards the source.

I didn't even think to look in the living room as I passed. As soon as I had one foot in the kitchen, my hand reached for the light.

It wasn't any use; the lights only blinked on and off. My hands trembled now.

The smell of eggs hit my nostrils, my brain telling me to look down.

"What the fuck?" I whispered, taking one step more into the kitchen. The floor was littered with smashed eggs, the yolk causing shiny streaks on the linoleum.

And a rattling tore my attention away from the wasted food. I saw it just in time, the pantry doors closing shut.

Get out. Just turn around and run. Go find Courtney and call the fucking police.

Yet I still found myself in front of the pantry, my shaking hands on the doorknobs. The light still blinked, the air was so cold, and I couldn't even hear myself breathe. I didn't want to do this, but something told me I needed to.

I pulled the doors open quickly.

All that was in the small space was the food we had stored away.

"Fuck," I sighed with a shaking breath. Everything was fine. There was no one in the pantry, no one in the apartment. I was going to turn around; the apartment would be warm and homely looking, the lights would be working fine, and the eggs would be gone, never there in the first place.

Before I could even fool myself into believing that, there was one more sound behind me. Nylon rubbing against more nylon.

Paler than I was before, I dared myself to turn around. The lights continued blinking. The air was still devastatingly cold.

There he was, the one throwing the eggs, standing right across from me in a soaked raincoat.

I gasped. Then I cried. And I stepped back.

"I'm sorry." The man whispered.

And he hurried forward, arms reaching out to me, his heels crunching on the eggs.

-_-_-_-

I shot up in bed, gasping sharply.

“Adore, what’s wrong??” Courtney was wide awake instantly.

I was catching my breath when her voice reminded me of where I was. Everything was fine. The apartment was glowing from the morning sun; it was nice and warm. It was just a nightmare.

Courtney’s arm met my shoulder.

I shook my head. “I just...had a messed up dream.”

“Oh,” Courtney was relieved.

The alarm started to chime, causing me to flinch slightly. Courtney groaned. “Turn it off, please.”

I turned it off. “Come on. You got work.” I did my best to turn and face her. She was rubbing her weary blue eyes.

“It’s a bank holiday.”

Fuck me and my goldfish memory. “Oh yeah,” I rubbed my own eyes.

“Could you make some coffee now that you’re awake?” Courtney stretched her limbs out. Her stretching soon turned her into a pretzel, appearing almost possessed. We joked about it often, how when she stretched, she always formed her body into the most bizarre positions.

“Of course, I will,” I turned around while she snuggled against her pillows again.

I threw the covers off me, exposing the watermelon that was my belly. I rubbed a hand over it lovingly, hoping the life inside would also wake up. I would need the company now that Courtney was bound to take another half hour in bed.

5 years ago, if you had asked me where I saw myself in the future, I would have said on a stage, spitting beer at a crowd of screaming fans who’d see me as their idol. I’d be unable to go out into the public, what with people constantly grabbing for a moment with me. Then the paparazzi doing all they could to get a story on my latest shenanigans. I know that sounds cocky, but we’ve all had at least one moment in which we fantasise about being famous.

I would have never guessed this is where I’d be - married and heavily pregnant.

I was waiting for the kettle to boil when the baby kicked. I winced, the pain-causing me to shudder as a shockwave coursed through me, goosebumps appearing on my skin as it travelled. It was bizarre to think inside me there was a tiny human, terrifying actually. At least once a day, I would lose myself in a trancelike state, just thinking too much about it.

“Maybe IVF was a mistake. We could have adopted,” Courtney said the week prior, catching me in one of my trances.

“What? No, the birth process isn’t scary to me.” I was sort of peeved by her statement. I knew she was only looking out for me, but I was afraid the baby could somehow hear her words behind all my skin. “It’s just…there’s a living thing inside me…and sometimes I just….”

I never finished that statement. I didn’t even know how to finish it. Sometimes I wished Courtney was the one who agreed to carry the baby just so she could understand. And even if that were the case, I’d like to imagine I’d understand her even though it wasn’t me going through it.

I didn’t hate being pregnant, but I didn’t love it either. I underestimated how much it fucked with emotions. It was a rollercoaster.

“It says ‘insert groove dowel pins into B1 and B2.” I felt useless, sitting on the couch and reading the instructions.

The TV was on in the background. Months back, we’d play music channels just for some background sound. And now our choice of white noise was the news. Was this what being an adult was supposed to be? Was I doing this right?

Courtney was on the ground before me, where the coffee table once was. She was surrounded by the cot, a work in progress. She looked at me cluelessly. “OK, what are dowel pins again?”

“The thingies…they look like maggots,” I turned the page to her, pointing at the image, for the 20th time now.

“Oh, OK.” Courtney searched the dowel pins on the ground.

I continued to stare at the page, waiting for her to finish the step. The baby kicked again; I squeezed my eyes shut which went unnoticed.

“...young female scientist Brianna Caldwell, leading the operation into discovering a pathway into a parallel universe. Some are calling the project outrageous; others are supportive of Ms Caldwell….”

1. Wow, did you have to point out that she was a female, Mr Probably Misogynistic News anchor.

2. Wasn’t that the same Brianna from Joslyn’s class?

3. Was it even possible? Other universes?

4. If yes, then what would my life look like? Would I be that multi-award-winning artist travelling the world?

“OK, then what?” Courtney asked, still working with the long plank of white wood.

“Ummm…” I almost forgot what step we were at, too engaged with my own thinking. “‘Align sliding panel AB…” why was my voice cracking? “...alongside bar EF.’”

“We did that already,” Courtney said a little too quickly, hinting annoyance in her tone.

“OK,” my hands started to shake, “‘Insert rod into top pole until base connects.’”

Courtney dropped whatever she was messing with; I was too busy focusing on the page in my hands. “This sounds more like a step by step guide on how to conceive. ‘Dash your hopes and dreams: for dummies.’”

She smirked, thinking she was funny. But I wasn’t laughing. My chin trembled, eyes watered. And I made a half-assed attempt at covering my face with my free hand.

Courtney stood up, manoeuvring around the WIP cot, when the first sob escaped my mouth. “Adore, no…I was just joking. Please don’t cry.”

A bit late now, Court.

“What’s the matter?” Courtney sat next to me, leaning close.

“I…just…I don’t know….” I sobbed harder.

“Adore, I’m really sorry. I was kidding. This is what I want.” She rubbed my shoulder, her voice soothing.

I couldn’t believe the words I said next, not until they were actually out there. “I just don’t want the baby to spoil everything.” Oh God, was I already failing as a Mother for saying it?

Courtney’s hand took mine. “That’s not going to happen,” she squeezed it reassuringly. “How is that going to happen?”

-_-_-_-

We stared at the ceiling as Lo’s wails filled our room, screeching from the monitor as he wept in protest. He didn’t want to sleep. And he didn’t want us sleeping either.

I clasped my hands over my chest, waiting patiently for something to happen. Maybe he’d realise Mama and Mommy needed their rest, and he was asking too much of them.

Or maybe Courtney would move.

I didn’t look at her, but I could see that she swept a hand through her messy blonde locks out of the corner of my eye.

“OK, nope.” She kicked the covers back, and I finally looked at her.

Internally I was thanking the heavens that she got the hint. But I couldn’t let her know that. As she clambered out of bed, I went to reach for her, but I didn’t even grab hold. “Court’, I - -” I had done most of the baby stuff. I needed a break. My sentence went unfinished.

When she left the room, I smiled with relief. I knew it would only last an hour before Lo started back with his protests. So I was relishing in it.

And now that she was gone, I had the chance to finally do the one thing I hadn’t checked off my to-do list. Courtney was home all day, insisting she’d take care of Lo while I focused on my music.

For the first time in a while, things were looking up. From uploading all but two songs to Soundcloud, Malcolm got me some traction. And -OK, this made me feel older than I was- having no idea how Spotify actually worked, I was even more shocked to find out he could put my music there too.

The many people who had listened already was just…something I thought I’d never see.

Malcolm said it wasn’t a big number at all. But hey, 1000 listens to each song on Spotify, that blew my mind. And now, I was on the path to making a real artist of myself.

It felt sort of like a betrayal to do it without the band. I had reached out to Spicey, but she had moved on, explaining she was married with kids of her own, and said, “OK, leave me alone now.”

But back to the present, relying on the past never did me good.

I quickly leaned over to the bedside table, opened the drawer and pulled the card out.

Courtney’s sweet voice sounded on the baby monitor. “Hello, my little angel. Why are you crying?” Lo’s wails were already dying as Courtney shushed him gently. “Why’s the baby crying…?” She continued to coo.

I turned back over in the bed, opening the bright pink card that said, “Best Mom Ever” in big capitals on the front. While Courtney began to sing the lyrics to her favourite song, Afterthought, I wrote the message quickly, a giddy smile on my face.

To Mommy,

I’m sorry I keep you awake at night. I just think you’re a cool person to be around. Mama says it all the time.

Happy Mothers Day,

Lo.

I slipped the card under her pillow, excited for the following day. I didn’t even care about the lack of sleep anymore. Courtney’s singing on the monitor was relaxing, the voice of an angel.

“Come on, little man….”

My eyes shot to the baby monitor. Because that wasn’t Courtney.

“Let’s get you out of there.”

My flight or fight instincts kicked in. I kicked back the covers, whimpering out Lo’s name as I rushed to his room. My blood was cold, even the air. It was all so cold. All of the panic, the fear of who was in our son’s room with him, it was all crushing my lungs.

I turned the corner in the hall, swinging into Lo’s room, my eyes instantly landing on the empty cot.

“Courtney!” I rushed to the cot as if this was just a trick of the eye. Maybe he had shrunk, or he was under the covers hiding. But none of it was true. My hands clenched around the bars. “Courtney!!” I screamed louder, unable to move away from my baby’s bed. “He’s gone! Someone took him!”

I choked out a sob, wishing this was all one big nightmare.

“Adore…what’s going on?” Courtney’s confused voice sounded from behind me.

When I whirled around, I almost passed out from all the relief when I saw Lo in her arms. He was wrapped up in a dinosaur blanket, looking around aimlessly, clueless to the distress I was in.

I should have been relieved. I should have taken him from her and held him close. But I glanced back at the cot, then back at Courtney, the confusion stronger now.

“I-I heard someone on the fucking monitor.” I glanced cautiously around the room, but we were truly alone.

“Yeah, it was me,” Courtney’s confusion disappeared instantly.

“No, but - -”

“I was just trying to nurse him back to sleep.”

“It wasn’t you, Court’.” My voice cracked. “I…It…” My hand clenched on the bars again.

“OK, calm down. He might get upset again.” Courtney stepped closer into the room.

I reached out and stroked the back of Lo’s head gently. I wonder if he really knew that I was distressed, the way my hand shook. I wonder if he would have been upset, too, knowing how terrified I was.

Courtney put Lo back in his cot. “There we go, baby…” she whispered.

Even though I knew it was just the three of us, I still felt like I was being watched. I had heard the voice, right? It was masculine, nothing like Courtney’s. Completely unrecognisable.

But why would anyone want to take my son?

I glanced around, realising that maybe no one wanted him specifically, but there were a lot of sick fuckers out there. And that thought made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I rubbed the area of skin, glancing out into the hall.

“You just need some sleep.” Courtney finished tucking Lo in. She went to leave the room, kissing me on the cheek before doing so. “Come on, you’re exhausted.”

But Lo was already starting to whimper. I didn’t want to leave him.

But Courtney was right. My whole body felt like lead, like moving was an exercise on its own.

And maybe she was right about the voice. Maybe I had dreamt it. Maybe I had managed to fall asleep for a few minutes while she worked at calming Lo down.

I backed away towards the door, still conflicted. My eyes remained on my baby as his cries already started to become more desperate.

My eyes remained on him as my hand found the light switch.

My eyes remained on him as it flicked it off, shrouding the room in darkness.

-_-_-_-

"Open up!"

I blinked a few times when I opened my eyes. They had only been closed for about a minute, so why did I feel disoriented?

Maybe the anxiety was slowly becoming worse. Every time I closed my eyes, I was reminded of that night. The fear of looking away from him for all but a second, and he'd be gone.

But this was supposed to be a happy day. So when my vision cleared, seeing all the faces in front of me, I put on my brightest smile.

I kinda knew they would throw me a surprise party. Well, party was a word for it. There were balloons, banners, all the usual decorations. But only 6 people. Mom, Dad, Malcolm, and 3 others who I think were just Mom's work friends.

"Suprise!" They shouted out, Malcolm displaying the cake in his hands. My eyes instantly went to the two candles. One being a '3' and the other a '0'. I was suddenly aware of the All Time Low t-shirt covering my body. Still wearing it after all these years.

I still felt…strangely disorientated. No one else seemed to notice. Malcolm was in front of me now. "Blow out your candles, baby."

"Oh," I needlessly sighed before blowing them out.

The attendees were awe-ing, and oo-ing as smoke trailed from the distinguished wicks.

"Happy Birthday," Malcolm hugged from the side, balancing the cake carefully in one hand.

"Thank you," I sighed once again. But the smile remained on my face.

He set the cake aside, and my eyes scanned the room. "Wow, this is…" my smile faltered, noting Courtney was absent.

Mom beckoned me over. I had seen her two days before. But Dad, I hadn't seen him in what felt like months. It probably was that long, to be honest.

"Hi, Dad!" I exclaimed, keeping my volume at a level that wouldn't freak him out. I wasn't a Daddy's girl growing up, but in the later years, we grew close. He liked my music a lot. And we'd watch old reruns of American Idol. He'd always say I had more talent in my pinky finger than they had in their whole being.

I'd accompany him to his game night at the pub, when he'd gather around with his friends, drinking and playing chess. He was always too enthusiastic about showing me off, telling his friends about my music. I'd tell them all about how I'd broken his heart in my teen years, constantly rebelling and breaking the rules. Of course, they'd laugh, slapping him on the arm. He'd say, "Well, look at you now."

I was over the moon to see him here in my home. Just standing there, facing the wall, looking at nothing, holding a red balloon in his hand.

"He's been so excited for this all week. Haven't you, Miguel?" Mom looked at him with a bright smile.

I was hugging him from the side, still gentle in my actions. He didn't reply. He didn't look around to kiss me on the head. He was still fixated on the wall.

Mom's smile was gone. She said in a hushed voice. "He did know he was coming. I just think…."

"It's gone again," I answered, saving her the trouble.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have brought him," she lowered her tone again.

I wondered if she realised that he could still hear us. Sometimes it felt like she didn't like he was an inanimate object she spoke about and did not speak to.

"No, I'm glad he's here." I kissed Dad on the cheek. There wasn't a hint of acknowledgement, but I knew he felt it.

"He wouldn't want you to remember him this way."

I held back from saying any more. If words were to come out of my mouth, they would be pointed. And one of the biggest rules of your birthday was you couldn't show anger, sadness or negative feelings. Don't want to look ungrateful.

Before I got too lost in my thoughts, Malcolm commanded my attention.

"Happy Birthday, baby bitch." He held up what was obviously a gift. And by how poorly wrapped it was, it was pretty obvious what it was. My eyes were already wide. "I'm sorry. I really tried."

I took the guitar by its neck. "What the fuck, Malcolm? This must have cost so much." I knew it did. I'd been eyeing the thing up for months. But when money was tight, it was out of the question. And when there was money, I felt like I didn't deserve it. Not like the music thing was going good anymore anyway. Turns out 2000 streams on a song isn't that big of a deal.

"What if I told you I got it with a five-finger discount?" Malcolm said a bit too loud.

My face darkened. "That's a joke, right?"

He laughed. "Bitch, of course, it is. Don't worry about how much it was. I had some change to spare."

My green eyes were shifting from Malcolm, then to the guitar, then back to my friend. "You didn't have to do this." But I couldn't contain my excitement, a squeal of excitement escaping my mouth as I brought him into a hug. "Thank you so much."

Pulling away, Malcolm's smile was as bright as mine. He glanced around the room, hands on his hips. "Where's Courtney?"

"I…" I shrugged, "I don't know. Mom, where's Courtney?" I felt bad for asking. I was the one who was supposed to know where she was. And I don't mean that in a controlling relationship type way. I just… couldn't…pinpoint when I last saw her.

"Oh," Mom looked around too as if she hadn't even realised, "She said she'd be here."

Just as the smile was disappearing from my face, the front door opened. I expected it to be Courtney, walking in looking stunning as always.

She'd apologise for being late, she was just picking up my present, which was probably something stupid like a carton of eggs. She'd hug me tight, kiss my cheek, wish me the happiest birthday, and promise toast soldiers later.

The truth is it was Courtney. And Trinity K Bonet, her work partner.

"Hi, darling." Courtney panted like she had run up the stairs. She hugged me gently and kissed my cheek.

She was smiling. Not as bright as I expected. Maybe that was asking too much. Maybe it wasn't.

"Hi, Trinity." I made sure that smile didn't move an inch. I was doing a good job, but the greeting could have been more enthusiastic.

"Adore!" She exclaimed as if she hadn't already seen me, as if Courtney hadn't told her it was my birthday. "How are you? You look…" her eyes looked me up and down, "great! You look great!"

Say thank you and be done with it. Just say thank you. "Um…I don't look great but thank you." Fuck.

"Nuh-uh. I think you've lost some weight. Turn around, lemme see."

Fuck my life. This is why you just say thank you and be done with it. I blinked, only now noticing that everyone's eyes were on me. I couldn't believe I was about to do a slow spin just so Trinity could probably pass judgement while she stood there, lean and tall in her gorgeous red suit dress, her hair styled perfectly.

I slowly turned, glancing at Malcolm. His gaze was on Trinity, lips pursed and brows raised. At least I wasn't the only one. He winked at me reassuringly.

"Yeah, you…you really have," Trinity said, quieter.

I couldn't bear it anymore. I finished the rest of the spin. She smiled like she was about to grab me by the shoulders and tell me she was sorry for my loss. Courtney was smiling and staring at me. Some part of me was pissed she didn't stop her friend from making me spin like that.

Mom was rubbing the back of her neck. Dad was still staring at the wall.

"Oh, it's just baby fat." Mom wasn't holding back. Her voice was full of frustration as she stared daggers at Trinity. "It'll go away, honey," she smiled at me.

"Isn't he 2 years old?" Trinity just couldn't help but add.

Again, Courtney pretended she didn't hear a thing. "Where is Lo?"

"Having a nap." I averted my eyes, pulling my t-shirt down as if it wasn't already hiding enough skin.

"She was showing everyone pictures at the work do!" Trinity beamed.

Ah, that's where she was. How could I have forgotten? Not like I was sort of pissed about it days before.

"Oh, yeah. How was it?"

"Oh, well, it was OK, I guess." Courtney looked at Trinity for clarification, "We only really stayed for a little while. Kind of boring, wasn't it?"

"So boring," Trinity groaned.

"We just…showed our faces to the higher-ups, you know. Kinda schmooze them up." Courtney laughed. And her gaze moved behind me. "Hi, Malcolm," she said quickly.

"Hi, Courtney," Malcolm returned the greeting with the same energy. "And this is…."

I just shifted uncomfortably, knowing how awkward this really was.

"Oh, this is Trinity," Courtney wrapped her arm around and put a hand on Trinity's lower back. "She just started under me."

"Hm," Malcolm smiled, eyes glaring down at Trinity, "has she?"

Courtney slid out of this awkward bubble that had been created as Malcolm exchanged air kisses with Trinity. She quickly moved to the snack table, and I followed. She poured herself a drink while I worked at this sudden uneasiness that fell over me.

"Courtney," I said quietly, rubbing my hands along the sides of my skinny jeans. "My Dad's here."

In all the years we'd been together, Courtney never had the chance to meet my Dad. Not her fault. He was just…in and out of the hospital. It was unpredictable when his health was going to decline again. And what with Courtney working more often, it was impossible to find a suitable date to have a get-together.

Courtney smiled before taking a quick sip of her drink. Her eyes then sought out the wide variety of finger food spread out on the table.

"You wanna say hi?" I asked quietly. I don't know why I made it sound like I was asking for a donation to charity. I hated it.

"No problem, I'm just gonna grab more drinks from the kitchen. I'd love a cheeky gin."

And she left me standing there, staring at all the food. The smile was becoming harder to maintain, almost making my face ache.

"OK, Adore! It's that time again!" Mom's said behind me, and I instantly knew what was happening.

I turned to see her already skipping towards me, blindfold in hand. The smile dropped. "Mom. No. Please."

"It's a tradition, honey. We have to!" She beamed. And she turned to address the party guests.

"Mom, please - -"

"Every birthday since she was six, we've always played blind man's buff!" Mom exclaimed like she was announcing that she had just won the lottery and a day on the beach with Michael Bublé.

"Not every birthday," I directed my gaze to Trinity, who seemed to be loving this already.

"Yeah, we have, Adore," Mom said, quieter and more stern. "Although, last year was the best. It's a lot more fun after a bottle of wine."

"I got pictures," Malcolm teased.

"I know it doesn't seem like her, but Adore's always been a sucker for party games. Right, honey?" Mom's honey-sweet voice was starting to take a toll on me.

Not that I was paying much attention anymore anyway.

Malcolm, Dad and the people I didn't know stood to one side of the room. And Courtney and Trinity remained on the opposite. My partner said something quietly to her. Trinity's eyes widened with enthusiasm. Her perfect lips turned up into a coy smile.

And Courtney put her hand on her back again and led her away to the hall.

I watched, trying to get a sense of where they were going. But as soon as they had started moving, my world was shrouded in darkness.

"...first person you grab will give you your main gift!" Mom secured the blindfold.

"OK…this is actually happening," I murmured.

"Malcolm, my darling, come and spin her!" Mom's voice said from behind me.

"Don't mind if I do," came Malcolm's flirty tone.

I was spun around 3 times, my friend counting up each time before announcing the game had begun.

I was left with a limited amount of my senses. Not that you need a tutorial on how to play blind man's buff, you've probably played it at a grandparent's birthday party. But holding your arms out is a lifesaver. You won't find anyone, of course, but you'll feel any obstacle in your way and save a broken vase. Your hands are your eyes when you're world is just dark.

I held my hands out and moved forward. My knee hit something, maybe the armchair. Hey, I didn't say you definitely wouldn't hit something.

Knowing where the chair was, I got a sense of what direction I was to head in. I bravely took a few more steps, thankfully avoiding more objects.

Just as I was beginning to question why I was still doing things like this at the age of 30, my right hand brushed something. Fabric. It couldn't have been curtains. I grabbed the person. "Got you!"

A frightened sound escaped the person's mouth, and I knew instantly it was Dad, still standing in the same place since the party had begun.

I apologised profusely, feeling him freaking out. "Sorry - sorry - sorry!" I couldn't stop. "It's me, Adore! You're safe!"

Thankfully, he calmed down instantly as I felt how he stood still again.

Back to the game.

I wandered around, hoping Dad wouldn't be frightened again and that I'd come across just someone. I giggled, picturing how this looked from the party attendees' eyes.

But it didn't last.

A sound brought me to a grinding halt.

It was almost like…scratching.

Curiously I followed in the direction of the sound, having no indicator of where I was headed.

As my hands connected with a wall to my left, I used it to help guide me along the way. Pretty sure I had just heard someone tiptoe behind me. I knew the sound of those shoes. Malcolm. He adored this particular pair of shoes because of how they sounded.

I could have turned and threw myself at him and ended the game right then and there.

But my curiosity had me following the scratching sound.

The wall kept going. I was in the hall. And the rooms around me were the bathroom and bedrooms. A sinking feeling crushed my stomach in a tight grasp. That wasn't scratching I was hearing. It was squeaking…rhythmic squeaking…growing louder the closer I got.

My hands landed at the door that I knew too well; our bedroom.

I moved my face closer, trying to make sense of the sound behind the wood. But how could I make any more sense of it? I knew what was going on.

I had enough. I pulled the blindfold off, hearing grunting from behind the wood.

I grabbed the handle and flung the door open.

-_-_-_-

The suitcase was on the bed, and Courtney was on top of the suitcase. She bounced up and down, making the bed creak as she tried to zip it shut. 5 years ago, I would have laughed, would have filmed her even. And we'd both giggle 'til our sides hurt.

Not now, though.

She looked at me, panting as she struggled. "It won't close. I think you're gonna have to take something out."

I rubbed my hands off the side of my leggings. "You always pack the cases." I wasn't trying to sound like a dick; I smirked a little, hoping she'd smile back

But she opened the case, bombarded by Lo's stuffed animals. She dug through the contents, pulling a pair of knee-high boots and displaying them for me to see. "You gonna need these? I don't think they need to go."

"Mom got me those last year." I practically whined. "Of course, they need to go. I've barely had a chance to wear them."

Courtney stuffed them back in, "Well…" her tone raised before she rubbed her face in frustration. "There's no need for all these toys." She took out the biggest one, the stuffed elephant, and threw it down onto the bed.

"But Lo can't sleep without them." I rushed to grab the elephant.

"Look, can't you just make him choose one? You're too soft, Adore." Courtney continued to dig around in the suitcase.

"Courtney, it's his holiday too." I retorted, slamming the elephant back into the case. And I regretted my choice of words. I knew that face, I knew what she was going to say, and I knew what was to follow.

Please don't say it, Court'. Please, don't.

"It wasn't meant to be." She turned her gaze from me, working on the suitcase again.

"Not again." I shook my head.

She closed it, leaning all of her weight using her knees. But she looked at me again, brows joined together. "It was supposed to be just us two. Just a chance to get away from the miserable flat for a little while. That was all."

I pursed my lips, nodding my head. This argument...the one we had already had. I was exhausted. "Yeah, well, sorry that my dad died, Courtney. I'm so sorry that ruined things. I'm sorry my Mom can't take of Lo so that it was such an inconvenience to your little escape."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying that."

"Well, that's how it sounds!"

She paused again, a challenging look in her eye. "The last time you said that was when you thought I was cheating on you. You can't keep coming to your own conclusions because of how something sounds to you."

I looked away, holding back every urge to shout. "You didn't need to bring that up again. It has nothing to do with this."

"OK." She sighed. "Look, I just wanted it to be fun…." Courtney was pleading with me to understand, but how could I? "Like how it used to be."

My eyes were glassy. But I wouldn't let myself cry. Not again. "That's just life, Courtney." There was a crack in my voice. "This is what normal people do. They go away on holiday as a family."

She could hear the pain in my voice...See the tears in my eyes...I was on the verge of breaking. But she rejected it.

"Well, I can't fucking wait." She finally got the suitcase closed. She climbed off the bed and brushed past me in a flurry. "Get the passports."

I wasted no time sitting around crying. Not like it would do anything to take back what just happened.

My chin trembled as I opened the dresser's top drawer, but I fought the urge to open the flood gates.

I opened each book one by one, taking in the ugly pictures. Save for Lo's. He was an angel, staring curiously into the camera lens, blissfully unaware that Courtney and I had fought that day as well.

My fingertip ran over his little face. I stared at his picture; I knew he wouldn't always be this little.

-_-_-_-

"What day is it today, Logan?" My eyes were stuck on the small frame containing his face. I tried to hold my hands steady with the camera.

"Monday." He said miserably.

"Come on," I laughed. "You know what I mean. What's happening today?"

His little face lowered for a moment before lifting it again. His bottom lip was sticking out as he said, "I got school."

"Yeah, you do!" I exclaimed, looking away from the camera screen to the actual image of my Son.

Mom stepped into the frame, and I stopped recording. "Come on, buddy. I'm gonna walk you over there."

Lo was staring at me, the fear in his eyes evident. "I want you to walk me, Mommy."

My heart broke for him; what kind of mother couldn't take their Son to school on the first day? "I'm sorry, honey. Mommy's got work. But I promise I'll be there to pick you up. I swear." I stood up, setting the camera aside and moving to him. "You are going to have so much fun. Trust me."

I knelt down to his level, and I couldn't stop the crack in my voice. "I am so fucking proud of you." I took his head in my hands and kissed his hair.

I missed the disapproving glare Mom cast at me. But Lo was used to my potty mouth, and thankfully he never dared repeat the words.

I pulled away, quickly glancing around the room as if searching for something. Mom got the hint and messed with Lo's coat. "OK, let's go. We wouldn't wanna be late, little guy."

My eyes were wet with tears that I wouldn't allow him to see. I loved Lo, and I spent almost every waking moment with him, yet he never saw me cry. I didn't want him to know this misery. I didn't want him to share in it.

I glanced over my shoulder; he was toddling along to the front door. Mom smiled sympathetically, leaning in to kiss my cheek. "I'll text you when we get there."

I nodded, hoping my face wasn't turning red.

"OK, Logan. You can show me how we get there." She led him out the front door. "And please trick me into taking you to the ice cream parlour."

"I'm not that clever," Lo mumbled.

Mom winked before the door was shut.

And just like a hammer thrown against a pane of glass, the barrier was shattered. All of my emotions began to crawl their way out of my stomach, up through my neck and out through my breath.

My eyes were even wetter now. But, still, I tried so hard to ignore all these thoughts. I cleared my throat and made my way towards the couch, where several cardboard boxes sat on the ground.

I knelt down in front of the nearest one and picked up that CD, Courtney's 'sad boy' music that I had teased her so much for liking. We had played it one night, after a night out in which we weren't quite sure how we were even standing anymore, and we danced in this small space. Holding each other, swaying side to side, and kissing like we would never get another chance.

That was so long ago. Now here we were.

My face scrunched up as I couldn't handle it anymore. Sobs escaped my throat, tears poured down my tired skin.

This wasn't how I imagined my life. This wasn't what I wanted. Of all the times I thought of how I wanted to be a rock star, no. I take it all back.

All I wanted was for Court' and me to be how we used to be.

I put the CD back, still crying, knowing there were still a few more things of hers to be packed away.

"Come on, Adore. Don't upset yourself…."

How could I not feel like this?

"I just didn't…I didn't think this is how my story would go…." I wiped my nose on the back of my sleeve. I felt the warmth on my shoulder, my Dad's hand, reassuring me.

"Well, if you think about it, kid, I never thought I'd end up walking into a grocery store naked, asking what the soup of the day was. But…there you go."

It's awful to think now how that once made me laugh. There was nothing funny about it. "You were sick, Dad. It wasn't your fault."

"And this isn't yours, Adore."

I wanted to believe it so bad. But would this even be happening if it wasn't my fault? "Courtney's left me, Dad. Now Lo's left me."

"Only until the afternoon."

"I know, but…." I shook my head, sniffling, "I'm 32, in the middle of a divorce, and working at a pop-up coffee shop with my best friend. Not exactly the fairytale I hoped for."

"Enough of this. It's Logan's first day at school. This is supposed to be a happy memory."

I squeezed my eyes shut, more tears escaping my eyes. I shook my head. "Sorry, Dad. But it doesn't feel like that."

The doorbell rang abruptly.

I looked over my shoulder, a sudden fear for whoever was on the other side.

-_-_-_-

The shrilling sound of the doorbell was making my head pound, doing nothing for the stress.

“Malcolm, would you get that, please??” I called out to him from the kitchen. My gloved hand fidgeted, opening the fridge door and finding the closest alcoholic beverage. The light drew attention to my Halloween costume - just your average witch attire. I missed the good old days when I could have been a bit more revealing, maybe with a bloodied pentagram on my chest and smouldering black eyeliner.

“Girl, I can’t. I’m putting in these contacts!” Malcolm called.

I scoffed as the bell rang again. I set the drink aside and rushed to the door. I pressed the button on the intercom, “Hello?”

I expected to hear children on the other end shouting, “Trick or Treat”, but then again, no kids ever went trick or treating in this apartment block.

“Hey, can you buzz me in?”

I rolled my eyes as Courtney tried to sound as innocent as possible.

“Yeah. You’re late, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

I pressed the button allowing her access and unlocked the front door.

“So the bitch has finally arrived!” Malcolm called from the bathroom.

I pointed a finger as I entered the room, “Don’t call my kids other Mother that,” and turned to look down the hall. “Lo! Your mom’s here!”

Malcolm turned from the mirror, displaying his sexy vampire outfit. Oh, to be just like him, to not give a fuck about what others thought of him. “Opinions?”

“OK, don’t call me a Karen ‘cause I think you look great. But please don’t let Lo see you.”

“I hate it. Fuck it, I’m gonna be a werewolf,” Malcolm turned back to the mirror and grabbed his eyeliner pencil. “I’m sure you got fake teeth laying around here somewhere.”

“Fuck you. You’re the older one.” I lightly kicked him.

“Shut up, bitch. Now tell me,” Malcolm already got to work on his cheeks, “Your new girl. Is she going to be there tonight?”

“She’s not my new girl, shut up,” I glanced over my shoulder in the sad case Lo stumbled upon the conversation.

“Do you want her to be?” Malcolm smirked.

“Bitch, I’ve only seen her Tinder profile.”

“Girl, it’s Halloween. How are you even going to know who she is?”

“She’s…” I couldn’t believe I even knew this information, but “she’s gonna be the boyfriend from Midsommar. When he’s wearing the bear thing….”

“Ooh, she’s different.”

“Yep.”

“And let me guess. You told her you were going as yourself,” Malcolm was on a roll tonight.

“Hilarious,” I nodded just as the front door opened. I almost looked. But what with Courtney picking and choosing when she came to see Lo, I didn’t even bother. “Lo’s in his bedroom.”

She reciprocated this energy, rushing past me towards Lo’s room.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” I called as the door closed. To be honest, no, I didn’t need her excuse. I never did because it was always just the same thing.

“Alright?” Malcolm stepped back from the mirror, displaying the same outfit but with added whiskers and a black nose.

“You kinda look like…those emo kids back in the day.”

“Fuck!”

“OK, language,” I moved towards him, taking the pencil, “Oh, God. I sound like Mom.”

“What are you doing?”

“Turning those shit ass whiskers into cobwebs. You’re gonna be a black widow.” I started the process.

“Bitch, is that a microaggression?” Malcolm teased.

“For fuck sake, why are you like this?” I connected the lines. “Oh, shit. Do you remember when I first moved here 10 years ago?”

“Yep.”

“And I was living with that girl. Fuck, what was her name?” I paused.

“Joslyn.”

“Yes! Joslyn.”

“Is that who you’re turning me into? A venomous bitch?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I never thought about that girl so harshly. But who was it hurting? It had been years since I last saw her. She was probably living her life in a huge mansion that she rightfully earned from all the money she made.

We enjoyed this moment, feeling like we were young again and enjoying life. “Shit, remember we said that if in 10 years we were still single, we would just marry each other?”

“What? Feeling desperate now?”

I put my hands on Malcolm’s shoulders. “No, I was just…thinking…you know, it’s just funny how things turn out.”

Malcolm rubbed my arm. Fuck. Fuck me for making this moment sad. Fuck me for reminding everyone once again that life fucking sucked.

There was a knock at the front door. A sort of excitement bubbled within us. “Ooh, trick or treaters?”

“Yeah, let’s go scare the shit out of them!” Malcolm buzzed.

“Not you looking like that.” I made my way out of the bathroom and to the front door, taking the candy bowl with me.

I opened the door. And there was Courtney, dressed as a greek goddess, both her hands pressed either side of the frame, panting.

“You could have told me about the elevator being broken.” She bent over, catching her breath.

I turned away, skin pale as I stared down the hall. “Lo?”

Goosebumps rose when he didn’t answer.

I was running now. “Logan!”

I clasped my hand on the doorknob, flinging it open.

There he was, scooped up in the arms of a man in a soaked raincoat.

“I’ve got him, I’ve got him.”

-_-_-_-

"I've got him, I've got him…." I hurried through the front door, holding Lo in one arm and my phone pressed to my ear in the other, "No, please just get back here asap, OK?" Kicking the door shut, I tried but failed to contain the panic in my voice. Too many thoughts were running wild in my head - what had just happened? How badly had Lo hurt his hand? If I had kept an eye on him, would he have still been hurt? "OK, thank you!" I rushed to the bathroom, Lo still in my arms. With Mom on the way, I hung up, lowering Lo from my arms.

The cold water was on instantly, and I took his hand, holding it under the stream. "I know it stings, but it'll help," my voice still shaky. Lo pulled his hand away as the burn turned redder under the cold pressure. "Keep it under there," I moved it back, "You hear me? You gotta keep it under the cold water. I'm just gonna call your Mom."

I was almost afraid to leave him alone, unable to trust that he'd do as I said.

Courtney answered immediately. "Hello?"

"Lo's been hurt." My attempt at sounding calm and collected was failing.

"What?!"

"I mean…" I slapped my forehead, pacing back and forth in the living room. Fireworks outside the window reflected off my skin, causing me to flinch slightly. "He's still alive. He's not unconscious or anything. He just burnt his fucking hand on a sparkler."

"Right. OK - OK…Uh…Should I come - -"

"Yes, Courtney. Please come over!" My hands shook the more I paced, my feet knocked against the miniature toy cars on the carpet, causing a fatal accident for Lo's imaginary characters. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice. So far, he had suppressed any tears, biting his lip through the pain.

"OK. Sit tight. I'm coming."

I glanced into the bathroom; Lo did as he was told, still holding the red burn under the cold water. Was this just a huge overreaction? Was I that Mother?

I pinched my eyes with my fingers. "Thank you. He's…he seems fine anyway. I'm just…you know…Maybe it's all those PSA's on TV, I don't know…."

The front door opened, and in came Mom, right on time.

"Where is he?" Mom whispered.

"Bathroom," I mouthed before resuming my pacing. "My Mom just got here…I - -"

"I'll be there in 5."

Not that Courtney even needed to be here anymore; this felt…relieving. "Thanks, Courtney. See you soon."

"Wait."

I stopped pacing as my eyes travelled into the bathroom, watching as Mom inspected Lo's hand.

"I love you."

And all of a sudden, my attention was stolen away.

It had been so long since Courtney had uttered those words to me. And yet…it felt…natural…Like nothing had ever changed…

I blinked, unable to think of a response. I wanted to say those words back. As an act of hope or desperation?

The crack of a firework tore my attention away. And when I was brought back to my reality - divorced, single Mother, injured child - I hung up.

"Mom," I shook my coat off. "Is he OK?"

"Yes!" Mom was holding Lo by the shoulders, leading him towards me. "He's fine!"

My arms were already outstretched. I took his hands in mine and examined the wound.

Only…

"There's nothing wrong with him, honey."

True. Lo's hands were fine. No trace of a scar to be seen.

"But…he screamed," I twisted his little hands around in mine, checking the backs and sides. I couldn't have imagined this.

"Maybe you scared him?" Mom shrugged. "Logan, look out the window! The fireworks!"

Lo followed to where she pointed, pressing his small face against the cold glass, staring in awe at the bright colours exploding in the sky.

"Mom. I watched him pick up the sparkler. He burnt his hand," my hands were on my hips. "I know what I saw."

"Adore, honey, there's nothing wrong with him. He's fine," she took off her own coat and hat. Then she was still, "You did that though …when you were his age," she looked at me now, like this memory was only surfacing now, "I remember it burnt right through your orange glove."

But I…I couldn't remember a thing.

I wasn't even meeting her gaze any more.

I silently made my way to the couch.

How could I ever forget something like that? Something that would surely scar me for life. Oddly enough, as soon as I saw Lo pick up the sparkler, I felt the pain in my own hand. But still, I couldn't see it through my own eyes, grabbing the scorching hot thing in an orange glove. Nothing was surfacing.

"You know, maybe that's why you freaked out on him. You were probably thinking of that," Mom continued. "Hang on. I'm gonna make us all some hot chocolate. Not that awful instant stuff. The type your Dad used to make."

My eyes were staring down at my gloved hand now. I hesitated as I grabbed the bottom and slowly pulled upwards.

Something was definitely wrong. Because there it was - a red burn that had scarred over years and years of healing.

"Mom?" My voice cracked. "What's wrong with me?" I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look at the scar any longer. "Everything's just… I'm getting everything mixed up."

Behind closed eyes, I pictured my hand, scar free, hoping that it would truly be gone when I looked again.

Yet so many images came to mind - Lo grabbing the sparkler, Lo wearing orange gloves, Mom's voice. "It will sting, but it'll make you feel better, baby."

And as I longed for these images to be gone, I felt the inability to breathe. No matter how hard I inhaled, the oxygen wasn't getting to my brain.

"Well, aren't you going to put your hat on?"

"What?" I opened my eyes. My scarred hand was still held up in front of my face.

Mom placed a red paper crown on my head beside me, one found in a Christmas cracker.

Christmas was over…how did this make sense? The table was covered with plates of Christmas dinner, the tree was up and decorated, standing proudly at the back of the room. 4 people sat around the table. How did any of this make sense??

"OK, here's one. It's stupid, but I kinda love it," Malcolm chuckled at the small slip of paper in his hand, the Christmas jokes he always loved collecting from crackers, "What does Santa suffer from if he gets stuck in the chimney?"

Mom sat down next to him, awaiting the answer. As did the two sitting opposite him, Joslyn. And Dad.

"Clause-trophobia." Malcolm goggled his eyes.

"That was awful." Dad laughed anyway.

"And, what? You have a great sense of humour, honey?" Mom giggled.

My gaze shifted from each person, unable to understand if this was all wrong or if it was perfectly fine.

But how could it not be wrong? This particular group of people rarely mingled. Fuck, I would have never imagined Joslyn and I became so close she'd spend Christmas at mine.

"I married you, darling. I'd say that was hilarious." Dad clutched his wine glass, holding it out for Malcolm to fill.

Everyone was laughing.

Everyone except me.

"Dad…Are you alright?" I said too quietly.

"Yes, I'm fantastic," he took a sip of wine. "I had to be here for this, didn't I? I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

Everyone had their eyes on me now.

And someone moved behind me.

Hands grabbed my shoulders, and I slowly turned as they rubbed my skin up and down.

"You alright, baby?" Courtney leaned down, looking into my eyes so lovingly. "Well done on this. It's gorgeous." She looked hungrily at the food.

My eyes followed hers. The food did look gorgeous.

But there was a stirring in my stomach. Like I could throw up at any given moment.

"Just like you," Courtney looked back at me and left a warm kiss on my cheek.

My lips parted, stunned by that feeling, the affection I hadn't felt in so long. The love I longed for, mourned over.

Courtney moved away, taking her place at the opposite end of the table. Still, she looked at me, a proud smile on her face.

I was warm inside…and my stomach only stirred more.

"I did the roasted vegetables, actually," Mom added with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, I wondered why they were all black on one side," Malcolm dared himself to say.

No offence was taken; everyone whooped, enjoying every moment of this…this…what seemed to be ordinary moment.

"Where… Where's Lo?" I piped up.

"Oh, he's just getting on his Nativity costume," Courtney glanced toward the hall, awaiting her son's appearance.

Our sons.

I squinted my eyes. "Court'...are we…are we back together?"

"Yeah," Courtney giggled, glancing at the others like it should have been a given, "Of course we are. Remember New Years last year?"

Why was she even telling me this? If she expected me to remember, surely she wouldn't have felt the need to tell me. Surely she must have thought I was joking, even though I really wasn't.

Everyone was smiling, a bit too wide. Goosebumps were rising on my skin.

"I think it's time for the present," Joslyn winked.

"Yes." Courtney beamed with excitement. "Now's the time."

"No," I shook my head, "I don't want a present." My hand was clenched around my fork.

"Oh, come on, Adore!" Malcolm joined in on the excitement.

I refused to look any of them in the eye. This was fucked up. Everything was so fucked up, and I was the only one who could fucking see that.

I pulled the paper crown from my head, trying to relax my panicked chest. Courtney rushed to the tree, picking up a small box-like item wrapped in red wrapping paper.

"This is from all of us," Dad leaned towards me. "We all added to it."

The red box was in front of me now, Courtney holding it out to me.

I breathed heavily as I stared. One half of my brain told me to ignore it, tell them all I'd open it later. While the other half told me that it was just a present, no big deal.

With a puff of breath out of my mouth, I took the damn thing. I untied the gold ribbons and pulled the red paper off.

Courtney made her way back to her seat as everyone's full attention was on me and the now unpackaged item.

It was a large emerald-green book with gold trimming on the spine. Nothing scary so far.

When I opened it up, on the first page were two pictures - on the left, me as a freshly born baby. On the right; my latest birthday picture.

A label underneath read 'Adore Delano: A life in Pictures.'

This…This was nothing to worry about. I was overreacting again. Everything was fine.

I allowed a warm smile to appear on my face. "Oh God, look at me." I giggled.

"You were so tiny!" Mom beamed.

I turned the page to find more pictures. The first two were from when I was a little girl, dark hair in pigtails and flipping off the camera. It made me laugh how rude I was back then.

The other two were still me, only the teenage version of myself. One was a class photo, the other from my first house party.

"Oh my God," I chuckled, "that party. You guys were so mad at me."

"Little did we know it was the first of many to come," Dad commented.

I turned the page. The adult era - trying to get the record deal, Joslyn's first day living here.

On the opposite page; two pictures of Courtney with Lo sitting on her knee.

"Oh my God, that crib!" I pointed to the damned object lurking in the corner of the photo. "Do you remember that?" I lifted my excited smile to Courtney. "We struggled to put it up!"

"Yeah, like, how does it take 3 days to build a crib?" Courtney bemusedly questioned.

I turned another page. There was me and Malcolm, the Halloween when I was a witch and he was…a sexy vampire but then a werewolf but then a black widow. "Ah, there we are! The real stars."

"You sure that wasn't a microaggression, though?" Malcolm pointed, following it with a chuckle.

I turned page after page, even going back to look at the previous. "Oh God, this is so so cool. You guys got everything." I stifled, my emotions getting the better of me. I giggled, turning some more pages, "This is…" then some more, "...this is like my…" the tears were surfacing, "...my whole life is…flashing…."

I sniffed once again, slowly turning fewer and fewer pages.

Until I couldn't turn anymore.

I stared down at the book, my heart sinking.

I lifted my head. "Oh…"

They all looked at me, their smiles falling.

"I think I know what's going on now."

The sound of tires screeching...metal crashing against metal...My eyes squeezed my eyes shut.

-_-_-_-

I opened my eyes. Not that I could see anything. It was all blurry. And my hearing, that was fuzzy too.

All I could make out through the foggy sound were sirens.

That song was playing on the radio. Courtney's song. Our song.

My vision was clearing. There was the steering wheel which my head was pressed against, splatters of broken eggs on the window screen, red and blue flashing lights.

I wanted to move my head. The pain prevented me from doing so.

All I wanted was to go to the store and get some groceries. All we wanted to do was make toast soldiers like we did in the good old days.

A new sound screeched in my ears. A saw, I guessed. Not that I could look to see or react as the racket tormented my ears.

The only thing I could do was move my eyes and inspect the situation.

The window was cracked, ready to shatter into a million little pieces. And through a hole in the glass, there he was.

The man in the soaked rain coat, peering in from a few feet away, fear and concern all over his face.

Sparks flashed in front of the glass. So it was a saw...A saw that they used to remove the car door.

As soon as it was gone, the man had vanished, just like a ghost.

A fireman knelt down, looking right at me. "Can you hear me?"

I couldn't answer.

He moved closer, but he only became muffled.

For a moment, I blacked out, for the next thing I remembered was being carried from the car, my body in agony. The side of my head was hot and wet, something pouring down my cheek.

Mom? What's wrong with me? Everything's just… I'm getting everything mixed up.

Next thing I was on a stretcher, an oxygen mask covering the lower half of my face.

Adore, you've got the memory of a goldfish…

He wouldn't want you to remember him this way.

That's just life, Courtney.

The last thing I could recall was bright lights passing by, a ceiling so bright it was hard to look at. But there was Courtney, rushing by my side, dressed in her work uniform, scrubs and all, a tag saying 'Dr. C. Act, MD, PhD'

"Please, let me handle this. She's my wife!" She was crying. "I need to be with her, please!"

Then she was gone, the sounds of her anguished screams growing fainter and fainter.

This is supposed to be a happy memory.

I blinked through the bright white lights, hearing all those things in my head. I wanted to sob; I wanted to just scream. This wasn't fair. I hadn't the chance to live the life I wanted to.

And suddenly, the pain was gone again. I was back at the table; the Christmas dinner lay before me, the red and blue lights from the tree reflecting off us.

I looked at them all, unsure how I was breathing.

"Lo!" Courtney called.

In he came, dressed like a Christmas angel, the tinsel-made halo and all.

"Mommy's going now."

I tried to hold it in, the tears, the sobs, the anguish as Lo walked towards me. His face was like stone. Still, he would not cry through the pain. His little arms wrapped around my shoulders, and tears fell from my eyes.

"I don't want to," I cried, holding his arm. "I don't want to go."

Lo was stood there watching them carry me away on the stretcher, the same stone-cold expression on his face as a police officer wrapped him up in a blanket.

The man in the raincoat was there again, speaking to the police officer. "It was my fault. I just…I wasn't looking. I just stepped out into the road…."

I watched him from the stretcher as he turned to point at Lo. "I managed to get the boy out of the car. But…I couldn't save her." His voice was cracking. "I'm sorry."

I pitied the man.

He did more for me than I ever could have asked.

Lo had another chance at life because of him.

Sitting there at that table, surrounded by my loved ones, I held Lo's arm tighter. I was going to be OK. He was going to be OK.

"Come on, Lo," Courtney smiled sadly.

Still, I kept my hand on his arm, just a moment longer, savouring the moment.

But he was obedient, just how we raised him. And he went to Courtney.

My gaze shifted between them all, taking in each of their faces, how they didn't seem to express grief. But…sympathy.

"It's time, Adore," Mom whispered.

I blinked the last of my tears away, holding her gaze for just a moment. Never would I see this woman again, the woman who fussed over my 'etiquette' choices, who still gave a shit when my life was going nowhere, who'd kiss me on the head and tell me how proud she was.

Then my Dad, the man I hadn't seen in so long. In a way, it felt cruel that these were the circumstances in which we've met again. Did this happen to him? Was he really sick, or was he just taking in everything around him, watching it all collide with far off memories, constantly unable to understand what was real and what was not?

On the other hand, it felt right. This moment in which he got to share my pain, knowing exactly how it felt. It was sort of comforting, his smile. This is supposed to be a happy memory.

I flashed Joslyn a quick apologetic smile, regretful for the words I spat that destroyed any possibility of a real friendship. She smiled back, forgiving. This wasn't just about me. It was her moment as well - the chance to let go of our bad blood.

Malcolm's smile was the widest, of course. So many times, he smirked at me and said, "I'm the star, baby. I own this show." Even now, he couldn't help but compete for the limelight. Without this man, I wouldn't have had experiences. Experiences not many people had the chance to involve themselves in. I had gigs, hearings, and a small fanbase for a short time. It wasn't what I saw for my music career. But it was more than most people got.

Even though he was the main character of his life, he made sure I felt like a star on my own.

My gaze shifted away, looking to the top of the table. Courtney with Lo sitting in her lap.

I thought I'd spend my whole life with this girl, the cute Doctor I met at that one New Years' party. I dreamt I'd be a rock star, and she'd be my blonde bombshell of a partner, touring the world, making millions, idolised by so many other queer people.

Of course, that wasn't life.

I couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was that went wrong. At first, it felt like it was Lo, like we had thrown ourselves into the deep end, thinking it would be absolutely incredible. But Courtney and I loved Lo, even to the point we fought over who was seeing him the most.

Maybe it was everything about our relationship. The fantasy of being an attractive young couple with so much potential for happiness. "Ugh, I just want a big white wedding!" "Ew, no. My wedding dress is gonna be black, bitch." "Oh! That's a great idea! It'll be like…a ying and yang type thing." "Ughh! Yes, girl. And what would be even more punk rock is if we had a child and, like, gave them one of those out-there names. Like Ziggy or Blondie!”

It was all a childish game, just a bunch of make-believe.

And when we got what we wanted, it only caused a rift.

It was never meant to be. And no matter how much I tried to hold on to it, to make things seem fine, it had to stop.

And even when we picked it back up…well…here we are.

For all the good times, though, it was worth it. Courtney taught me so much in our good years, always hyped me up when it came to my music, and always appreciated when I was honest with her.

And best of all, she was an amazing Mother. Sometimes it felt like Lo preferred her over me. I never knew why; the thought of asking him scared me. But now, knowing I'd be gone, it's a comfort.

A sigh escaped my nose.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The tears were long gone.

My whole body relaxed as I breathed out long and hard. I could already feel it. How everything was lighter now.

I whispered, "Goodbye, everyone."

And as the darkness came over me, I could hear it. Courtney and I'd song.

#rpdr fanfiction #s6 #adore delano #courtney act #adorney #trinity k bonet #joslyn fox #angst #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #afterthought #grinder #tw mental health #tw dementia #tw death mentions #tw depression

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sazc94 · 3 years

Text

Pietro and Bunny

HELLO

Here is my second entry for the wonderful @msmarvelwrites 2k Challenge.

This a spin-off from my Bucky fic: The three times Bucky broke your heart. Part 1 linked Here.

It follows the same timeline and explores the relationship of Pietro and Reader (Bunny) More.

Words 6034

Themes. Angst, Suggestions of smut. But mostly lots and lots of fluff. 18+ Because of the smut suggestions.

This has two parts and I will upload part 2 tomorrow.

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲?"

Pietro thought you were pretty cool. He thought you and Bucky made a great couple. He enjoyed hanging out with you when you would all hang out as a group. Pietro wasn’t one for girlfriends. Sure he’d had a few semi-serious flings and would occasionally bring a date to the parties after a game and loved how you would instantly make anyone feel welcome. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he started to think of you as more than a friend. It was sometime during his senior year.

At first, he pushed the idea out of his head. You were Bucky’s girl Y/N! You were the cute shy girl Bucky had brought out of her shell, who was still deep down that adorable musical theatre-loving dork. However, when Bucky started getting defensive around him and Sam about who he was texting, Pietro stopped feeling so bad about liking you of course Pietro would never do anything to jeopardize your relationship with Bucky and his friendships with either of you, but he couldn’t help but feel a tang of jealousy towards Bucky.

2010

“Look at Bucky, can’t go 5 minutes without texting his little cheerleader,” Sam said walking up behind Pietro. Bucky was too engrossed in his phone to pay any attention to the pair of them. Pietro smirked.

“Sam, watch this” Pietro said, before breezing over to Bucky and pulling his phone out of his hands. Bucky instantly shot up trying to grab the phone from Pietro, however, he was too quick throwing the phone to Sam.

“Dear Doll, I love you so much and all thought I only saw you this morning, I am already missing you” Pietro sang in a teasing manner.

“Come on guy’s give it back” Bucky grunted. Sam and Pietro kept throwing the phone between them. Suddenly Sam stopped laughing.

“Hey Buck, who’s Nat and why is she asking if you’re going to be around this summer?” Sam asked his eyebrow shooting up. Bucky’s façade faltered for a second. His usual bright blue eyes deepening with an unfamiliar expression. Pietro’s interest was also piqued, he may have wanted you for himself but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you get hurt.

“Oh, she’s just a friend of Jane’s. I met her at that party after our game in Green Bay last year she’s a cheerleader like Jane and Y/N. Natasha and her boyfriend Clint will be in town the summer and she wants to introduce us apparently her boyfriend was impressed with how we played” Bucky said, shrugging it off like it was no big deal. After that incident, Bucky was on his phone around the football team less and started talking about how much he loved you and couldn’t wait to spend some quality time with you in the summer.

November 2011

By the time graduation rolled around Pietro had put any thoughts about the pair of you out of his mind, chalking it up to wanting a relationship as opposed to you. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. You came along to his graduation ceremony. Well, it was for everyone. Pietro, Sam, Wanda, Jane, and Carol. Bucky came along too. Late. But you were there with Peter Parker who was a freshman, he had talent, but he seemed to prefer being behind a camera as opposed to on the field.

The whole gang hung around the field and bleachers after the ceremony. Goofing off and enjoying the last time the group would all be together like this for a while. Peter took photos of you all. Pietro’s favourite was one where he and Sam had picked you up whilst you were in the middle of talking to Carol and Wanda. The laughter that came out of your mouth as you squealed and shouted for the two footballers to put you down made his heart flutter.

Okay so maybe he wasn’t as over you as he told himself he was. Now he could understand what that Taylor Swift was banging on about in that song of hers.

Have you ever thought just maybe?

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Bucky’s girl,” he said grinning at you. For some stupid reason, probably because Pietro didn’t know what to do with his hands, he ruffled your hair like you were 5 again. He couldn’t help but notice you wince at the old pet name. He mentally kicked himself. Why had he called you that?!

Graduation was the last time he saw you for over a year. Unlike Bucky, Pietro had actually been away at a football camp when Bucky had cheated on you. He didn’t know what had happened. Only knew you two had broken up. Wanda was fiercely protective of her friendship with you and didn’t want to betray you by admitting to those that didn’t know that Bucky had cheated on you. He wasn’t going to lie; he was saddened when you didn’t stay in touch with him after he graduated. But after he started his first year at the University of Michigan, he didn’t have much time to worry about it. He was a Line Backer having secured a football scholarship after college scouts came to see Sam and a few others play, Pietro had caught the eye of the scout from the University of Michigan, all though he was a great player, Pietro didn’t want to play professionally like many of the guys on the team. He was studying Business and Economics.

Since about the age of 15, he and Wanda had always planned on going into business together. Between parties, flirting with the pretty cheerleaders and sorority girls and his studies you became a distant memory to Pietro. That was until one November game in his second year.

The Wolverines were playing the Wisconsin Badgers. Boy did they suck. Not that Pietro minded it allowed him the opportunity to watch the cheerleaders, he knew a few of the girls on the team from various parties, he hadn’t paid much attention to the new girls on the squad. Then out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone who looked familiar to him. Could it be Y/N? Wanda had mentioned something about you getting a scholarship at Uni for your cheerleading, but he’d been in the middle of a game of Mario Kart with Sam at the time.

He tried to rack his brain’s but then the ball came towards him. He smiled to himself. Showtime Pietro. The game was an easy win. Whilst his teammates cheered Pietro made his way to the side-lines, desperate to know if the girl he’d seen earlier was you. His heart skipped a beat when he heard your familiar laugh. He couldn’t believe it. Pietro came jogging up towards you determined to chat.

“It’s just Y/N” or you can call me cutie you said winking at Pietro, he chuckled.

“How about I just call you tomorrow?” he retorted, you felt yourself blush. Pietro may come across as confident but inside he was shaking with nerves. Was he really doing this? What if you said no? You shrugged before pulling out a sharpie from your bag, you wrote down your number on his arm. He cocked his head puzzled.

“I changed it last year after Bucky wouldn’t stop blowing it up with apology texts,” you said simply wrongly presuming Pietro knew what had gone down. Before Pietro could respond you ran off to join the rest of your squad and headed for the changing room. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as your laughter rang in his ears whilst you walked off the pitch.

“Pietro! What’s good? How’d your game go tonight?” Sam asked. He sounded buzzed and Pietro could hear the faint sounds of a party in the background. Excellent he thought to himself. Sam was buzzed enough to have loose lips but not drunk enough to be of no use and if he was lucky Sam might not even remember half the conversation.

Pietro got back to his apartment, he had zero clues about what had gone on with you and Bucky. It was obvious due to your remark about him blowing up your phone with apology texts that he’d done something. He weighed up his options. Wanda or Sam? Wanda was his twin, and he knew deep down if he pulled the twin card she would tell him, but then if nothing came of this, he would be opening a can of worms with his sister over nothing.

Then there was Sam, he was still pretty close with Bucky and liked to chat a lot. But ultimately, he was like a brother to Pietro, and he trusted Sam to keep his mouth shut. Taking a deep breath and raking his hand through his Silver-blonde hair he picked up his phone and dialled Sam.

“So Sam you’ll never guess who I ran into cheering on the side-lines of the game!?” Pietro tried to sound breezy and cool like it was no big deal, despite the fact he was about to ask his friends ex out on a date.

“ I ran into Y/N. You know Bucky’s girl?” Pietro carried on forcing his voice to sound light. Sam choked on his drink down the other end of the line.

“I wouldn’t let her hear you call her that. That boy broke her damn heart, the fool” Sam said, there was an edge to his voice that Pietro almost missed.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Pietro asked genuinely curious.

“Well remember that little party your sister threw that last week of summer whilst you were away at football camp with some of your new teammates?” Sam asked. He didn’t wait for Pietro to respond before he continued.

“Well, Jane brought her friend Nat along” Sam continued. Pietro took a sharp intake of breath. No, Bucky wouldn’t have been stupid enough to kiss her at a party with your mutual friends, would he?

“Well turns out that Clint guy Bucky talked about wasn’t her boyfriend he was just a really good friend. But by the time we found that out Jane realised both Bucky and this Nat chick hadn’t been seen for at least a good 15, 20 minutes. So, she went to go find Nat. Only to walk in on them fucking. Oh yeah, it was on your bed bro”, Sam finished his story like it was no big deal. Other than the telling disdain in his voice.

Pietro stood stunned. No wonder you had winced at the use of your old nickname. Pietro’s heart broke for you at that moment. He vowed at that moment that no matter what happened between you both, he would do everything in his power to ensure you never had to feel heartbreak like that again.

Pietro will never forget that first date with you. He had come up with some lame excuse of showing you the best-hidden beauty spots of the campus. Not that there were any, he just wanted an excuse to spend some time with you. He wore jeans and a jumper with his beat-up converse.

All though it didn’t look like he had put much effort into his outfit he had spent a good hour agonising over it. In the end, he settled for a faded blue jumper hoping it would make his eyes and hair pop. He met you by the school library and the sun was shining, it was still a chilly November mid-morning.

You had turned up with your hair tied up in a messy bun a few stray pieces framing your cheeks, you had opted for a sweater dress. He remembered because it was loose and comfy but sinched inwards in all the right places. It was a silvery colour almost the same shade his hair was. Pietro swore you took his breath away.

Winter Break 2011

“And that right there is where the fraternity pledges had to stand and sing, I’m a little teapot every time someone put 10$ in the bucket. I didn’t truly understand the strange British Nursery Song or whatever it was, but I did like watching the pledges get embarrassed every time they had to sing when the cute cheerleaders walked past. So, I put 40 Bucks in the bucket when I knew the 3rd Years would be heading to practise” Pietro said pointing to the school statue.

You had nearly fallen over laughing at his story. Pietro noticed how you scrunched your nose up when you laughed. Like a rabbit. No like a Bunny. When Pietro walked you back to your dorm, he wasn’t sure if he was going to kiss you, but when you let him hold your hand, he decided at that moment he would regret it more if he didn’t take the plunge.

The moment he knew he was yours and you were his was at a party, he’d taken you on lots of hot chocolate dates, he knew you didn’t like coffee because it tasted bitter to you and that coca was nice, but you preferred the sweet comfort of a creamy hot chocolate.

It was at a party being held by the Ice Hockey team to celebrate their latest string of wins. You didn’t come to parties often preferring the comfort of a book and a cosy night in, but you always tried to attend parties after the football matches. You walked in wearing a red top and black skinny jeans.

The top wasn’t super low cut, but it hinted at your cleavage, you’d left your hair down for a change in loose curls. You’d recently gotten your hair dyed a deep chocolate brown and it brought out your eyes. Pietro nearly lost his damn mind when his Ice-blue eyes met your chocolate brown eyes after he’d drank all of you in. He excused himself from the conversation he was having with Scott Summers and co making his way over to you.

“Bunny, you look good enough to eat,” Pietro said dipping his head down to meet your lips, your lips were always so warm and welcoming a stark comparison to his cool lips.

“Bunny?” You replied scrunching your nose up. This was the first time Pietro had called you a pet name, you felt your heart somersault.

Pietro was messaging his sister on the drive home. He could tell you had something on your mind, but he knew better than to push you.

“So,” you began.

“What’s up Bunny?” Pietro asked snapping his eyes up from his phone.

“Well, I just thought now might be a good time to talk, we’re clearly going to run into a lot of our old friends, and there’s no way Wanda won’t know something is going on here, and I, I saw your lock screen,” you said. Well yeah Pietro thought, was he meant to be keeping you guys a secret? He didn’t want to, and he had just assumed you were a couple. You did couple type things, watching movies together curled up, holding hands when you guys were out together.

“So you were wondering what we are?” Pietro’s couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice. God, you were adorable. He watched your demeanour change and felt a pang of guilt, the determination in your eyes as you tried to not show that you felt embarrassed.

“Hey Bunny, look at me” Pietro grabbed your hand, wanting you to know how much he truly meant the next few words.

“We are a couple. I’m sorry you felt the need to ask, but I adore you, so we are a thing,” he said stroking circles on the back of your hand. You smiled and nodded to yourself. Pietro held on to your hand stroking circles the rest of the traffic. He couldn’t wait to tell Wanda she was wrong about him never getting serious with anyone.

“Hey Wanda, have you got a second?” Pietro and Wanda were heading out to meet up with you and the rest of the old school gang who had made it home for the Winter Break in the local coffee shop.

“Sure brother, what’s up?” she asked shrugging on her red jacket and lacing up her boots.

“So, you know that girl I told you I was seeing?” Pietro asked, you two hadn’t said if you were going to tell people or just let them figure it out, but he at least wanted to give his twin a heads up. Wanda straightened her brown hair falling behind her ears. She impatiently cocked an eyebrow waiting for her twin to continue. They were going to be late at this rate.

“Well, you know her. In Fact, you’re good friends” Pietro continued sucking in his breath.

“If you mean to tell me you’re dating Y/N, I already know brother”, Pietro froze. “I’m happy for you, but if you break her heart like that James did, I will not hesitate to kill you and hide the body” she continued.

“How did you know?” Pietro couldn’t help but ask, you guys hadn’t been a secret, but you hadn’t exactly announced it to the world either.

“I’m good at reading people Pietro” Wanda shrugged before heading out the door.

“You sly dog,” Sam said chuckling. Just then Peter turned up. Sam’s comment hadn’t escaped you, so you simply shot Pietro a quizzical look, one of your eyebrows arched. Pietro gently shook his head. He’d tell you about the phone call later.

It was great hanging out with the old gang, shame about Carol, and Jane being unable to make it back. Bucky was dating that Natasha chick and hadn’t come home from the holidays. Evidently, this wasn’t a surprise to Sam or Wanda. Pietro however was a bit taken back. That was until he heard how his sister had almost killed Bucky when she had run into him last summer. Carol had had to restrain her. Pietro couldn’t lie he was kind of bummed to miss it.

Pietro and Wanda didn’t celebrate Christmas, but they did celebrate being around people they loved and as the four of you sat around waiting for Peter Parker to make an appearance, he couldn’t help but feel his heart swell. You hadn’t even reacted to the mentions of Bucky. The way your brown eyes lit up when you teased Sam about his poor season or crinkled your nose when Wanda complimented your new hair, made Pietro come completely undone. Not being able to restrain himself anymore he leant in and kissed you, a slow soft kiss. The taste of your gingerbread cookie and peppermint hot chocolate lingering on your lips. When Pietro pulled away, he shot Sam a wink, and you promptly turned crimson. Sam just sat there gawking. Pietro watched as Sam tried to piece together his hazy memory from that phone call.

2012

Pietro absolutely adored the photo you had gotten him for Christmas, displaying it on his bedside table proudly. He had brought you a stuffed bunny for Christmas, cheesy but it made you beam at him.

“A Bunny for my Bunny” Pietro said shooting you his signature grin. Your heart constricted; it was an adorable soft fluffy powder blue bunny.

After winter break things got crazy busy. The year also seemed to rush by, between keeping on top, your rehearsals for the play. Pietro’s football practises, football matches, nationals for your cheerleading competition. It felt like you had barely any time to breathe. Pietro always looked forward to football games, not because he loved playing which he did, no it was because when you were cheering your face lit up, you always had his number painted on your cheek. Your brown hair always pulled up in a high ponytail, accentuating your big beautiful brown eyes that always looked for Pietro’s ice-blue eyes on the field. Mostly he loved the looks of jealousy he would get from the other team when players would be checking you out. Pietro would always come over for a kiss for good luck when he wasn’t on the field. You always giggled about how Mr cool; the confident cocky big-time football player was such a dork around you. Pietro was fast, sometimes your eyes couldn’t quite make out his movements, all you would see was a flash of his silver-blonde hair that peeked out under his helmet. You had started calling him Quicksilver, originally as a joke but it had stuck.

“So, move in with me for the summer,” he had said, his heart pounding in his chest. It wasn’t a big deal really but the thought of waking up to you every day for the summer made him practically giddy. Pietro continued to stroke circles on your bare legs. He was watching Grease, but he wasn’t absorbing what was being said.

Pietro loved every single second he got to spend with you, but mostly he loved the summer. College football season had finished, school was winding down and it meant he got to sit in those quiet moments with you. Pietro had no plans to go home for the Summer.

Pietro adored you more than he was willing to admit, hell he loved you which is why he was always never going to push you for anything more than you were comfortable with. He was content just kissing you, steamy make-out sessions. He just liked being close to you breathing in your scent, in the winter you always smelt like Vanilla and crushed Rose Petals. In the summer you changed your body spray, and he hadn’t quite been able to pinpoint the smell, but you smelt like Peaches, sunscreen, and sunshine. Okay, maybe not sunshine but he felt the warmth of your presence every time you were together. Pietro knew you were stressing about summer accommodation so he couldn’t help but offer up his place.

“Okay, I’ll move in for the summer,” you said. You picked up the remote and pressed pause on the DVD Pietro had been so focused on trying to play it cool he hadn’t even heard you the first time you spoke. When you started undressing, Pietro didn’t know where to look. Sure, you’d spent nights together, but Pietro always left you to get changed in his room whilst he went to brush his teeth. His eyes couldn’t help but wander over your body as you walked into your bedroom. Pietro inwardly groaned and felt himself harden. Trying to take his mind off what he had just witnessed he pulled out his phone. That’s when you appeared in the door frame, wearing nothing but his football jersey, when it lifted to show the skin of your bare stomach Pietro nearly lost his damn mind.

“Well, are you coming or not handsome?” Pietro grinned throwing his phone on the sofa and closing the gap between you in seconds, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. Pietro was certain that if he didn’t get his way with you right that second, he would combust.

Winter Break 2012

“You love her, don’t you?” Wanda asked Pietro. You were finishing up tech rehearsals, so Wanda and Pietro were enjoying some sibling bonding by cooking Paprikash. Wanda’s eyes narrowed at Pietro who was avoiding eye contact with his sister. He could feel his sisters warm blue eyes boring into him. Eventually, Pietro stopped washing up and turned to face his sister. Wiping his hands on a tea towel he finally lifted his eyes to meet Wanda’s.

“Yes, of course, I do but that’s not a secret, so what are you actually asking Wanda?” Pietro raked a hand through his silver-blonde hair.

“It's obvious you two love each other Pietro, dearly. But you’re in love with her, you would hang the stars for that girl, and when are you going to admit it? You visibly had a thing for her back in high school and you have healed the damage done by James Barnes. So why don’t you let your guard down and tell her how you truly feel?” Wanda asked. Pietro stood there dumbfounded. Had it genuinely been that obvious to people he had liked you back in high school when you were Bucky’s girl? As if reading Pietro’s mind Wanda answered his question.

“You may have fooled everyone else Pietro, but not me” Wanda returned to her cooking and that was the last of the conversation.

“Are you sure your mum doesn’t mind me staying with you guys for winter break?” you asked twiddling your hair nervously. Pietro chuckled lifting your small suitcase into his car.

“Come on then quicksilver, let’s get going before the traffic builds up,” you said shooting him a grin your worries disappearing.

“Yes Bunny, she wouldn’t hear of you staying here alone. Besides, Wanda would rip my arms off if I even thought about coming home without you” he said pressing a kiss to your temple. Pietro had refused to let you drive saying it was his turn as you had driven last year. You still looked unsure tugging at the selves of your red jumper dress as you walked round to the front of his car. Your brown hair fell in loose waves, still slightly damp from your last-minute shower.

Pietro sensed something else was bothering you but didn’t push it. Instead, he hopped up on the bonnet of his car and pulled you between his legs. Pressing his forehead to yours, he uttered a silent promise that his mum would love you and that that the rest of the old gang would be happy for you both like they had all sworn they were. You looked up at him through your big doe eyes and pecked a gentle kiss on his nose.

“So, who did you say was coming tonight again?” you asked. You were standing in Wanda’s room whilst you both got ready for the small hang out Pietro and Wanda were hosting. Pietro had gone out to pick up Sam and Peter Parker and this girl he was bringing, Gwen. Pietro of course had been right about his mum loving you, you’d spent the last four days feeling welcome, included and at home. Wanda and Pietro’s mum had enveloped you into a big hug the moment she met you.

“Sam, Jane, Peter and his girlfriend Gwen. Carol’s coming, I think she said she was bringing her girlfriend. Now put this on” Wanda said handing you a low cut, slim-fitting black sweater dress. You rolled your eyes at Wanda; you were quite happy wearing one of Pietro’s oversized sweaters and your jeans, but you knew better than to argue with her. Just then you heard the door shut.

“It will be great to have so many of the old group back together,” Sam said shrugging off his jacket as he followed Pietro down to the converted basement.

“How are things between you and Y/N?” Sam asked.

“Sam, they’re pretty amazing,” Pietro said, a slight blush forming in his cheeks.

“Okay, that’s good to hear. Did you know Bucky’s in town for the holidays? I text him saying he should come along tonight; I hope that’s okay?” Sam asked. Pietro shrugged, he hadn’t spoken to Bucky since Bucky’s graduation and even then, that had been by phone. It wasn’t that Pietro actively avoided speaking with Bucky, it’s just that Pietro didn’t have anything to say to Bucky.

The pair of you had spoken in great detail about everything that went down between Bucky and yourself last year after winter break, and Pietro could see you still carried the scars from what he had done to when he cheated on yourself. Just then Wanda and you made your way downstairs into the basement. Pietro felt himself harden when he got a good look at what you were wearing. It was going to be a long night whilst Pietro thought the urge to take you upstairs and fuck you senseless. As if reading her brothers thoughts Wanda smirked to herself, a job well done, maybe now her brother would grow some balls and finally tell you exactly how he felt.

“Bunny, you look. Just wow” Pietro said. Sam rolled his eyes, you giggled before walking over to give Pietro a gentle kiss on the lips. You wrapped your arms around him hugging him close before you felt his hardened member. You cocked an eyebrow at him, but Pietro shook his head brushing your hair behind your ears before giving you another gentle kiss.

After about two hours, everyone had relaxed, caught up and were just chilling. Sam hadn’t heard from Bucky, so Pietro hadn’t thought anything more about it, no sense bringing it up to you if he didn’t show.

Sam had also gotten up nudging Pietro, swearing he would beat him next time. Pietro chuckled, that’s when Sam nudged him.

“You sly bastard Parker” Sam practically shouted. The three of them were playing Mario Kart whilst Taylor Swift played in the background, all though he’d never admit to anyone, including no, especially you. Taylor Swift had grown on him over the past year. Mostly because he loved the way you lit up when you sang along to her in the car.

Pietro was so engrossed in his game with the boys he barely registered you getting up off the sofa next to him. Whilst Sam had been busy yelling at Peter for using Banana peels, Pietro had overtaken Sam in the race. Once the game finished Pietro noticed you weren’t next to him. Feeling empty without you snuggled next to him he got up and stretched. He figured you were probably talking to the girls or something.

“Uh, Pietro, you might want to go save your girl from an awkward encounter with her ex” Sam looked pained. He was realising the error of his ways by inviting Bucky along. Pietro just shot him a puzzled look before following Sam’s line of sight. Pietro sucked a breath in.

“Sam, I swear to god if she ends up in tears tonight because of you, I will not hesitate to punch you in the face,” Pietro said before walking off to the fridge where you and Bucky stood.

“Yeah, schools fine thanks Bucky,” you said politely. Pietro’s heart was beating loudly in his chest, he had no concerns about how secure your relationship was, he just wanted to save you from any unnecessary heartbreak when it came to James “Bucky” Barnes.

December 2012 – August 2014

“Hey Bunny,” he said kissing the corner of your head before wrapping his arms around you.

“Hey Buck, long time no see!” Pietro said. Bucky stood frozen for a few seconds processing what he had just witnessed.

“Hey, Pietro Yeah. It's been a hot minute, so you two are a couple? You guys look cute congrats. Oh man, wow is that Peter over there? I barely recognise him I’m going to go say hey. Catch you guys later!” Bucky said practically running over to Peter. You turned around and kissed Pietro.

“Come on Quicksilver, let’s see if I can beat you at Mario Kart,” you said pulling him over to the sofa. Pietro instantly felt himself relax, glad to see that you hadn’t been impacted by Bucky’s sudden appearance. He grinned at you as he let you drag him behind you,

“What?” you said chuckling at his goofy grin.

“I’m just so fucking in love with you Y/N,” he said. Your heart skipped a few beats. Sure, you had both said I love you, but the way Pietro’s ice-blue eye’s shone at you, the way he had phrased it as being in love with you, made your heart squeeze, butterflies erupt in your stomach and all those other cliché metaphors.

“Pietro, I am going to rock you fucking world tonight, because I feel the exact same way”, you whispered in his ear. Pietro’s eyes bulged out of his head. He lent down and gave you a hungry kiss, sending electricity coursing through your body. When you finally broke free from the kiss Pietro, caught sight of Bucky glowering in the corner of the room ignoring whatever it was Peter was wittering on about.

Winter break came and went. Your second year at Uni whizzed past. Pietro even joined you and your family for your annual summer vacation in Miami, your grandparents were getting on a bit, so you decided to skip the summer production of Hairspray. Pietro joined you for two summers of family vacations in Miami. Your Grandma took a liking to him.

“Pietro, so good to see you again,” she said hugging him. “If I was 55 years younger”, she said shooting Pietro a wink. Pietro chuckled and stuck his tongue out at you.

“See I told you that she loved me the most out of all of you,” he said. You rolled your eyes. Pietro was right your grandma did have a soft spot for him. Who could blame her? Pietro was a true gentleman and his muscles stretched out any shirt he wore. His floppy silver-blonde hair and his goody grin. You were truly a lucky girl. He was going to break your grandma’s heart as much as yours when you two ended things this summer.

Saying goodbye to you was going to be one of the hardest things he ever had to do. The pair of you had spent the last week of summer in Florida with Wanda and her boyfriend James also known as Vision. Tomorrow you would both be getting on separate planes and going your separate ways. You were dancing around in the sea not a care in the world.

Pietro loved the way you were in the summer, the stresses of school melted away. You burned easily so your skin always had a very faint sun-kissed glow to it, but the way you were with your family. That was when you truly glowed. The way you blushed when your parents would talk about how proud they were of you. You were an only child, so your cousins were the closest thing to siblings you had.

And boy did your two male cousins pick on you. Teasing you about being smart, your relationship with Pietro. The way you would roll your eyes at them. Pietro’s heart squeezed with adoration when he watched you huddled in the kitchen with your grandma. Oblivious to the fact he was watching your brow would furrow in concentration as your grandma bossed you about in the kitchen whilst the pair of you cooked up some delicious treats.

“You know brother if you asked her to do long distance and wait for you, she would”, Wanda said sitting down next to Pietro. Wanda’s red hair almost looked like fire in the setting sun. Pietro sighed and shook his head.

“I know, but it’s not right or fair on her. She has plans of her own and we will be busy setting up your fashion label in NYC” he said, raking a hand through his hair.

“Besides, She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers. She deserves to enjoy her last year, her heart is in Michigan, where her mum and dad are.” Pietro sighed. Just then you came bounding over. Your black bikini just about covering all it needed too. You plopped down on the blanket beside Pietro, your brown hair trying to escape its messy bun. You rested your head in Pietro’s lap. You giggled as he gently bopped your nose. Swallowing down the ache in your chest.

The pair of you stood wrapped in each other’s embrace at the airport, the rest of the world shut out. Pietro breathing in your familiar scent one last time. He didn’t need to hear you to know you were crying. It was taking everything in him not to cry too.

“Be good Bunny, don’t cause too much mischief with Loki and stay in touch. I love you my little Bunny” he said wiping the tears from your eyes. You couldn’t say anything, so you just held him tight and cried. When you finally broke the embrace and Pietro boarded. He wiped away the few tears that had escaped his eyes.

#pietro maximoff #pietro x reader #pietro x you #pietro fluff #bucky x natasha #wanda x vision #msmarvelwrites2k #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #avengers au

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delaber · 3 years

Text

Just Friends (Part 3)

Story Summary: After moving to America for a 3-month long internship, you meet two interesting characters on a boring night out.

Word Count: 2.2K

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, minor drug use, smut, slight dom!Rafa, swearing, and loads of British references (sorry not sorry lol).

Chapter Note: let me know what you think

Tag List: lonelydance mysearchforgratification

Other Parts: See Masterlist

FIVE WEEKS LATER

With the amount of work you had had in the lab in December, five weeks passed by easily, and before you could truly process what had become of time, you had spent your first Christmas ever away from England.

Still, even though five weeks had passed by, you caught yourself thinking about this guy, this Rafa, annoyingly often.

You couldn't believe that you had fallen for (what you assumed were) his regular normie cad tricks: He had talked you up, walked you home, made you feel special, and then he hadn't given you any sign of life since then - and now the complete lack of contact was driving you insane! You knew that he was only interested in the shag, and so were you to be honest, but it still annoyed you immensely that the mere thought of him roughing you up had taken over most of your thoughts.

As if Rafa was a professional womaniser, it had only taken him a couple of hours and an obnoxious fuck boy-attitude to etch himself into your brain. And five weeks later, he was still on your mind?! What was going on with you? If you'd only invited him inside to boff back then, he probably wouldn't even have been the least bit interesting here five weeks later.

Thus, irritated with yourself and your flair for the dramatic, you often cursed yourself for having left him on the pavement that night back in November. On the night in question, however, the need to stand up to his spoiled attitude had been stronger than the urge to let him win and shag him senseless - and as a result, you often found yourself fantasising about him when you lay in bed at night. So in a way, he had won anyway.

And you hated it. You hated that he had somehow gotten to you. The way he had acted around you had made you aware that this boy was an avid smooth talker who was probably used to get whatever and whomever he wanted by any means necessary.

And you were having none of it. Forgetting about him was definitely for the best. You needed someone to knock the naughty thoughts of him out of your mind. By any means necessary.

You had never really cared much for New Years Eve, but this year, you found yourself in the right spirit for the first time ever. You had changed into the most form-fitting, festive dress you owned in the hopes of meeting a cute guy with whom you could spend the night. A guy who could knock the last thoughts of Rafa out of your head.

In the mood for an eventful evening, you had showed up for Miranda's all-girls pre-party right on time, tagging your roommate Samantha along with you. The first part of the evening passed by quickly; you had loads of champagne and ate a fancy dinner at Miranda's place surrounded by all of her best friends and some of your colleagues from the Hospital. You had all clinked to the new year as the date shifted to January 1st and you soon found yourself in a taxi on the way to an exclusive party downtown that Miranda's friend had secured you all tickets for. Big, fancy parties like this wasn't normally your scene, but you could make an exception for tonight. It was New Years, after all.

You had arrived at the club, had had a few drinks at your private table, and had even talked to some pretty cute guys, but for some reason they all bored you. At one point you found yourself cornered by a handsome - but particularly boring - gentleman when Samatha finally saved you.

"I just flirted my way to a bottle of champagne!" she squealed as she came running towards you with a magnum flask in hand.

"You did what?" you laughed at your bubbly roomie, the bore of a man by your side already forgotten.

"I just asked a random guy at the bar if he wanted to buy a table of pretty girls a drink - and the patsy did," she laughed, "not in my wildest imagination had I ever expected him actually to do it," she squealed as she twisted off the cork with a loud pop.

"So you just let the poor guy pay for it and then you ran away?" you laughed at her while holding out your glass, waiting for her to fill it.

"I reckon he did it to make me go away - I think he may have found me annoying," Samantha laughed, "He told me to take the bottle back to my friends' table and clink his glass from a distance. Look, it's him over there," she raised her glass to a guy that you recognised immediately; you would've recognised those fluffy black curls anywhere.

Rafa's friend Diggs.

When he noticed you looking at him, he too raised his glass and sent you a warm smile, silently telling you that he definitely recognised you too.

"Hey; I know that guy," you said slowly, "I met him when I'd just moved here."

"You know him?" Samantha stared at you with a sly smile, "Probably why he was so eager for me to bring the champagne back to the table instead of drinking it at the bar with him. How well do you know him if you don't mind my asking?" Samantha wriggled her eyebrows.

"Not like that," you laughed, "I only talked to him for a couple of minutes."

Samantha nudged you with her elbow, "you should go thank him."

"Yeah," you hesitated, turning away from him, "I'm honestly surprised he even recognises me."

"Well, you must've made quite the impression," Samantha was still looking at him from over your shoulder, "Oh shit, he's coming over here right now," she squealed in a whisper.

"Be cool!" you laughed before turning around, suddenly face to face with Diggs.

"Happy new year," he smiled and squinted his eyes slightly, "I think we've met before."

You nodded, reciprocating his wide smile, "we have. You're Rafa's friend," the words escaped your mouth before you could stop them.

He nodded, "...and you're Rafa's girl."

You could feel your cheeks getting warm now, "I've had like an hour long conversation with him. I would hardly refer to myself as his girl," you squinted your eyes at the handsome man in front of you.

He shrugged and laughed, "you know what I mean."

You cleared your throat, "well thanks for the champagne. You really didn't have to."

"I wanted to," he smiled, "I was hoping to catch your attention."

"Why? We've exchanged about ten words..."

"Yeah, but I'm sure Rafa would love to see you again."

"He's here?" your eyes widened. The mere thought of meeting Rafa again tonight was making your heart beat faster. You reminded yourself that you needed to keep your cool. He may be handsome and charming but he was also loud and obnoxious and a sleaze.

"We have a table in the back," Diggs nodded and pointed to an area that was cordoned off with red rope, "you should come with me."

"I don't think so," you managed to say with as much clarity as you could muster. You needed someone to help you get rid of Rafa - not indulge further in him. He was dangerous.

"Aw, come on," Diggs smiled charmingly.

"What makes you think he even wants to see me?" You tried, "as I said; I've had an hour-long conversation with him over a month ago."

"Trust me," he smiled convincingly, "I know my best friend. Are you coming or what?"

You weren't exactly sure whether it was a good idea or not. You were quite sure that if Rafa was acting just half as charming as last time, you'd be throwing yourself at him at the first chance you got and you were scared that his bad boy demeanour might lead to you wanting more even though you were going home in a couple of weeks. ..But then again, you were on the prowl for someone who could knock Rafa out of your head. Maybe actually being with him would be enough to finally close that chapter.

"Oh, she's coming!" Samantha said loudly while giving your back a small shove.

"Great!" Diggs shot you a blinding smile and stretched out his hand for you to take.

"Uhm, okay..." you said, actually glad that Samantha had made a decision for you.

As Diggs pulled you towards him, you looked back at Samantha who was looking at you with huge eyes and moving her lips without any sound, "who's Rafa?" she mouthed.

"I'll tell you later, okay?" you whispered to your friend.

Samantha tilted her head and whispered back, "well, if all of his friends are just as handsome as that guy," she nodded towards Diggs, "you're coming back for me!"

You laughed at her, "of course. I'll see you later," you said before taking Diggs' hand, following him straight through the club's dance floor and towards the closed off area.

When he reached the bouncer, he pulled up his sleeve and showed him a stamp on his wrist. "She's with me," he nodded towards you and the bouncer stepped aside, letting both of you enter the scene behind the red rope.

"Is this some sort of VIP area?" you asked Diggs as you took in the room that had been closed off to the rest of the party. The tables back here looked far more fancy and were lined with much more expensive booze than what had been available where you had been sitting only moments before.

Diggs looked at you with a weird expression, "Uh yeah..."

"It looks very expensive."

"Yeah, well..." he looked a bit uncomfortable, "we - uh - we have a good friend who's a bit over the top with these things, but we just roll with it."

He sounded weird. Almost as if he was lying. You quickly shrugged it off, however, telling yourself that of course he was being honest; it would've been a weird thing to lie about. "Must be a good friend for you to spend this amount of money on his comfort," you mumbled as you watched a girl open up a bottle of ridiculously expensive vodka.

"Yes, well... come on," Diggs said and urged you to follow him.

You scanned the room as you tagged along Diggs, noticing several low-key famous people that you were sure were known for something semi-popular but that you couldn't quite place your finger on. You'd never really been the type to care for fame. Still, you turned to Diggs and asked, "hold up; are you famous or something?"

Diggs sent you a shrug, "...or something," he said mysteriously and pointed to a table in the far back, "our table is over there."

Slowly, you turned your gaze away from him with a feeling that you were definitely missing out on something. You followed the direction that he was pointing in and found a table lined with people. You quickly scanned their faces, eyes landing on Rafa almost immediately.

Just as you had expected, he was laughing obnoxiously loud, his Adam's apple bouncing up and down in his throat in time with his vociforous outbursts of laughter. He was wearing a dark suit and he had his blonde hair slightly slicked back, making him look particularly dark and handsome. It was pure sex.

Okay, you definitely needed to keep your cool.

He was chatting up a very attractive girl who was twirling her black hair between her fingers and smiling suggestively at him. His signature charming smile was in place as he leaned closer to her and whispered something in her ear. Whatever he was saying was definitely working as she kept touching his arm and batting her eyelashes seductively. He seemed to enjoy the attention, scooting closer and closer to the beautiful woman with each passing sentence. The sight of it made your stomach drop slightly.

You contemplated turning around and go back to Samantha before Rafa had had the chance to see you. Clearly, he was busy. You told yourself that you didn't want to be the reason why he was striking out with this girl who he was clearly trying to charm the knickers off - when in reality, you were angry with yourself; It was stupid of you to think that he actually wanted to see you when he hadn't stopped by since that night five weeks ago.

You took a step backwards to go back to Samantha but immediately felt Diggs standing behind you like a concrete wall. His palm came into contact with your back as he gave you a light shove between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the table. "Hey Rafa!" he called out, "look who I found!"

#rafael casal x reader #rafael casal #daveed diggs #blindspotting #rafael casal imagine #smut #rafael casal fanfiction #bay boys

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caravaggiosbrushes · 3 years

Note

For the fic prompts, "quick, kiss me!" or "you weren't supposed to hear that!" for fitzier? I couldn't decide which to pick so I'm leaving that up to you 💜

I chose “Quick, kiss me!” ;-) Modern AU fitzier (my jam!!)

The end of the semester party is one of the celebrations Francis never looks forward to. He loves his job and likes most of his colleagues, but he already sees them every single day of the year, is it really necessary to be together even on one of their free nights? His idea of a great night is not exactly watching Little and Jopson courting each other with increasingly colourful drinks, like two animals of the gayest species, or Harry Peglar and John Bridgens being sickeningly perfect together, and it's most definitely not being forced to stay in the same room as Fitzjames for such a long period of time without interruption.

That's the worst part of this: for some reason, at every one of these bloody parties, Fitzjames looks his best. He always looks good and he bloody knows it, and Francis knows he knows it, which makes his blood boil with envy for both him and the people who have him.

This year is no exception. Fitzjames showed up wearing a long black coat, embroidered in golden thread, its cut sharp and elegant. Francis can tell it's high fashion just from the way the fabric melts on him and highlights his strong figure at the same time, as if it was designed exclusively for his body. And his pants— don’t even get him started on the pants. He's trying not to look in that direction.

It’s going to be a long night.

What is even worse, and absolutely incomprehensible to Francis, is that, for some reason, he and Fitzjames are now in decent terms. They’re not friends, not exactly, but if their colleagues would leave them alone in a room together, they wouldn't find them yelling at each other anymore, as it was until Francis finally got into rehab.

Now, the problem would be reversed: if he would be left alone in a room with Fitzjames, they would probably end up yelling at each other again, but because Francis would do something very stupid, like kiss him, or stay out loud how much he likes talking to Fitzjames every morning when he gets to his favourite Cafè right next to campus, and he knows Fitzjames will be there too, as if waiting for him.

So being in a dimme-light room with alcohol all around and a shining Fitzjames next to him is torture, but such a sweet one, especially since Fitzjames apparently decides he’s going to spend his entire night right here, talking to Francis and sipping his sugar free Coke, because “you don’t drink, I don’t drink. Don't worry Francis.”

Francis is trying to maintain his train of thoughts away from how beautiful Fitzjames looks with his hair tied up in a artfully messy bun, two locks of it cascading at the sides of his face, by teasing him about his outfit (“You look straight out one of those high fashion weird-looking runaways, where models have 3D copies of their heads as an accessory”, “Did you just say I could be a high fashion model? Oh my, I wonder what else you’ll say by the end of the night”) when suddenly, Fitzjames stops talking mid-sentence to stare in horror at something behind Francis.

“Fuck.” He says, with emphasis, “No, don't turn around!”

“What is it?” Francis asks, worried about the sudden change of mood. Fitzjames' brows are pinched, his mouth tight in a disappointed line with its corners turned downwards.

“Just keep talking to me," he says, urgently, still looking behind Francis, "say something funny."

“I can’t do it on command, I'm not a dog.”

Fitzjames snorts a laugh, "Dogs tell jokes on command?" Then he quickly shifts to the right, actually trying to hide behind Francis.

Him. One meter and God only knows how many centimeters of a man, with heeled boots and everything. Behind Francis.

"This is not working," Francis says, "What's going on? Are you losing another bet?"

(Fitzjames and Le Vesconte from the Media and Cinema department are always betting on this or that. Always.)

“Not a bet,” Fitzjames says, then smiles so tensely it's painful to watch. “It’s Graham.”

Oh, Graham. Right. The handsome, cool looking, professional baseball player, Graham Gore: Fitzjames’ most recent ex.

Francis hates being in the middle -quite literally as it is right now,- of other people’s business and he would normally run away from a situation like this, but Fitzjames looks deeply uncomfortable, all his usual nonchalance gone, so he can’t just leave him to himself like this.

“What can I do?” Francis asks.

“Keep talking with me, don’t turn around. If he sees me with someone else he won’t come here,” he doesn't sound so sure, “hopefully .”

“Things ended up badly between the two of you?”

“It wasn’t nice,” Fitzjames says, lowering his gaze, clearly embarrassed, “He cheated.”

“What?” How can someone in their right mind cheat on James Fitzjames? “That sucks. I’m sorry, James.”

“Yeah.” He weakly agrees, “whatever. I don’t want him to see me and think I’m still thinking about him. Because I’m not.”

“Right.” It feels a bit weird to be here talking about Fitzjames' ex boyfriend who cheated on him, with the man himself, but he's not going to abandon him if he needs help. “Talk to me and keep smiling like you always do, you know how to do that well.”

James gives him a somewhat hurted glance, “Right, you think I can do that exclusively.”

Oh no, not back at their usual bickering, please, not when Francis was actually trying to pay him a compliment.

“I meant that you're always nice and smile to everyone," he forces his voice to remain steady, "even to people who are not very nice to you."

Fitzjames actually stops obsessing over what's happening behind Francis and brings his attention back on him. They both know what Francis is referring to.

He shrugs easily, "It's not like I'm always right, either. Plus, smiling helps easing the tension for me as well."

He opens his mouth to offer a comment to that, like a normal person who knows how to interact with his hopeless crush would do, but his mind goes on its own.

"You look good when you smile.”

James fixes his eyes on him, looking equally shocked and delighted. His cheeks may actually have turned a bit red, but perhaps it's just the semi darkness of the bar.

“Thank you, Francis.”

“You know that, it's not like—”

“Oh fuck, he’s coming this way,” James interrupts him, eyes back over Francis' right shoulder, “Fuck, fuck, I don't want to see him, I'm not prepared.”

“Calm down, we can—”

“Oh shit,” Fitzjames hisses, and with one last, desperate glance behind Francis he whispers, “Quick, kiss me.”

“Wh—”

Something absolutely out of this world happens: Fitzjames’ mouth is on Francis’.

It feels like it goes on for an hour, Francis feels everything: Fitzjames’ perfume, James’ lips -soft, made to be kissed,- Fitzjames’ big hands gently framing his face, not forcing him into the kiss, just caressing him; he can feel Fitzjames’ breathing against his upper lip and nose, the way his lips part slowly and how he waits for Francis to make the next move, leaving him a choice, which is to gently push his tongue on Fitzjames’ lips and feel him take a heavy breath in return. Fuck, he tastes so sweet, like Coke and himself, it's like drinking his scent.

Francis didn’t even notice he put both hands on Fitzjames’ hips, bringing him closer.

“Sorry.” Fitzjames whispers on his lips, once they part (barely). "I panicked."

“Would you like to panic some more?” Francis says, brushing his lips against his with every word, “At my place?”

Fitzjames does a little high pitched laugh, pure adrenaline and charm, and whispers, “Please.”

-james’ outfit

( send me a prompt and I’ll write you a short fic! )

#my writing #calibear #Gore ily and I'm sure you're a great partner!! I only needed someone for the hot ex bf role sorry :(((#fitzier #the terror #james fitzjames #francis crozier #fanfic

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slyeposting · 4 years

Text

Rating Marvel’s new New Warriors

(long post)

After seeing the character designs for Marvel’s new series of New Warriors comics as well as watching multiple reaction videos and reading other people’s reviews, I thought I would summarize some basic points and add my ratings/review. Please prepare yourselves for this hot garbage.

Screentime: 3/10

wow starting off strong

looks like Ben 10

basically if Alexa was your obnoxious Fortnite-obsessed younger brother

writers will probably make him say “Ok bOomEr” and unironically floss

got his powers from internet gas????? whatever the fuck that means??????

Superhero name makes him sound like he’s six and his parents are trying to stop him from watching Ninja for 12 hours a day

useless in combat bc other than him having a smartphone for a brain he’s a regular kid (aka: will die in one hit from a villain with actual powers)

only redeeming quality is his visor reminds me of Geordi La Forge

Trailblazer: 3/10

Dora the Exploer if she got really into bad 90s fashion

Backpack looks like Sleeper from the Venom comics

her description says she “she doesn't think of herself as a Super Hero,” which is good because she isn’t one

slightly more useful in combat than Screentime because she could potentially pull an RPG out of her pocket dimension backpack or something

oh wait she can’t even control what comes out of it!!! nevermind!!!!

fucking Percy Jackson did this with Leo and even then he had his own powers as well as this

there were so many fat jokes/fatphobia in all the reviews i saw on youtube and it made me want to smash my head into a wall (not related to the review but I thought it was worth mentioning if anyone wants to look up any reviews after this)

I keep coming back to the color scheme and it’s just. so bad. Neon sucks especially when it is clashing with other neon

apparently she got the backpack from God, but “not the god you’re thinking of...” very cool writers. Real quirky of you. Can you be any more annoying.

fingerless gloves

Snowflake and Safespace: 1/10

oh god

oh sweet jesus

I don’t even know where to begin with these. the names? The costumes? The color scheme? Safespace’s fucking sideburns? help

ok let’s start with the names

it does not matter who you are on the political scale, where you are on the gender spectrum, or how okay you are with “”edgy/dark humor””- nobody who has even the slightest knowledge of 2017-era Twitter language will look at two superheroes named Snowflake and Safespace and think “these characters are reclaiming these otherwise insulting terms and using them as their own.” They will think the characters are a joke. It shows how utterly out of touch the writer is with modern day culture, which is not a good sign considering he’s writing modern-era comic with all teenage characters. Snowflake is an insult. It just is. The idea of a “safespace” has been demolished because of the way it has been used by trolls online. No amount of woke points and “flipping the script” is going to change that. It’s a sad attempt to pander to a very specific audience, and the writers still manage to make it feel like a slap in the face. This is one of the poorest attempts to make a new-age, hyper aware characterization that I have seen in a long time. It fucking sucks.

Also Marvel makes their first nonbinary character and they name them fucking Snowflake? Are you kidding me Marvel? I’m going to scream

Moving on to the costumes, they’re actually shit. It’s like if the Wonder Twins became semi-professional roller skaters who watched Tron once while tripping on LSD. Why do they have vests.

Why is everything Neon??!?!! Does the designer not know how value and complimentary colors work?! Can the saturation not be constantly at 100 please my eyes are suffering

Apparently their characters are just as obnoxious as their hair

“they see their Super Heroics as “a post-ironic meditation on using violence to combat bullying.” They're probably streaming this.” WRITERS HAVE YOU EVER INTERACTED WITH A TEENAGER. THIS READS LIKE A REDDIT POST DO YOU THINK WE TALK LIKE THIS

the best components out of these characters are the powers, and even then the powers aren’t extraordinary. Ice shurikens and force fields? Fine. A little standard, but fine. I just wish their powers weren’t so connotative with their names. I can’t fathom that someone actually approved these characters. This is exhausting.

B-Negative : 6/10

probably the best one out of them all

what every emo kid wanted to look like in 8th grade

a cohesive color scheme that isn’t trying to attack me through the screen

actually has super powers that aren’t googling things or pulling things out of a magical Jansport that not-God found at Target for $30

apparently this is where the creativity ends though because in the end he is literally just a vampire minus the immortality (why, you ask? I don’t fucking know. It’s like the internet gas everything is a shitshow)

“B-Negative ages like a regular person (or does he?) and he definitely drinks blood (or does he?)” I don’t care. (or does he? Jk I don’t fucking care. Stop trying to be quirky, writers. It’s not cute.)

“The world is a vampire…and so am I.” Hi what the FUCK does this mean

fingerless gloves

Final Thoughts

I am very tired

Marvel doesn’t know their audience at all

The creators of these characters tried to make modern characters despite being extremely out of touch, making the concepts already seem dated and unappealing

I’m honestly suprised they didn’t have a Hijabi character for those sweet sweet woke points ™

please for the love of god can I get some neutral colors once in a while. I can’t take this much longer

fingerless gloves

#WOW this was way longer than I planned #thank you to anyone who read the whole thing!#rant #marvel #marvel new warriors #new warriors #trailblazer #marvel trailblazer #screentime #marvel screentime #snowflake and safespace #god i hate that I had to tag that #b-negative #marvel b negative

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aclosetfan · 3 years

Note

15 and No Problem, again,🙃

(ask game)

15 is eloquently titled "Pimped" (which is funny, so hold on). it's a semi-fake dating au b/c Buttercup and Bubbles aren't privy to the fake they are fake dating people (or even dating at all).

I've got a whole four sentences for the outline, but they aren't funny or descriptive, so I won't paste them in. It's not well thought out and needs a LOT of work. It's just one of those stories that live in my head.

oof this is again a no power au. I swear I have power-focused au's they just haven't been picked!!! If I wrote this out, I don't think it would be longer than five chapters.

Background:

The girls are in college. Blossom's going for some complicated science degree I haven't worked out yet. Bubbles is going for a bio degree with plans to go to vet school (with an art minor). Buttercup is Undecided atm b/c I have zero ideas what she'd go to school for outside of "wouldn't it be funny if Buttercup were a nurse?" (I usually see her in healthcare/emergency services/sports)

Plot:

Blossom's STRESSED. She's got three papers, one group project, two presentations, and a research assignment due by the end of the semester, and that's excluding the finals she has to study for!! Sure, sure, sure, she's got plenty of time, but that doesn't make her any less stressed. It certainly doesn't help that her sisters keep bugging her without an end! She wants one moment of peace so she can crank out her work, but they won't leave her alone!! At her wit's end, she is forced to resort to more...drastic measures to get her sisters to lay off.

There's a rumor--a really horrible one--that a guy on campus has the means to offer her sisters a "distraction." The biggest problem though is Blossom's savior is actually the bane of her existence and ex-lab partner, with who she may or may not have gotten into a physical altercation. (i.e Brick Jojo.) It takes an insane amount of money, the promise to complete two of his assignments for him, and her biochem outlines to acquire his help.

His help? What did Blossom pay for? lol his brothers. She pays them to "distract, date, I don't care, just keep them out of my hair!" her sisters. Usually, Brick sells his brothers off to desperate sorority girls who still need a date for their sorority Date Party or people trying to make their ex's jealous. Butch and Boomer go along with it because as a family they're poor as shit, and with Brick in school, they need all the extra cash they can get. Does the title make sense now?

Brick makes it clear that his brothers aren't for sex (but if it ends up like that, hey, not his problem). Blossom doesn't want them for that. She just needs them to distract her sisters long enough so they stop bugging her about "getting things to eat" or "getting enough sleep" or other pointless things along those lines while she's working on school stuff. When Brick's like "why don't you ask their friends??" Blossom's like, "because their friends will rat me out! And I can't have that! I need things to be discrete." Brick (a professional scam artist at this point) is like, "oof actually discretion is going to be an extra few meal swipes into the cafe." Which Blossom, who doesn't understand she's being suckered, is like "whatever it takes."

The majority of the story follows Boomer who's pissy he has to pretend to date someone AGAIN. He discovers that Bubbles is perfectly fine just having a friend around. She's a little odd, talks to the squirrel's on Brick's campus, and is way more adventurous than she looks. She can out-drink burly men at the bars, she thinks graffiti is cool and would like to give it a try with him, and is interested in learning more about drag racing. She pulls him into all sorts of odd, but very exciting happenstance, and before he knows it, he's developed a crush on the clientele! (and he's pretty sure his crush is reciprocated)

He doesn't ask Butch much about his experience, but he also doesn't see much of Butch after he starts hanging out with Bubbles because they're being paid to be discrete and need to keep the girls separated. Everything's going to plan. And no one's the wiser.

Until, ya know, we finally cut to Buttercup's pov. She knows exactly who these boys are because Blossom isn't the only one who pays attention to on-campus rumors. In fact, she's pretty sure she's even seen Butch at a few parties before grinding on half the female population. She doesn't know why this guy is hanging around her, but she's biding her time to find out.

Poor Butch has a harder time than Boomer does with Bubbles. It takes him forever to get her to even acknowledge his assistance (which is pissing off Blossom, which is, in turn, pissing off Brick). He almost has her convinced that he's not pulling her leg, but slips, after she admits she "may like him back too" and accidentally reveals the truth. Buttercup's pissed. She lays Butch out with a mean right hook and goes searching for Bubbles. When Bubbles find out, she also gives Boomer a black eye, and together the girls confront the reds (who are studying together by this point in the story). ("YOU PAID SOMEONE TO PRETEND TO LIKE US!" "Well, when you put it that way it sounds bad!")

Buttercup and Bubbles pull a hard cold shoulder on Blossom and the boys. And Blossom looks a Brick and goes, "you better fix this." Brick's like "sorry no refunds." She fucking decks him.

So, we end up with three brothers, who are all sporting an identical nasty black eye like, "maybe we should have thought this through?" Butch and Boomer go on strike--no more pimping them out (their little hearts are broken), and Brick's like "shit." He meets up with Blossom at one point, and together they try to figure out how to get into the good graces of their siblings once more. Meanwhile, Butch and Boomer hunt down BC and Bubbles to win their favor.

And because Idk how "winning their favor again" would exactly work, I'm ending this post here. The ending isn't clear yet, but I plan on making it happy :)

#funny sad #idk how to explain this but i want the vibe to be #eh writing this out now tho i can't say it's my fave #you win some you lose some #my outlines #my writing #ppg fic outlines #outline ask game #thanks for playing!

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mxndoscyarika · 3 years

Text

Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 2

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink, alcohol, loneliness

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: Merry Christmas, everyone! Here’s a little gift from me to you 😌 I hope you like it! Let me know what you think in the comments below.

8 years later

Winter in DC was too cold. It had reached that time of year when the roads turned icy at the slightest humidity in the air, and it had already snowed at least twice since December began. Thankfully, the snow didn’t stick around very long; FBI agents were on-call 24/7. A double-edged sword, really. On one hand, it meant work was a great way to avoid problems. It was easier to forget. On the other hand, well, it was work.

“Six years in this city and it’s still so fucking cold,” Erin muttered to herself, shivering as her car warmed up. She buried her face into the scarf wrapped around her neck, trying to warm up. The warmth from the heated steering wheel seeped into her fingers, soothing the ache in her joints. She was supposed to meet Sachi at the bar for drinks. It had become a regular event in her weekly life; one night a week to go out and relax.

Some would’ve said that her promotion meant she could take more time off. That she could delegate a little more and take on a lighter workload as a result. But as a supervisor for the Operational Technologies branch, she had all the more reason to work more. Well, that’s what she convinced herself, at least.

Her friend and coworker, Sachi, was already seated at a table by the time she arrived. The bar was pretty busy, busier than the week before. It made sense; the holidays were always a time for friends and family to catch up on each other’s lives.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late, a meeting went overtime and I ran into some traffic on the way here,” Erin apologized, draping her wool coat over the back of her seat and sitting down. The next article to be shed was her scarf, which she kept piled on her lap. “Were you waiting long?”

“No, no worries,” her friend answered, shrugging. “I just got this table a couple minutes ago. Happy hour seems extra popular this week. How was the meeting?”

She rolled her eyes. “The usual; operations found some bugs in the new software and had some suggestions, so half of the developers will be working on that while the rest continue building our newest tool. How did your day go?”

“It was so slow, I don’t know which politician decided to choose yesterday to fuck up, but there were files everywhere,” Sachi groaned, rubbing her forehead tiredly. Her eyes landed on the sparkling gem on Erin’s hand. “I do have a question for you, though: why do you wear that ring?”

She raised a dark brow, then followed her line of sight to her hand. “Oh, this? It’s….it’s just something to keep the men away, that’s all. You know how they are.”

A curious head tilt. “I do, but are you sure that’s what you want? You deserve to find someone who makes you happy, Rin.”

Erin gave her a tight-lipped smile, twisting the metal band around her finger. It was a recent purchase; a gift to herself. A promise. A promise to remember. Even if he wasn’t hers to remember, at the end of the day.

“Is this still about that Marcus Pike guy?” Sachi asked, her voice softening as Erin avoided looking up. She reached across the table and covered her hand with hers. The glittering band of her own wedding ring seemed to mock her. “It’s been seven years since he went missing, Rin. You searched for him yourself; he’s gone.”

The news had broken just before Erin arrived in DC. Marcus Pike had gone missing, and there seemed to be no trace of him. His last known address was empty, his file had been wiped from all government databases, even his social media accounts were nonexistent.

One of the first things she did after her promotion was asking for a search squad. His number was still in her phone, but the number was no longer receiving calls. Even his email seemed to be deactivated, but it had existed before. There should’ve been a digital trail. It didn’t matter to her that it had been months since he was last seen–he was her best friend, and she wasn’t going to give up on him that easily.

Juggling her work with the investigation took its toll on her. Sleep eluded her, so she upped her coffee intake and spent countless hours off the clock. As a result, exhaustion settled in mid-day. Her work grew sloppy, obvious problems going untended and creating delays in operations.

The head of the department shut down her search after a year. He had cited it being a “waste of resources.” Maybe it was, to them. For such a large bureau with so many applicants, there was bound to be a replacement for Agent Pike. But even so, no one could replace Marcus.

“I know,” she replied softly. “I know. I’m trying, it’s just...I’ve spent years working for the FBI, and every time I stop to check the time, it’s like months have passed. And you know how my last relationship ended.”

She had been seeing a guy working for a tech startup, and at first it was great. The late nights and morning texts had been enough. But as time went on, and she became more immersed in her work following the election, her boyfriend grew restless. He wanted his girlfriend at home with him, preparing dinner and asking him about his day at the startup. Then he started the accusations. He accused her of cheating, of rubbing her success in his face.

Everything he said was false, but she had given up on trying to convince him. So she gave him a choice. He could leave if he wanted to, and there would be no hard feelings, just incompatibility. Or, he could stay, and she’d try to make more time for him. He chose the former.

“Oh come on,” Sachi reasoned, tapping the back of her hand. “You’re beautiful, smart, can kick ass. There has to be someone who’s into that.”

“Maybe,” Erin shrugged. Once upon a time, she had hoped she would meet someone like that. And in a way, she had. But at the end of the day, she was a coward. She was a coward, and she paid the price for it.

They always said that time was money. In her case, the price she paid was high.

Sachi’s eyes lit up. “You know what? Why don’t you come to a holiday party I’m hosting? Maybe you’ll meet someone there.”

“Who’s going?”

“Some of our coworkers, some of my friends, and their friends, potentially,” she listed off, waving off her concern. “Nothing very special, in my opinion.”

A party would be nice. If not for the company, then for the food; and if not the food, then the drinks. Yes, the drinks. Drinks were good.

Erin conceded with a nervous grin. “Alright, but no meddling!”

“Yay!” she squealed. Then, her expression turned serious again. She pointed at the ring. “But whatever you do, don’t wear that.”

---

Sachi’s house looked like it was out of a movie. Tall and sparkling with lights, her home was the textbook picture of a family Christmas. There was even a wreath on the front door and a wooden sign with drawn-on snowflakes that welcomed the party guests.

The foyer was lined with emerald garlands and shimmering fairy lights, leading her further in towards the kitchen. From giant gold ornaments to wooden figurines, it seemed as if she had thought of everything.

When she reached the kitchen, there were already some guests gathered around the kitchen island. Platters of sweets and charcuterie boards were spread over the marble countertop, glistening in the soft light. The guests grazed from small plates as they greeted each other and raved about how great it was to finally catch up.

Perhaps she’d host her own holiday party someday. When she had the space, of course. The apartment that she’d chosen wasn’t the best for groups, and she wanted enough surface area for decorations. Her string of lights and small tree at home paled in comparison to the giant tree in Sachi’s living room.

The invite had specified a semi-formal dress code, so she chose a black off-the-shoulder dress that reached her knees. She paired it with some black heels and a white blazer draped over her shoulders for warmth. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

“Erin!” Sachi squealed, coming over to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re right on time. Everyone else should be arriving soon.” She shooed her away. “Go have fun! And if you need a wingwoman, I’ve got your back.”

Erin shivered as Sachi swept off her jacket, the cool air brushing against her shoulders. Nevertheless, she smiled. “Thanks.”

“Of course!” she replied. The next thing she knew, a glass of champagne was tucked into her hand. “Now go!”

What Sachi had failed to tell her, though, was that she was going to be one of the only singles in the entire house.

Wherever she turned, she found couples congregated into circles where they could discuss...whatever couples discussed. Not wanting to barge in as a third, fifth, or seventh wheel, she stuck close to the perimeter of the room.

Thankfully, she found an acquaintance from work who had also come to the party alone.

“Waiting for someone?” Ashley asked, sipping from a half-empty glass of wine. She was one of the receptionists for the technologies department. They’d spoken a couple times, but never much more than professional talk.

Erin shook her head and finished her third glass of champagne. Maybe she’d try the moscato next, just to change things up a little. The whole point of attending the party was to relax, right? So, she was trying to relax. “Just trying to loosen up. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to a party.” A soft laugh. “I can see why people like bringing a friend along. It would help a lot.”

“Why didn’t you, then?” At the lack of response, she sighed. “Is work still taking up a lot of time? You know you can take more time off.”

Yes, she knew. She’d heard it nearly a thousand times already. She knew she could take time off just like she knew she could forget about her past and move on. Part of her wanted to change, to move on as if nothing had happened. But after years of the same routine, and the same decisions coming back to bite her, it was hard to change.

“I know,” Erin replied, pressing a hand against her forehead. It was hotter than normal–did Sachi turn up the heating? She silently cursed her genetics; she’d probably have a fever later that night. “But as you know, there’s always more work to do. I signed up for this, so I need to do my job.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t rest,” she reasoned, nudging her arm. “Are you still leading the search for that guy? Marcus Pike? I remember you were pretty involved with that.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the alcohol. She gripped the glass a bit tighter. Her voice was clipped as she said, “No, I’m not. The search squad was disbanded years ago. We spent a year searching for him and there was nothing. There was nothing.” She swayed as she stood up, but quickly regained her balance. “I’m gonna….get another drink. Is there anything you want me to bring?”

“No thanks,” Ashley replied. Watching as Erin stumbled, she asked, “Are you sure you want another drink? Maybe you should take a break first.”

She waved her off. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just the shoes.”

Yeah, right.

Erin’s turn around the corner was much too sharp, and her sluggish mind barely seemed to register the fact that she collided with a broad chest. Strong arms came up around her, holding her in place so she didn’t fall over. They were warm. Before she could stop herself, she splayed her hands on their chest, brows furrowed. What did Sachi put in there?

Then, she looked up and met the person’s eyes. Dark brown ones, to be exact. With a depth and sparkle that she hadn’t seen since Austin. Softly, she said, “M-Marcus?”

The man’s lips parting in shock. As Erin’s slightly-blurred gaze drifted down to his mouth, she frowned. No, it couldn’t be her Marcus; her Marcus didn’t have facial hair, nor did he wear glasses. He was handsome, though–just as handsome. And he was strong–she felt safer in his arms than she had in years.

“H-how do you know my name?”

His voice was similar, too, though a bit raspier.

She blinked. Then, it dawned on her; it wasn’t a dream. She really was at a party, in a dress pressed up against a very good-looking man who looked vaguely like her late best friend. It felt as if she had jumped into the snow without clothes on. She blushed and flinched away from him–as if she needed to be even redder–and said, “Sorry, you just look a bit like an old friend of mine. His name was also Marcus.”

It was her, Marcus realized. He would have recognized her voice anywhere, and when she looked up at him with those dark, green-flecked eyes, his years in Texas came rushing back to him. Part of him didn’t want to believe it. What was she doing in DC? And what were the chances that they’d meet again, with his changed identity?

Even so, she was as beautiful as he remembered, her smooth black hair styled into shining waves and her full lips painted a muted pink. In their time as friends, he rarely saw Erin out of her work clothes; a side effect of working for the FBI. Seeing her in a dress, and up close, against his chest felt like a dream. A dream that had plagued his mind for nearly a decade.

At the same time, she looked different. There was an air of exhaustion that clung to her just as tightly as her authority. Her eyes didn’t have the same bright sparkle that she had on her first day. He wondered if her smile was the same, and if she still took her coffee with two sugars and a splash of cream. If she still collected houseplants as if they were pets. If she was still the Erin he remembered.

The tugging in his chest pulled him towards her, and the old whisper of Marcus Pike urged him to tell the truth. To drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. To tell her that he was sorry for leaving her, for dismissing her concerns about Lisbon. For disappearing without a trace. But Marcus Moreno, his new identity, his new life, knew it wouldn’t be fair to her.

So he introduced himself. A wave of relief washed over him as Erin giggled softly and shook his hand, telling him her name.

He’d missed her laugh, and the way the corners of her eyes crinkled just slightly when she was happy. He missed everything. He missed her.

“So,” she began, swaying a little. Her last drink was finally kicking in. Her brows furrowed in concentration. “How do you know, uh, Sachi?”

The little furrow of her brows was still adorable; he knew it only showed when she was thinking really hard. He just hoped she would remember their interaction in the morning. She rarely drank enough to get drunk, not wanting to bother with her body’s violent reaction to alcohol. Or so she told him.

“I’m a friend of her husband,” he replied, touching her arm softly as she swayed again. “Do you…do you want to sit down for a bit? We can keep talking, I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Erin hummed softly and nodded. “Yes, but don’t worry, I can handle a little fall.”

“I don’t doubt you can, Miss FBI.” Realizing his mistake, he cringed. So much for trying to have a fresh start. He guided her over to the table and pulled out a chair for her, making sure she was comfortable before sitting down in the seat next to her.

She frowned. “How do you know I work for the FBI?”

A pause. Then, he answered, “I overheard Sachi talking about you. You two seem to be pretty close.”

Drumming her fingertips on the table, she answered, “I guess so, yeah. She was one of my first friends after I moved here six years ago.” Her eyes glazed over with a tinge of sadness. “Time seems to be flying by very fast these days.”

Marcus sighed softly. “Yeah.” He offered her a smile that made her heart flutter. Or maybe that was just her stomach? “I guess it’s up to us to make the most out of it, right?”

She nodded. Propping her head up against her hand, she replied, “Definitely. So, tell me about yourself, Marcus Moreno. I think you mentioned a daughter?”

He couldn’t help but smile at the mention of Missy. If there was anything he didn’t regret in the past few years, it was meeting his late wife and raising his baby. But the story of his wife could come later; for now, he wanted to tell his best friend about his little girl.

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flowesona · 4 years

Text

The Devil - Yandere! Taehyung x reader

The Tarot Series

Warning: Explicit / Sexual content, Alcohol use, Allusions to non-con

The drowning beat of the club, the flashing colourful lights, the indecent displays. All of it was doing (Y/N)’s head in, as she counted down the minutes until her shift was over.

She wasn’t proud to be working in a strip club. But the pay was good, and she’d gotten used to seeing scantily clad people. Most of the time she kept her back turned anyway, and never had to interact with the patrons beyond serving a few drinks.

Once 3 AM struck, she was finally free to start closing the bar. Wiping down the surfaces, checking the fridge temperatures, mopping the floor.

She didn’t even notice someone standing by, watching, until she turned to leave only to bump into his chest.

“Oh! I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t see you there.” (Y/N) spluttered, her face crimson. She was used to people lingering about, but this man was another level of stunning. Glossy black hair, golden skin and decked in high end brands to complete his luxurious appearance.

“That’s fine… (Y/N).” He replied, leering at her name badge. “You’re clocking out for the night correct?”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t think that’s any of your business. If you’re looking for a stripper to fuck, they’ll be in their dressing rooms.” She said, brushing past him. He tried to follow her, only to have the staff door slammed abruptly in his face. A sickening crack resounded, his nose now dribbling crimson blood and a fire lit within.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

“(Y/N)? Can we talk?” As soon as she had hung up her coat in the staff room at the start of her shift, Jin was waiting for her, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Is something wrong?”

“No… well… come to my office, sweetheart. There’s some business we need to sort out.” He said with a grim expression. (Y/N) bit her tongue, wondering what she could possibly be in trouble for. She never took money from the register, or turned up late. What reason did Jin, a relatively pleasant person for the profession he was in, have to fire her?

That reason was sat in one of the leather chairs of the office, a bandage around his nose and dressed in a far too expensive jacket.

“(Y/N), this is Kim Taehyung. I’ve been told you slammed one of our doors in his face, and now his nose is severely injured as a result of this.” (Y/N)’s stomach dropped as she recognised him, realised just what she’d done. Rejecting a rich man then accidentally injuring him would be sure to have steep consequences.

“He wanted to talk with you about compensation.” Jin gave her a gentle push towards the other chair, giving a light pat on the shoulder at the same time before leaving the room.

“(Y/N).” Hearing that deep voice again sent a shiver down her spine, as she was forced to make eye contact with the handsome patron.

“I’m really sorry about what I did! But please, I don’t have that much money, I could probably only cover half of your medical bill if it needs to get fixed.” She was ready to get on her knees and beg the man if necessary. He had all the power over her. To take her job away, to sue her for every penny she owned.

“That’s not what I’m asking for, love.” Taehyung breathed, beckoning for her to take the seat. She said as he indicated, resisting the urge to cry.

“(Y/N), when I approached you the other night, I was only going to ask if I could buy you a drink.” He looked earnest enough, resting his elbows on his knees. But (Y/N) could sense there was something different about him. He just reeked of greed, and she felt that he would suck her dry if given the chance.

“Sir, I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for me to do that with a customer. I’m a bartender, not a hostess.” The words got lost in her throat. Taehyung blinked.

“I’m an old friend of Jin, he wouldn’t mind. Even so, I would like to take you to a different bar. One that I own.” His gaze was intense as he spoke. “Or, you could pay for the plastic surgery I’ve gotten on my nose to repair the damage you did. But I don’t suppose you’d be working here if you had five grand to spare, would you?”

‘Bastard.’

No doubt, Kim Taehyung was a demon with the power to match. As (Y/N) dumbly nodded her head, letting him launch into arranging a time, she couldn’t help but wonder if she could do anything at all.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

Taehyung’s bar was much more sophisticated than (Y/N)’s workplace, with dim orange lights and soft music from a band on the stage to create a sensual mood. Of course, there were still plenty of people getting way too close for comfort, and in a moment of delirium (Y/N) reached out to take Taehyung’s hand as he led her to a table near the back.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go to draw out a seat for her.

“What do you drink (Y/N)? Wine? A cocktail, perhaps?”

“A margarita would be lovely, thank you.” She replied curtly. How she wished the night would be over, and for the time being as she could do to remedy her sorrows was drink something strong enough to get her buzzed. Taehyung nodded before striding away, although his presence lingered behind. The ambience of the bar screamed his name, as if it itself was trying to lure her in as he did, to hypnotise her into doing his will and make her pay if she did not.

Taehyung pulled one of the bar staff aside to give his order, asking them to double the tequila, before pushing past into the back room to find the heating and kicking it up a few notches.

As soon as their drinks were ready he picked them up and made his way back to (Y/N), only to see someone standing next to her. Some semi-decent looking man was trying to make conversation with her. Even if this man was clearly rich and charming, he didn’t have an inch of the leverage Taehyung possessed over (Y/N). Nor a fraction of the obsession that Taehyung had.

(Y/N) was so caught up in her conversation , she didn’t even notice his return until the beautifully garnished cocktail was placed in front of her.

“I hope that I haven't been gone too long that you had to seek another man’s company.” Taehyung glowered at the patron, silently telling him to scram. Forget the business, forget the reputation. (Y/N)’s company was not something he would let anyone else take from him.

(Y/N) flushed pink with embarrassment, at the notion that she was some attention seeking village bicycle. Meanwhile, Taehyung simply seated himself opposite her, a glass of whiskey in hand.

“Why… did you want to take me out for a drink so badly?” (Y/N) quiered cautiously, taking a sip of her margarita and noting the taste was stronger than anything she’d ever had before.

“Well, I want to get to know you, (Y/N). You’re beautiful, and I am very interested in your company.” Taehyung replied smoothly, eyes trained on her.

“So much so that you had to blackmail me into coming out with you?” (Y/N) quirked an eyebrow. The alcohol instantly relaxed her, perhaps too much. If she’d had time to think, she wouldn’t have dared question the man who would easily ruin her life.

“Touché. But you wanted to keep things professional, correct? Then this is just a business transaction.”

It was one hell of a business meeting, that was for sure. Over several secretly doubled margaritas she learnt he’d known Jin for a number of years, right when he opened his first cabaret. He even admitted to having seen (Y/N) a few times, but only decided to approach her that night since he’d done a line and felt more powerful than any other person in the city.

“But why me? The hookers must be falling over each other to get a rich man like you?” (Y/N)’s words had an adorable slur to them, and she’d advanced to taking the seat next to him rather than opposite him.

“I’ve never seen a woman more perfect for me. And I just know that you can’t resist me.” His hand reached across to stroke her thigh. Her skin felt like it was on fire, the only thing cooling her being the rings that adorned his fingers.

(YN) leaned into his touch. Whether it was the lighting, the alcohol or the interest he was showing in her, she saw him as the most attractive guy on earth.

“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome. If you’re interested, I’ve got plenty of drinks at my place. Or we can do something else.” At her cautious nod ho stood up, taking her hand in his impatiently. He’d been wearing her down all evening, and it was satisfying to see it work. There was less separating (Y/N) and her coworkers than she liked to think.

In fact, it was hard to hold back from fucking her in the back of his car en route to his penthouse, as she was eager. But he had a way to make the payoff much sweeter than just a few minutes of pleasure.

“I’m going fuck you senseless, love.” Taehyung breathed as he pushed her down onto the bed. (Y/N) moaned at their contact, trying to grasp at his cool skin to comfort her own.

“Patience, love.” He chuckled as he removed his tie, before looping it around her wrists. (Y/N) was desperate, whining on the verge of begging for him to fuck her, but Taehyung wanted to keep her waiting, to taunt her as she had done to him by refusing him in the first place. But with the right mood and good looks, Taehyung had no trouble peeling off (Y/N)’s clothes, as he gave her a night she would never forget. Certainly, the hidden camera in his wall was his insurance to make sure she wouldn’t forget.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

(Y/N) was terrified to return to work. To have her impulsive night of pleasure backfire as Taehyung would tell Jin about what happened without hesitation, and she would lose her job. All for that demon’s sadistic pleasure, she guessed.

Taehyung was revelling in the glory of sleeping with (Y/N). Indeed, he’d been blowing up her phone for days on end after acquiring her number. How he’d obtained it was ambiguous, but what was clear was that he wasn’t prepared to let things go as easily as she’d hoped.

But when she finally had to go back to work with no more sick days available, she found Taehyung’s plan to be of a different design than having her thrown to the streets.

Her first evening back at work wasn’t too bad to begin with. The club was packed with regulars, what with it being Friday night. (Y/N) didn’t have time to be scared of seeing Taehyung with the amount of people waiting to be served.

Finally, as people drifted away from the bar, (Y/N) could breathe. But only for a second before it was snatched away. As (Y/N) poured herself a soda, so she could finally relax, she heard the sound of moaning coming from the speakers. At first she thought nothing of it, until she heard the corresponding male voice.

“You’re a fucking whore for me, aren’t you (Y/N)?”

(Y/N)’s head perked up, her eyes darting towards the large television that usually played sensual music videos to go with the performances, or the occasional softcore porn to get people provoked. But, over the tops of the heads of people crowded around it, she could see the video that was playing.

Her and Taehyung. Naked. Having sex.

“Is that…?” (Y/N) couldn’t bear to face any of the judgement, dashing out from the bar to the staff area. She tried to wipe away her tears, as she knocked on Jin’s door.

The door was opened, and the devil was there himself. Kim Taehyung, looking more smug than before.

“Here’s the woman of the hour. Our video was quite a hit, love.”

“Let me talk to Jin.” (Y/N) hissed, her face red.

“Is he on your bucket list too?” Taehyung taunted. “Everyone here knows what a whore you are now, after all.”

“Leave me alone. This is all… you’re a monster, Kim Taehyung.”

“I know, love.” He purred, his hands circling her waist. “But who else do you have? I’ve dragged you down to my level, and here shall you stay.”

(Y/N) shivered as his teeth grazed the shell of her ear, his breath hot on her skin.

“Next time, don’t make a deal with the Devil, love, if you don’t want to get burned.”

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jungkookiebus · 4 years

Text

The Client pt. II | kth

Genre: smut x ANGST x sex worker!au x some fluff i guess?? Pairing: nondiol!taehyung x sexworker!reader Rating: 18+ Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: semi-public(?) masturbation (male), finger fucking, vaginal sex, the sex is pretty vanilla but FEELINGS Author’s Note: I’m not putting a summary here because I don’t think the sex work bears repeating, BUT I will say that most of this fic is from Tae’s POV and briefly in the reader’s. Slightly unedited (I blame benadryl), but I hope you enjoy it!

He jingled the loose change, paper clip, and the occasional scrap of paper in his suit pocket. Taehyung stood in line at the coffee shop along with about ten other patrons ahead of him. He checked his watch for the thirtieth time in the last two minutes. Tapping his shoe, he leaned out to look at the person at the counter, seeing what the hold up was. Are you ordering for your family of twelve, what the fuck? he thought to himself. He had a meeting at 9 and it was pushing 8:30. Thankfully, his building was a block away. More people came in the door to stand behind him. He cringed every time he heard the stupid bell over the door. He was antsy, antsy because of the meeting and antsy because…well. He looked at his watch again. 8:31. Maybe he didn’t need caffeine. No, fuck that, he deserved this coffee.

That’s when he heard it. He hadn’t turned around as people came into the shop and piled in behind him; he was too concerned about the people ahead of him. Would it kill them to know their order before they got there? It was a voice he hadn’t expected to hear here, or anywhere for that matter. His fingers tightened around the change and paper clip until they dug into his palm and hurt. Immediately, his hands began to sweat, and he felt his back perspire under his silk shirt. His suit jacket suddenly became suffocating and all at once, coffee was the last thing on his mind. His mind was elsewhere, in a room he knew intimately with a girl whose body he knew better than any woman he had ever been with. The dark, silk fabric of the shirt you had given him felt like cool water across his skin. You looked devastatingly beautiful above him as you straddled his waist. He remembered you smelled like vanilla that night and the feeling of your lingerie bunched in his hands as you sat on his face. Your voice, your smile, your moans, all of it filled his mind in such quick succession that he forgot to breath for a few seconds.

He looked behind him slowly, eyes already averted downwards because he knew you were almost a head shorter than him. You didn’t see him as he turned to look over his shoulder. You looked so casual. You were swathed in an oversized hoodie, hood covering your hair, backpack on, and talking on your phone.

“No, I won’t be available Wednesday night.”

You sounded so professional, so he knew immediately it wasn’t someone you knew. His heart seized in his chest. What did he expect? It was your job and he was your client. He signed a contract when he first met you and he intended to follow your explicit rules because he didn’t know what he’d do if you fired him. No feelings. Wait. Wednesday. He was booked to see you Wednesday. His heart soared at the thought, but then immediately sunk as you spoke again.

“But I do have Friday evening available at six if you’d like. Perfect. Thank you.”

The conversation seemed to end then, so he quickly looked ahead of him, chewing his bottom lip to keep himself from turning around and saying something. He had never seen you in public before, so he wasn’t sure if it was…wrong to talk to you. He decided instead to look ahead and follow dumbly behind the others.

He looked at his watch again. 8:40. Three people ahead of him. You shuffled a little behind him, sniffling. He imagined that you were probably scrolling through your social media or talking to your real life friends. How he wished he had met you normally, like, maybe in a coffee shop. He wanted to laugh at the irony. Then your phone rang, some Twice song he recognized. And, you laughed, and he felt his chest tighten. This time you were talking to someone you knew, and your voice was so airy, so full of happiness, and so fucking beautiful. You had an almost pavlovian effect on him and he felt his mouth salivate suddenly.

Fuck you, Kim Taehyung, do not get a boner in here.

One person ahead of him. You were still talking when he got to the counter so you probably wouldn’t recognize his voice. It didn’t sound like you did as he stumbled over his words as he tried to listen to you at the same time. He shuffled sideways, trying not to turn towards you as he went to the end of the counter. He watched you put your phone on the counter, talking animatedly with the cashier as you politely gave your order and paid. He turned towards a rack of newspapers and stared at them as if they were interesting. You had picked up your phone and continued your conversation as you waited.

“Taehyung!” he heard yelled.

Your conversation didn’t falter. It wasn’t like his name was unique. He knew at least two other Taehyung’s. He kept his back to you as much as possible as he reached out for his drink and ducked out the door. Sighing heavily, he walked quickly to his building, making it just in time to reach his 9:00 meeting only a minute late.

At lunch, he sat at his desk, the cup of ramen steaming next to him as he absently stirred it with his chopsticks. He had closed his door behind him when he came back inside for some privacy. Now, he was sitting at his computer staring at the blank email he was about to type. You had been on his mind all throughout the meeting and if you asked him now, he wouldn’t remember half of it. He was still thinking about you, looking so small behind him, and relaxed. Something about it turned him on and broke his heart at the same time. No feelings. Why did he have to be so soft? Why did he have to be so romantic? He loved being with you and if it meant keeping his stupid mouth shut, he would. But, what if, he asked for it in role play? For an hour he could pretend you were his. For an hour he could treat you how he always wanted and at the end he could pretend it was all an act, like he usually did. One kiss to the corner of your mouth and because that wasn’t enough, he’d leave one on your lips. He’d keep his eyes closed and his thoughts focused solely on your lips against his, memorizing the softness of them, and holding the thought in the forefront of his mind until he could see you again.

He stared at the cursor, watching it blink methodically, thinking how he was going to write this out. He chewed on his lip, closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. The ramen was left, forgotten, and the steam had dissipated into the air. Your face was there in his mind and you were laid out under him in that same hoodie you wore today, eyes closed, perfect mouth formed into an O as his fingers slid inside of you. He had done it so many times that imagining the feeling wasn’t too hard. He was soon unbuckling his belt, undoing the button on his slacks, and had the zipper pulled down and his cock out of his boxers before he could even think twice about it. He had his hand on his cock, pumping himself as he thought of the perfect scenario with you. He could live out his wildest fantasy without you knowing the slightest about his feelings. His head fell back against his chair as he moved his hand faster, twisting his wrist just the way you did. When his fantasy reached its peak, he found himself coming into his hand, and he scrambled quickly to grab a nearby tissue before he made a mess of his suit. He sighed, staring at the ceiling as he held the sticky tissue balled in his hand, wondering what he had become. You were doing things to him he had never felt before. He berated himself again before he exhaled and threw the tissue in the trash. He stood up to right himself before sitting back down, wiping his hand again and grabbing some sanitizer to hold him over before he could go to the bathroom. With determination, he put his fingers to his keyboard and began to type.

Your POV

You heard your phone ping in your pocket as you sat at lunch with your friend outside of a café. She was telling you a story while simultaneously scrolling through facebook, so you didn’t feel too bad about pulling out your phone to see it was an email. You opened it and immediately recognized the email address it was from. Your heart quickened as you opened it, knowing it would be a scenario and requests for your session. It was…so domestic. You felt warmth bloom inside of you as you continued reading, totally ignoring your friend who had yet to notice. Then, you got to the list of requests, always at the bottom after he signed the letter, and you froze in shock at what you saw. The outfit he wanted you to wear was yours, down to the tee. Your gaze immediately shot up and to your surroundings, searching for the familiar dark mop of hair and wide smile, but he was nowhere to be seen. You looked back down at the email at the other requests; just a basic room set up, almost as if you were at home. That quote in the email stood out the most. Well, if it was you that he wanted, it was you you were going to deliver.

Taehyung’s POV

He walked excitedly and quickly among the going home crowd of the evening. It was Wednesday night and his night with you, and he had been on edge all day, willing time to go by faster at work as he kept his eyes glued to the clock. He made it early, which was fine, that gave him more time to calm down and change in the room. When he arrived, he pressed in the passcode you had sent him and was immediately met with the smell of what seemed to be fresh blueberry muffins. It smelled like you had been baking, but he knew that wasn’t true, this was all part of the set up. The room was set up as it usually was, and you had left out strawberry juice for him. He knew thoughtfulness was part of your job, but it made him feel good to know how observant of him you were. He quickly took off his suit and pulled sweatpants and a sweatshirt from his bag and pulled them on, feeling 100 times more comfortable. The small, electronic ding that signaled it was okay for him to enter sounded in the room. More nervous than he had ever been, he rubbed his palms on his thighs before getting up and going to the door. He held his hand there for a second, took a deep breath, and opened the door. The room was set up almost exactly how he had imagined you would. The bed was made up comfortably with a plain grey comforter and a fair number of pillows. The lights were dim as per usual, but a diffuser sat in one corner pumping out the smell of peppermint and lemongrass. Soft, 40s music played in the background and he suddenly felt so at ease. He had asked you to set up as if you were at home and he knew you were revealing a piece of yourself to him. He had found out more about you in the last thirty seconds than he had in any other session because they were always about him. And there you sat, in the middle of the bed, cross legged, hair up in a falling bun, black leggings, and the same hoodie he had seen you in before. You smiled softly at him as you patted the bed next to you.

“Come sit. It’s been a long day.” Your smile spread wider as he approached. He always knew how to act around you, always in a persona of sorts, as not to give himself away completely.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked, all a part of the act, you didn’t have to know he was serious.

“It wasn’t too bad. I got coffee before school this morning.” Taehyung’s breath caught as you liltingly began to talk, but you didn’t seem to notice as you kept talking. “Then I went to a couple of classes, pretty big test in one but it felt okay, then lunch with a friend, and…”

He couldn’t stand it any longer as he grabbed the back of your head and brought your lips to his. You sighed as he kissed you and he immediately explored your mouth with his tongue.

“What’s gotten into you?” you asked as you pulled away. The act.

“Can I make love to you?” he whispered. He watched your expression soften and your eyes glistened. You studied his eyes for a few seconds as if contemplating something.

“Of course, you can,” you whispered back.

He kissed you again with more passion this time, pushing you back against the blanket as he slotted himself on top of you. He held your face sweetly in his hands and kissed you even deeper, mouth almost devouring yours. If you couldn’t be his, tonight he would pretend like you were. He moved his hands to the back of your head, fingers buried in your hair as he tried to bring you even closer to him. You moaned as he kissed you more and he tried to let his mind think this was real, that you were all for him, and he was all yours. The thought sat there and grew until he believed himself and he felt like if he couldn’t tell you he could at least show you. He moved away, kissing your cheek lightly and then the underside of your jaw. You tilted your head back as he moved his lips down the column of your neck. He heard your breath catch and then shudder out of your mouth as he slowly moved up the other side, barely kissing you, but it seemed to be affecting you deeply. Your hands were buried in the back of his sweatshirt and your legs caged his hips, heels pushing his ass to get him closer. He ground against you and you moaned again, but he kept his kisses soft. Chest to chest and lips to lips again, he held you as close as possible, his left hand pulled your hair back gently to angle your mouth differently against his while his right was hot against your neck. You were pushing yourself up into him as if you were trying to get your body to meld with his. He kissed your neck again, opened mouth as you began to turn him on more and more. He situated himself more on his knees and you groaned as his weight disappeared, seeming disappointed. He skated his hand over the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, feeling your hardened nipple through it before he was at the hem of your leggings.

“Can I take these off?” he asked.

You nodded quickly as you reached down, and he stopped you by grabbing your wrist.

“Let me do it.” Your eyes searched his as he held your wrist. “Please.”

You nodded before laying back against the bed and he sat up, looking at you as he grabbed the waistband and slowly slid them down your legs, kissing the tops of your thighs, your knee, and calf as he pulled them off your legs. He slowly kissed his way back up and he felt the way you shivered as he kissed the inside of your thigh. He kissed your hipbone and you grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt to pull it off and he stopped you again.

“Leave it on, please.”

He wasn’t sure why he was saying please so much, but he wanted this to go exactly how he imagined because he wasn’t going to get this again. You pulled your hands away, only looking vexed for a second before relaxing again.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

He sighed, closing his eyes, soaking in the words and tried to believe they were real. Once again, his heart ached in his chest, hearing something he always longed to hear, every day, so sweetly from your lips, and it’s all a lie. But he had to push the feeling down so that he didn’t ruin this for himself.

His dipped his hand into your underwear, and your soft well-trimmed pubic hair brushed against his palm as he dipped his fingers to your center, lips on yours again. You immediately responded to him, chest arching upwards as he pushed two fingers barely inside of you. You were already so wet for him and for a moment he let himself believe it was only him that you needed for this. He pushed a little further and you moaned into his mouth. When he had them in as far as he could go, you bit at his bottom lip as your hands clawed up his back.

“You wanna come on my fingers, baby?” His lips were still against yours and he suddenly and all at once felt so hot. He wanted to take off all his clothes but there was no way in hell he was taking his fingers out of you yet.

“Please, Taehyung,” you moaned.

His name tumbled out in a shuddering breath and he felt himself grow harder and his entire body ached. He kissed the side of your neck wetly as he began to pump his fingers a little faster. Your feet slid along the cotton fabric, the sound of your soft skin brushing against it, music to his ears, as you opened your legs wider for him. Your hips began to roll in time with his fingers and he bit the skin under your ear. A small whine escaped your lips as he buried his face in your hair, hand holding your hair tightly as he breathed heavily. Your whimpers and sighs grew in tempo the faster he moved. He hooked his fingers knowing exactly how to have you shaking on the bed within minutes. You cried out as he began to hit it on each thrust of his fingers, curving them just right as his thumb found your clit. And soon, you did begin to shake. He felt it in your hands first as you seemed to never be able to hold enough of him, then your upper body as your chest rose against his quickly, and then in your hips as you circled them and they dug into the bed. His fingers kept up with you though, and he wanted this to be explosive. Your cunt tightened around him, and it only took a press of his thumb against your clit to have you crying out as you came. Your body shuddered, and you cried more as he pumped his fingers faster, extending your orgasm. You inhaled deeply and he felt your heart beating rapidly in your chest as he moaned into your skin.

“That’s it, baby, come all over my fingers.”

He kept his pace until your hands were at his wrist trying to pull him away and he did so as you gathered his face in your hands and brought his lips to yours.

When you kissed him it felt real, almost as if you reciprocated…no. This was still all an act and you were good at what you did, or he wouldn’t be here. Instead of letting his mind wander he sat up and pulled his sweatshirt over his head before pulling off his pants too. He reached over into the side table where he knew you always placed the condoms and pulled one out. You looked completely blissed out, glowing and lying among the pillows so beautifully he could hardly stand it. When he had the condom on, he moved back over you, hovering as he looked at you. Your eyes were half lidded, but your gaze never wavered as you looked at him. Instead of saying what his heart told him to he moved to kiss you again, he pulled your underwear off and, slower this time, he ran one of his hands over your swollen cunt. You whimpered just a little as he massaged your clit gently, dipping his fingers every now and again, and back to your clit. When you were ready, he ran the head of his cock up and down your slit as he kissed you. Your hands were buried in his hair, pulling at the roots, and your new pleasure spurred him on. Little by little, he pushed inside. You were still so swollen that it took time for him to push all the way to the hilt, but he went slow for your comfort. When fully inside, you sighed as if you had seen someone you had missed after a long time. Your hands softened their grip, opting instead to twirl your fingers in his curls. Your legs were back around his waist as he began to slide his cock in and out a little faster. You felt like heaven around him, even through the condom.

The smell of peppermint, lemongrass, and your natural scent filled his nose and senses, giving him an almost high as you continued to swallow him. He would take this memory to the grave, it would haunt his dreams, and it would plague his daily life from now on, but it was worth it, if for one night. Then, the both of you would go back to your roles, finding something else to do the next time he scheduled to be with you.

Your sighs and small moans were all he could hear and wanted to hear, if only you were in his bed, whispering these things out of love and not for money. But he had to push those thoughts back.

He looked at you as you closed your eyes, lost in pleasure as he fucked you. To an extent, this was real for you and at least he had that. You looked so magnificent, even more so than his daydream at lunch the other day. His subconscious couldn’t possibly do justice to your beauty. His breath quickened as he hooked one arm behind your knee, spreading you open a bit further so that his cock could go impossibly further. You cried out this time the deeper he hit and soon he saw tears running down your cheeks. You began to gasp, hands clawing at the blankets next to you, and Taehyung had never seen anything like you; not in museums, movies, or books and he was suddenly overwhelmed by it. He thrust faster, ensuring not to hurt you, and with the way you tightened again he knew you were close. He leaned down, drawing your knee closer to your chest.

“Fuck, Taehyung, fuck I’m g-gonna come, oh my god.” You were a stuttering mess as he made it his mission to have you come again. He was dangerously close and trying to stop himself before you got to.

Tears streamed faster down your face; eyes screwed shut as you came in silent cry. Your jaw dropped open and your body convulsed more than the last time you came, leg tensing in his grip as your back arched off the bed. He thrust faster and faster. Watching you come ignited a fire inside of him and he wished he could do this for you every morning and night. If you were his, he’d make you feel so good every day that you wouldn’t need to do this anymore, but then again, this wasn’t what you were here for.

He came with a loud moan, collapsing to his elbow as he came in the condom, wishing so badly he could fill you up. Wishing so badly to tell you,

“I love you.”

His body flushed with heat, suddenly still as he realized he said the words out loud. You, too, tensed beneath him, suddenly sobered up post orgasm. He slowly let go of your leg as he pushed away from you. You looked stunned as you searched his face, almost as if you were trying to figure out if this were part of the act; this domesticity he so wanted.

He sat back, pulling out of you, and you still sat looking at him and it was almost too much for him to bear. Why had he let himself say that?

“I think you need to leave,” you whispered finally.

His heart dropped at your words. He had indeed royally fucked up now.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why-,“ but you were cutting him off.

“Taehyung, please clean up and leave.”

You looked as if you were going to cry, but you kept an even expression as you stared at him, willing him to say anything more. You looked a little pissed and…sad.

He pulled the condom off, tied, and tossed it away. He didn’t bother to go to the bathroom even though he felt like he was going to puke at any moment. Instead, he put his clothes on quickly and walked to the door. He looked back at you and you were still in the same position on the bed, looking at him, tears welling up in your eyes and he wasn’t sure why what he said had that effect on you, but decided now was not the time to ask. He wanted to cry himself, but told himself it would be foolish now, not that he would do it for pity. He had already ruined any of his chances at coming back and you didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk about it. After all, he had signed a contract.

No feelings.

#ksmutclub #smutcentralnet #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #reader insert #nonidol!au #sexworker!au #taehyung #the client #part two

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partywithponies · 4 years

Note

hi! i've only ever seen the bbc version of father brown and i've never read the books (i know, i'm so sorry), but i'm super curious about the different versions of father brown and you seem like an expert on each adaptation, so i was wondering if you'd be willing to give me a rundown of sorts on each version/series? i know it's a lot to ask and i may be opening the floodgates here, but there's not a ton of info online elsewhere and i'd love to learn more! thanks either way. ciao!

OH BOY YOU’VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE ANON

OKAY SO

As briefly as possible:

The books:

Proof people who complain about the BBC show being “too political” don’t actually know the books at all

Father Brown straight up calls capitalism “evil” and “heresy”

Chesterton says that millionaires dying isn’t a tragedy

Inspector Valentin betrayed us and broke my heart, ACAB I guess

Since every police officer he befriends lets him down in some way, Father Brown’s only real friend is Flambeau, who he goes absolutely everywhere with. They only go on holiday with each other. They’ve been all over the world with each other. I love they

Book Father Brown pretty much never does his goddamn job. We literally never in all the books see him giving mass or taking confession. The closest we get is when he gives an impromptu sermon after seemingly coming back from the dead, where he literally only says "You silly, silly people. God bless you all and give you more sense." then runs away to send a telegram. Useless priest. I love him.

Book Flambeau is. Incredible. Amazing. Iconic. None of the adaptations have been able to fully capture book Flambeau’s true energy, for he is a walking contradiction who contains multitudes. If all the onscreen Flambeaus fused into one being, THEN you’d have something vaguely resembling book Flambeau.

Book Flambeau is MASSIVE. He’s at least 6′4, he’s broad shouldered, has huge hands, and his super buff. He can just. Pick people up and throw them. He can knock people unconscious with one punch. He fills doorways when he stands in them. He terrifies most people just by drawing himself up to his full height. He also has a very short temper and a very short patience.

He’s very agile and athletic and can move silently, despite his size. He’s also a master of disguise, somehow. (Explain, Chesterton. Explain. Is everyone in this universe apart from Father Brown, Flambeau, and arguably Valentin massively stupid? Actually don’t answer that I’ve read these books)

Book Flambeau has a habit of flinging people full-bodily down flights of stairs when they anger him or threaten him or Father Brown. Book Flambeau also carries a walking cane with him literally everywhere that has a sword concealed in the handle, plus book Flambeau insists on taking pistols on holiday with him, even when he was just going for a peaceful fishing holiday in the Norfolk Broads. King.

(Which all makes it so iconic that Father Brown, described as tiny and meek and sensitive, saw this man when he was still a hardened criminal on top of all this and said “THIS ONE I LIKE THIS ONE. I JUST THINK HE’S NEAT” and went off on a jolly through London with him.)

Flambeau’s past is extremely mysterious. We no nothing about his family or his childhood or where he’s from or why he turned to crime. We know he used to be a soldier, and a part of him misses it. We know he used to fight duels semi-regularly, and liked them to be fought the very next morning after they were organised. We know he always used to make sure to visit the dentist on time, even when he was a hardened criminal. (King of good teeth.) We know he was in a gang at some point. We know he was a student at some point. We don’t know what he studied, but we know he knew Leonard Quinton in “wild student days in Paris” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). This is literally all we know about his past before he met Father Brown. The man is a riddle wrapped in an enigma. (That’s why Flambeau is so big. He’s full of secrets)

(Fun fact: in the book universe Flambeau is famous and popular in America, so you could say that in universe Flambeau is America’s Favourite Fighting Frenchman.)

Flambeau also loves cats and children, believes in fairies, likes pointing out rocks that look like dragons, and likes giggling and mucking about on the beach with Father Brown. A baby.

One time Father Brown called Flambeau “full of good and pure thoughts”, but I don’t think that’s quite true, Father. I think Father Brown just has endless faith in Flambeau.

Another thing I think is really neat is that it would’ve been so easy to have Father Brown be the genius and Flambeau his dumb muscle sidekick but that’s not the case at all! They’re both geniuses and they’re both each other’s sidekick, and in fact it’s Flambeau who’s the famous professional private detective, Father Brown is just an amateur. Father Brown is often defined by his connection to Flambeau rather than vice versa, both in the text (the text will frequently refer to them as something along the lines of “Flambeau and his friend the priest”, and on two separate occasions a long list of Flambeau’s possessions is ended with “and a priest”), and in universe (Father Brown himself is massively famous in America in universe largely because of “his long connection to Flambeau). I don’t know I just think it’s neat.

One time a man threatened Father Brown with a gun and Flambeau just beat him unconscious and then Father Brown and Flambeau just drove away and left him unconscious on the path. It was awesome.

(I’m sorry I rambled about Flambeau for so many words I just. Really really like Flambeau you guys. Father Brown and Flambeau are like two separate crime drama character tropes, the hard boiled cynical P.I. and the cosy eccentric amateur detective, but together as a double act, and I just think that’s really cool.)

Father Brown himself is if anything even more mysterious. He’s just “Father J. Brown, formerly of Cobhole in Essex, currently London”, and he’s “Flambeau’s friend”, and that’s all. That’s all he needs to be.

I also really really love Father Brown himself. I love that he’s allowed to be cheerful and optimistic and childish without any of this making him less clever, and in fact he’s shown time and time again to be cleverer than grumpy cynics who are scornful of childish things. Like, the whole giggling childlike thing isn’t even some kind of act, he’s a genius who understands true human nature, and he also really really likes puppet shows and building sandcastles who telling fairy stories, he really does get a “childish pleasure” from seeing Flambeau swing his sword-stick, and he really does have “strong personal interest in tomfoolery”. I love him.

I must share my favourite book quote about Father Brown himself: “But neither of them is very like the real Father Brown, who is not broken at all; but goes stumping with his stout umbrella through life, liking most of the people in it; accepting the world as his companion, but never as his judge.” uwu uwu uwu I’m cry.

Chesterton just subverts all the expectations character wise, the cheerful bumbling priest is a genius, the violent criminal is a true hero, the noble police officer is a corrupt self-serving murderer. It’s great. We stan. 10000000/10

(I’m not very good at being brief, am I?)

Father Brown, Detective (1934):

The first movie! It’s completely ridiculous. I love it a lot.

It was released just at the start of Hays Code, which, among other things, stated that crime and immorality should not be glorified or glamourised, and all crime and immorality must be seen to be punished by the end of the film. In practice in the case of this film, this means two things:

Paul Lukas!Flambeau is the only Flambeau to actually go to prison (and stay there).

He’s by far the Flambeau who deserves it the least. Lukas!Flambeau never hurt a soul. He just wanted to be loved. #FreeMyBoyHercule

Okay but in all seriousness. There’s a reason I call Paul Lukas!Flambeau “Himbo Flambeau”. Where other Flambeaus are violent or dangerous or geniuses, Lukas!Flambeau is just a big dumb idiot who respects women and has a great sense of humour and writes all his letters in the third person like Elmo for some reason. I would die for him.

At one point Flambeau in disguise is talking to the police, and when the police criticise Flambeau, disguised Flambeau says “Oh but I assure! I have read many things about this Flambeau! He is a fearless, handsome fellow!” The absolute idiot. I adore him with my whole heart.

The film is set in London, like the books, but an idealised Hollywood version of London, i.e., almost entirely unlike London.

Walter Connolly!Father Brown is also entirely lacking in braincells. Look at these two idiot men:

I love them.

Oh oh! And the most important thing, the thing that carries over into most other adaptations? NEW ORIGINAL CHARACTERS!!

This movie invents a few characters that weren’t in the books, but the most important ones are Mrs Boggs:

She doesn’t really add much to the plot but she’s funny and I love her so I’ll forgive it.

She’s Father Brown’s housekeeper, she’s basically just the fussing maternal female character archetype who fusses around in the background, but she does it well and plays it with charm so I’ll allow it.

(Honestly this whole film is just. Not *technically* good or original, but just so charming and with so much heart that I unironically adore it.)

She tries to make Father Brown drink his milk because it’s good for him even though he doesn’t like it, and keeps checking back in on him to make sure he’s drunk it, it’s literally like a mother and her small child.

She objects to policemen in the presbytery because of their “big muddy boots on the carpet” but is fine with just letting Flambeau in whenever despite the prevailing rumour in London being that Flambeau killed a man. We stan a queen of having priorities.

When Inspector Valentine summons Father Brown to the station, Mrs Boggs pops up in the background, assumes Father Brown’s being arrested, and says “Oh dear, I knew it!” and it makes me giggle like an idiot every time.

The other, more important original character invented for this movie is my girl Evelyn Fischer:

I love her, I would die for her, she’s flawless.

She’s basically your typical bored and rebellious young aristocrat, but she has a chaotic streak that I adore.

She sneaks out of her family’s mansion to go to a seedy underground club/illegal gambling ring in Soho (I mean I assume it’s Soho, a seedy part of London in that general vicinity, at least. I’m not about to get bogged down trying to understand the geography of London according to Hollywood), flirts with a bunch of strangers for fun, then when the police raid the place and everyone else is panicking she stands stock still, cheerfully says “Oh goody, I shall probably get my name in the papers!” and has to be physically dragged out of the building by Flambeau.

Later on Flambeau breaks into her bedroom in the middle of the night and she’s just very calmly like “What are you doing?”, and even when she finds out it’s Flambeau, a man widely believed to be dangerous and violent, instead of being scared, she calls him an idiot right to his face.

She forms the third part of the main trio of the movie with Father Brown and Flambeau (RIP to Valentine, demoted to tertiary character in a loose adaptation of the one (1) story where he was the main character lol) and together the three of them share a single braincell and have to take turns with it, while Mrs Boggs fusses in the background at the trio’s increasingly bonkers decisions.

The movie ends with Father Brown and Evelyn sharing an emotional farewell with Flambeau through the window of a police car and promising to look after each other until Flambeau’s released, wow poly rights.

The Adventures of Father Brown (1945):

The adaptation there’s the least amount of information about, but I’ve done my best to find everything I can find on it.

An American radio show made towards the end of wartime, it’s a bit of an odd one, and believe me Father Brown adaptations have gone some odd places.

Only two episodes survive, or at least if more do survive then whoever has them is being very selfish and hoarding them to themselves because only two episodes are publicly available anywhere, and the audio quality of those is a bit dodge. (Though that is to be expected, they do appear to be home recordings, from 1945. Honestly we should be grateful to even have two full episodes.)

If the actors I’ve found are the right people, this show featured by far the youngest Father Brown and Flambeau, at the start of the show the actor playing Father Brown was only 36 and the actor playing Flambeau was only 27. They’re BABIES. (Honestly I’d like to see more age variation in Father Brown adaptations, as I have extensively rambled about before, the characters have literally no canon ages in the books, I think people ought to be a little more imaginative instead of always building on the adaptations that came before, even if it is really cool to see traces of all the previous adaptations in each new one that comes along. It’s something I haven’t noticed as much in adaptations of other golden age detective novels, but the Father Brown adaptations do seem to be stuck in some kind of game of “yes, AND” with each other. I would REALLY like to see an adaptation where Flambeau is older than Father Brown though, it's just something we've never had before despite there being literally nothing in the books to suggest this can't be the case, and I just think it'd be neat.)

This show is really really painfully American, in a real old fashioned "golly gee whizz mister" kind of way, to the point it almost feels like a parody, and I honestly find it kind of endearing.

Even Flambeau frequently slips into a very American accent to the point that my affectionate nickname for him is "The All-American Flambeau", and it's great. He's great.

Honestly I could accept the accents and the slang, for some reason the only thing that really threw me was Father Brown referring to money in cents and nickels.

Needless to say, this adaptation is not set in London. It is instead set in Generic Unspecified Smalltown USA. It's fine. This is fine. I already have so many films and shows set in London, I can swallow my London pride and let America have this.

It's hard to get a real grasp on characters from just two episodes, but I like this Father Brown and Flambeau, even if they are a little overly serious, and even if Flambeau doesn't really do much. He may be a bit serious and a bit useless but All-American Flambeau stays up late anxiously waiting for Father Brown to get home safely and it's very sweet. What a good boy.

All-American Flambeau also carries handcuffs around with him for some reason? But no weapons? Why is All-American Flambeau one of the few Flambeaus not to have a gun? Oh well, he's still sweet.

The 1945 radio show also gives us some original characters, but they're very much side characters and not part of the main plot and it's very hard to get a good grasp on a character from just a few minutes of audio from just two episodes but here's what I could gather:

Nora is another fussing housekeeper! She seems younger and less maternal than Mrs Boggs, but I don't know if that's just because the whole cast was on the younger side. (Could the radio station not find anyone over the age of 40? Were they in short supply in 1945 or something? Ah well.) She seems dedicated to helping Father Brown get some peace and quiet that he never goddamn gets because someone always goes and gets themselves murdered. In both surviving episodes a knock at the door disturbs Father Brown’s rest, Nora opens it professionally, sees it's Flambeau, and immediately drops the professionalism and is immediately like "oh it's only you", so I can only assume every episode started this way. I do hope so.

Father Peter is a junior priest who answers to Father Brown and takes over his duties on his days off. He's implied by the dialogue to be considerably younger than Father Brown, Nora, and Flambeau, but if their actors are anything to go by then they're not that old themselves, and though Father Brown seems to talk to Father Peter like he's a literal child, he is still a priest so I very much doubt that's the case. He seems sweet and harmless, but he's only in one of the surviving episodes and only in that towards the end and mentioned briefly at the start, so it's hard to judge completely. It's highly unlikely that the reason he's not even mentioned in the later surviving episode is because he turned out to secretly be an evil murderer, but, this being a Father Brown adaptation, not entirely unfounded. (But no, he's probably just a sweet boy who exists to have exposition delivered to him.)

Father Brown/The Detective (1954):

The Alec Guinness movie! The one haters of any of the other adaptations complain that adaptation isn't more like, but in my humble opinion, actually the worst adaptation.

Like, I don't hate it! The cast is mostly stellar actors and if I just saw it as a movie on its own, it'd probably be fine. But as a Father Brown adaptation watched in context of the books and the other adaptations, it has a few issues imo.

Most glaringly it has Tone Issues. This film cannot decide if it's a comedy or not. The original posters certainly marketed it as one (see above) and half the cast are noted comic actors who were famous at the time for comedy, goddamn SID JAMES is in it, but the entire third act is played painfully straight, half the cast is mugging for the camera and trying way too hard to be funny while the other cast is giving extremely serious and subtle performances, like. I have no problem with a Father Brown adaptation being played for laughs, and I have no problem with a Father Brown adaptation being played for drama, both can work beautifully, but just PICK ONE, PLEASE

All of my other gripes with the film are very petty and nitpicky, this film calls Father Brown and Flambeau "Ignatius Brown" and "Gustav Flambeau" even though Father Brown has the canon first initial "J" and Flambeau has the canon first name "Hercule", and I hate it a lot. "Ignatius and Gustav" is the second worst thing any Father Brown adaptation has ever done to me.

My other petty nitpick with the movie is that it makes Flambeau literal nobility. The man is a duke. In my opinion Flambeau should always either have a completely mysterious past or be a nobody who came from nothing, someone who grew up with land and title and many servants and a family coat of arms, living in a whole entire castle with his family name and coat of arms engraved into the side of it, growing up and stealing from people, is a whole lot less sympathetic in my opinion. Like to be fair his parents are dead which is sad I guess and his castle has seen better days, but dude. You still own a castle. People who live in castles do not get to lecture other people about materialism.

THAT SAID, Peter Finch is still the best thing about the movie. I love all Flambeaus dearly, even the ones that are little bitches. He’s a bit of an emo “oh woe is me” sadboy, but he’s very charming, and actually good at disguises and being undercover, get dunked on Lukas!Flambeau.

Guinness!Brown likes to feed ducks and Flambeau calls him “the angel with the flaming umbrella”, which makes my inner Good Omens fan who loves finding parallels between Aziraphale & Crowley and Father Brown & Flambeau go 👀

There is one really good scene, in the Paris Catacombs. And by “good” I mean “really really bafflingly gay”:

I truly, truly do not understand how this scene was written, directed, acted, filmed, and edited without ANYONE saying “hey lads does this seem a bit gay to you?”

Father Brown, literally lying on top of Flambeau and pinning him to the ground, whispering: “I would like to set you free.” Flambeau, softly, gently smiling while his face is literal inches away from Father Brown, who is still pinning him to the ground: “Ah, now I begin to understand what you are.”

What the fuck, you guys. What the entire fuck. This scene keeps me up at night.

ANYWAY

This film is also not set in London. It is instead mostly set in a rural English village, and partially in Paris and partially in rural France. Paris is fun but I miss London.

This film also has some original characters. I should probably talk about them.

This is Lady Warren:

She’s Father Brown’s friend, and she’s a Lady, and that’s all I can really tell you.

She’s very well-mannered and dignified and sophisticated.

She gives me the vibe that she exists solely because the writers decided they needed a female character but then remembered at the last minute they had no idea how to write women, so as a result she is almost entirely irrelevant to the plot. I don’t want to say I don’t like her, because she’s done nothing wrong and it’s not her fault, but like. Why is she here? Poor thing, she deserved to be plot-relevant, really.

She lives in a big mansion and owns some very nice things, and she gets annoyed when she invites Father Brown to lunch but he just stares blankly into space thinking about Flambeau the whole time. (Mood honestly FB. Me too.)

She flirts a bit with Flambeau in one very pointless scene that came the hell out of nowhere, went nowhere, and was never mentioned again. It was like the writers realised how gay the previous Flambeau scene was and suddenly tried to convince me this man is a hetero. Nice try, writers. You can’t fool me that easily.

The other main original character is Bert:

Alright, own up, whose bright idea was it to put Sid James in a Father Brown movie?

Bert is a smalltime criminal who’s a friend of Father Brown, who Father Brown protects from the police, but tries to convince to get on the straight and narrow by getting him as a job as Lady Warren’s chauffer.

This is would be fine, were it not for the fact he’s played by Sid James, who only knows how to play Sid James, and is just Sid Jamesing it up in every scene. I don’t have anything against Sid James. I like my fair share of Carry On films. But Sid James does not belong in Father Brown and I want to fight whoever decided he did.

Father Brown (1974):

LADS LADS LADS! It’s time for the first TV show, and it’s time for my favourite boys:

Oh! OH! How I love Kenneth More!Brown and Dennis Burgess!Flambeau. They’re just. So cute. My two special boys.

Not only that, but LADS! We’re finally back in London!

A gritty, dirty, London in the 1930s no less, with cool London buses and political unrest and grimy pubs and the constant threat of world war. Alexa this is so cool play London Calling.

In one episode Flambeau gets verbally abused by an anti-immigration right-wing zealot. :( My poor boy. :(

(But it’s okay, shortly after Father Brown witnesses this, the racist shows up dead in exactly the place Father Brown earlier said would be a good place to commit a murder. Now I’m not accusing Father Brown of murder, BUT)

This show made the bold but valid decision to skip Flambeau’s redemption arc and start the show when Flambeau is already a seasoned and respected private detective who’s lived in London and been Father Brown’s closest friend for many years. As a result this Father Brown and Flambeau are ridiculously domestic with each other. Look at this peak Old Married Couple energy:

Oh! I just love them.

I would love to know how Burgess!Flambeau’s redemption went down though, because Burgess!Flambeau is BY FAR the least repentant of all the reformed Flambeaus. He proudly boasts about his crimes, he still believes he “deserved to succeed”, he still proudly talks about how “daring and outrageous” he was, which begs the question of why did he stop at all? Literally the only explanation I can think of is that he’s literally only doing this for Father Brown’s sake, which. uwu

Oh GOD I love Burgess!Flambeau. Obviously I love all Flambeaus a lot, and choosing a favourite feels like choosing a favourite child, but let’s just say: if the Flambeaus WERE my children, Burgess!Flambeau would be quite spoilt. My ~ Daring And Outrageous ~ boy.

More!Brown and Burgess!Flambeau are both really really socially awkward, uncomfortable in crowds, and nervously say “oh dear” a lot. They really are ridiculously cute.

They also only giggle and joke and act silly when they’re together, when they’re apart they’re both sort of sad and quiet and withdrawn. (This makes episodes Flambeau isn’t in a bit harder to watch because Father Brown is just kind of lost and lonely without his emotional support Frenchman, with three notable exceptions: that time Father Brown infodumped about the mating habits of whales at the Father Superior for a solid minute, that time Father Brown met a dog and reacted with unrestrained delight, and that time someone mentioned former criminals in passing and Father Brown’s whole face lit up and he started gushing about how Flambeau was living in London now and doing very well as a private detective, completely unprompted.)

This show also brought back book!Brown and Flambeau’s habit of always going on holiday together! Wonderful! We love to see it!

This show is also the first time in the entire Father Brown franchise where gay people are overtly acknowledged to exist! And Father Brown is non-judgemental! A roman catholic priest written in the 1970s and living in the 1930s who canonically isn’t homophobic! I have no choice but to stan forever!

You remember what I said about liking to point out Good Omens parallels? WELL

Kenneth More!Father Brown and Dennis Burgess!Flambeau both live in London

Burgess!Flambeau lives in a brightly lit, pale walled, airy and spacious, modern (for the time) London apartment, while More!Brown prefers gothic architecture and lives in an old, grey, cramped, stone building absolutely full floor to ceiling with books

They go out for intimate candlelit dinners for two at very fancy London restaurants

Desperate people come to Flambeau because he “knows the game on both sides of the fence”

Father Brown responds with a quiet and miserable “oh dear” when asked to actually do his job instead of just watching plays and drinking wine

Father Brown calls Flambeau “my dear” at times and it personally kills me

I mean. I’m just saying. 👀

Now, isn’t there a third important character in the books?

Oh yes of course:

HIM! THE BASTARD MAN! INSPECTOR VALENTIN HIMSELF!

(Nobody understands him! IT’S NOT! EVIL!)

This show is the literally only adaptation to include the Valentin betrayal and I’m not gonna lie. It’s a very difficult episode to sit through, it’s far darker and grimmer and more depressing than you would ever expect from Father Brown, but my god it’s done so well. Especially considering the teeny tiny budget they clearly had, only four sets are used the entire episode and the whole thing takes place inside Valentin’s house, but even that adds a certain claustrophobic atmosphere and just. It’s done so well.

I think the entire budget went on gore effects because the decapitated heads in this episode are disturbingly realistic for the time the show was made and genuinely grim to look at. Not to mention the intense downer ending. Not to mention this was THE FINAL EPISODE OF THE SHOW

THE INTENSE DOWNER ENDING OF THIS EPISODE IS HOW THE WHOLE SHOW ENDED

God it hurts so much but I lowkey love it.

Father Brown Stories (1984):

The second radio series, and the first BBC adaptation!

Thrilling times for fans of actors being the right nationality for their characters, because after previously being played by a Hungarian, an American, an Englishman, and a Welshman, Flambeau is finally being played by a Frenchman, Olivier Pierre!

Father Brown himself is played by Andrew Sachs, Manuel himself.

Not gonna lie. It’s kind of hard to figure out how to explain the radio show.

We’re? Maybe back in London? Honestly it’s really unclear.

Pierre!Flambeau is kind of adorable. He’s described as looking like book!Flambeau physically, huge and buff and terrifying, but he has literally none of the temper or predisposition to violence.

Pierre!Flambeau doesn’t speak very good English at all, and oftentimes will react with “...What?” when he hears a strange English idiom or turn of phrase.

One time he says “Perhaps we should.. push on? SEE HOW I AM MASTERING YOUR ENGLISH IDIOMS” and it’s the cutest thing that’s ever happened.

To try and get better at understanding both the English language and the English people, Flambeau starts obsessively reading Alice in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass, massive giant adorable boy.

One time Father Brown gets complimented of being academically minded and well read, and then asked if Flambeau is also a keen reader, and when Flambeau tries to say no, Father Brown interrupts and proudly and earnestly says “Oh yes! Monsieur Flambeau is one of our top Lewis Carroll scholars!”, it’s honestly adorable.

This adaptation finally uses “John” as Father Brown’s first name, as it should always have been! I love it!

This series said FUCK Father Brown having a mysterious past and no former friends or relatives! Now he has siblings, and friends who knew him before he was a priest who still call him “John”!

Father Brown himself speaks in a very sweet and soft and wavering way that makes my heart melt.

Sadly and unfortunately, I have to acknowledge the final episode of the show, which is the top worst thing any Father Brown adaptation has ever done to me.

It’s. It’s a crossover. With Sherlock Holmes. Actual goddamn Sherlock Holmes is in it. I hate it. I hate it so much. “Elementary, my dear Flambeau” shut the hell up, if this Flambeau won’t fling you down a flight of stairs then I will.

I deliberately avoided all Holmes-related media for THREE YEARS only for the awful man to spring up on me in Father Brown?? How could you do this to me???

I’m going to yeet myself into the sun, bye everyone.

(On the plus side, the Sherlock Holmes episode does have one of Father Brown’s parishioners recognise Flambeau as “a close friend of Father Brown and a frequent visitor to his room” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), so that’s nice I suppose. I’ll still never forgive the writers of this show for putting me through this.)

Father Brown (2013):

YOU ARE HERE.

I kind of see the current TV series as a culmination of all the adaptations that’ve come before? I can definitely see echoes of all of them in it.

And it’s great! I really really love it. I love it a lot.

I think about it daily.

My one and only complaint I would have is that Flambeau isn’t in it enough. Not just because he’s my favourite, though I’d obviously not be fooling anyone who’s read all this if I said he isn’t.

And it’s not that I don’t love the show as it is, and find the one Flambeau episode a series always something really special, so I don’t know what I’d have the writers do, exactly.

But it’s just. In literally every other version of Father Brown, Flambeau is the second most important character and the second main protagonist, and to have him in this show so little that some fans or reviewers call him a “minor character” and others call him a “recurring villain”, though I myself don’t see him either of those ways of course because he’s still Flambeau, it’s just kinda sad and painful, y’know?

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being silly.

Hopefully he’s a regular in at least the final season of the show. If I don’t get my favourite partners in crime solving I’m rioting.

Anyway that’s my “””brief””” rundown on all the main versions of Father Brown!! I hope you liked it!!

#Anonymous #father brown #hercule flambeau #flambrown

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oneoftheextras · 4 years

Text

Slurred Words

Aizawa x teacher!reader

masterlist | tip jar

question #14 prompt: “Should you be drinking that much?”

warnings: Alcohol consumption, sexually suggestive themes, a lot of angst and protective Aizawa

“SHOTS!” Hizashi shouted across the bar, ushering you towards him from your place on the dance floor. Nodding your head and dance-walked over to the bar where your friend waited for you.

It was very rare that the teachers of UA were able to let loose and celebrate, what you were celebrating, you didn’t know - probably the fact that no students had died this year.

Nezu had organised the night for you all to try an alleviate, with Hizashi’s help of course. There was no way you were partying without that loud mouth having a say in every decision.

He’d chosen a nice, low-key club - not too big that you got lost, but small enough that you didn’t feel distanced from everyone.

Well, some people were making a point of distancing themselves. And by people, you meant person. And by person you meant Aizawa.

“Yo, Y/N” Hizashi handed you a shot, you clinked your glass with his and you downed them together. Slamming the glasses down on the counter with a collaborative “Woo!”. “You’re keeping up pretty well” he shouted at you over the music, you smiled a goofy smile at him, you were on the edge of sober and tipsy. No doubt you would stumble over that line in about 10 minutes when the Tequila kicks in properly.

“I want to dance!” you shouted back to him, you were in a really good mood and had a tonne of energy, “Then let’s go dance” he said, “But first” he grabbed your hand, stopping you from going anywhere just yet. He ordered two more shots for you both. He drank his with insane speed, and then proceeded to drag you towards the crowd of dancing people.

You just about managed to drink your shot and place it on a nearby table before you got sucked into the whirlpool of dancing bodies.

Smiling at up Hizashi you stated the obvious, “I’m having a great time”, “I’m glad” he replied bluntly, you continued to dance with him until he leaned into your ear, “Stop me if I’m crossing a line here, but what’s the his-happening with you and Shouta?” he asked, his question took you back for a moment, not sure what he meant. You didn’t know how to answer so you just shrugged.

The truth was, you’d had the hots for him for a while. At first you thought he was just the weird member of the faculty, the one that liked being left alone. But the more you talked to him, or listened to him talking to others, the more he intrigued you.

It started out as general interest, listening to his views on the world and his opinions - which he hardly gave. Then it turned into a crush, watching the way he would command his classroom and hold all the power had you mesmerised.

It was the type of crush where your tummy would flip when you heard his name being mentioned, or butterflies would escape your heart when you saw him walking towards you in the halls.

Not to mention the way he made you feel when he was playing the role of the villain for the student’s physical exams.

Mic gave you a knowing look, raising one eyebrow. “Why?” you asked back. Sure, you and Aizawa were colleagues and you got along well, but you didn’t think anything of it, you couldn’t even use his first name the way that Mic does.

“He’s giving you some serious stink eye” he finally said and gesturing behind you with his eyes, you started to turn your head to see what he was looking at, but he span you around underneath your arm to make it seem like you were dancing. He swung your body around and made you switch places with him.

“You’ve gotta loosen up, you were about to make things hella obvious” he laughed, never stopping dancing with you. Now that you were facing the other way you could see what he meant. Aizawa was sitting at the bar, staring at you, but as soon as you made eye contact he snapped his head away and shifted his gaze to his drink.

“I didn’t think he would want to be here” you yelled to Mic, “He doesn’t, but Nezu and I organised some guards to stop anyone leaving before 11pm” you gave him an expression of disbelief and burst out laughing. It was hilarious that he had hired guards to stop literal Professional Heroes.

Unfortunately, you’d decided to laugh just as the song was changing so your chuckles echoed through the bar. This made you laugh even harder, but you tried to your best to conceal it, swaying forward and bumping into Mic. You were definitely tipsy now.

“Another drink?” you asked him in between giggles, you glanced towards the bar as that’s where your tipsy brain wanted to go, and you saw Aizawa staring at you again. Although this time he didn’t break eye contact. It actually seemed like he was getting up.

“I think we need to space drinks out a bit more for you” Hizashi said, trying to stabilise you a bit more, luckily the song had changed to a slow song so you didn’t look too out of place. You put your arms around his neck and swayed yourself to the music, smiling up at him. “You’re a cool friend, Yamada” you praised him.

“Ahem“ someone cleared their voice ”May I?” you heard them say, it was so quiet you almost barely heard it. But you would always be able to pick this voice out of a crowd.

“Be my guest” Mic said, and he unwrapped your hands from his neck for a second and then placed them back down. You were enjoying the music so much you’d closed your eyes so you could vibe.

You sighed heavily, but as you did you inhaled the most intoxicating scent, it smelled of coffee and oak wood. Feeling the aroma fill your nostrils and surround your entire being, you chuckled, knowing exactly who had their hands on your hips.

“So you’re not always grumpy” you teased opening your eyes, you were greeted by Aizawa’s grey orbs, he’d scrapped his hair back into a low bun and only a few strands of hair were framing his masculine face. “I try my best not to be” he chuckled back, you felt his laugh vibrate through his shoulders and into your arms.

You swayed with him for a while just to enjoy his company, a few of the other teachers were turning their heads to look at the two of you - most definitely more to see if THE Eraserhead was allowing himself to have fun.

Taking a chance, you pulled yourself closer to him so your chest was on his, it worked in your favour as it pushed your assets closer together. You weren’t too sure what you were trying to achieve, but you were too tipsy to care anymore.

“You have a hard outer shell you know that Aizawa” you teased, making sure you were making eye contact with him, it was very rare that he would let anyone get this close to him. You could actually see his features more clearly, and it made your heart flutter even more than it already was. His defined jaw line, the small amount of stubble he had, even the way the bags under his eyes creased when he smiled.

Wait.

He was smiling.

“God damn” you exclaimed, “You’re even hotter when you smile” you let slip. He stopped for a beat to stare at you, but carried on swaying with you, you completely missed his hesitation, but maybe you would have noticed if you weren’t so inebriated.

“I mean” you stopped dancing completely and shook your head, realising what you’d just said “I’m going to get another drink” you nervously laughed and unhooked your hands from his neck and walked towards the bar.

You really didn’t want to let go and walk away from possibly the only chance you’d ever had at being physically close to him, but you could feel your face getting redder.

Ordering two more shots, you drank the first one before the bartender had time to put it down. You stared at the second for a moment before lifting it up to your lips. Before you could allow the liquid to enter your mouth another hand put itself over yours and stopped its momentum, a little bit of the spirit sloshed out and was now running down your bottom lip.

“Should you be drinking that much?” Aizawa more said than asked. Your eyes traced up his scarred hand and followed it up to his scolding eyes, your lips still parted from your attempt to drink.

You both stood their frozen in position, was he actually expecting you to answer? You watched his eye line shift from your own orbs to your lips and your breath hitched, no doubt he felt it, his hand was too close to your mouth for him not to.

“I’m an adult” you answered flatly and pretended to nip at his hand, he quickly moved it away with a shocked expression on his face. Smirking you giggled slightly, did he seriously think you were going to bite him? Only if he asked you to - no bad drunk thoughts!

“You’re not acting like an adult” he shuffled slightly towards you, close enough for you to smell his aftershave again, as well as feel his body heat. Shot still in hand, you still hadn’t moved from your previous position, it felt like if you did then this interaction would end. “You’re acting more reckless than some of my first years” he teased, at least you thought it was teasing, you’d never seen or heard him talk like this before so it was new territory.

“Is that so?” you paused for a moment “Aizawa-sensei” you continued, finally knocking your head back and consuming what was left in your shot glass. Hearing a few low chuckles come from the man next to you, you broke eye contact.

“So, you think I’m hot?” he recalled your words and readjusted himself again, now having one hand on the bar and slightly facing you. “What of it?” you said defensively, not letting his presence push you backwards.

Letting out a small laugh “It’s not like you ever noticed me anyway” you mumbled to yourself, your bout of confidence fading. “What?” Aizawa was taken aback by your drastic change in attitude,”This is the longest conversation I think we’ve ever had” you semi-explained.

“‘Cause I never know what to say to you without making myself look like an idiot” Aizawa shocked you, was he letting down his guard? “I think of a million things to say, and a million ways to say them, and by then the moments gone” he couldn’t make eye contact with you.

You couldn’t do anything else other than stare at him as he glanced at his shoes and then back up to you, you felt your heart beating out of your chest as he scanned your face with a mixture of adoration and lust.

“I get lost in thought” he said so lowly you barely heard him, “What thoughts?” you were brave enough to ask, letting him back you up so your spine was against the bar. “About how much I want to know how your lips taste” he breathed, licking his bottom lip, and raising his free hand to brush a stray hair out of your face and behind your ear.

You leaned up towards his face slightly and then quickly stopped, you were second guessing yourself. It didn’t matter, your instigation was enough for him, he took the opportunity he had and pulled you into him - kissing you deeply.

It felt like fireworks were exploding all around you and your tummy wouldn’t stop doing somersaults. “Aizawa” you whispered in disbelief, almost inaudible.

“Shouta” he breathed, struggling to catch his breath, “Please call me Shouta” he lightly begged. “Well, Shouta” you emphasised his first name, earning a little groan from him “I would very much like to go somewhere, less public” you finished. “I would very much like that too” he agreed, kissing you again.

#aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #shouta x reader #eraserhead #eraserhead x reader #teacher!reader #mha #mha fanfiction

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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Unhallowed Arts

Threesome: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones x Brad Davis Rating: E Word Count: 11,077

This is a submission for Thotumn, organized by @spideysmjs!!! Today’s prompt: Threesome (but this fic also includes previous prompts: Semi-Public, Face-Sitting, and “Don’t Be Gentle”).

Summary: “What’s the compromise between abruptly shutting this down (her sex drive weeps) and getting in bed with a guy who will make the experience too emotionally intense?

'Have you ever had a threesome?’ Michelle blurts.

'…What? No.’

‘Neither have I. But I’ve been, um, wanting to try it.’

Have you? she demands of herself, wiping a damp palm on her jeans.

‘You, me, and someone else?’ Brad’s eyebrows are very high on his forehead. ‘That’s a lot of bodies, uh, coming together.’”

Brad Davis has a Mary Shelley mug. He used to drink from it—coffee he brought to work in a thermos from home, which smelled so delicious that Michelle would go out of her way to inhale it over his shoulder, pretending to let him show her something on his monitor—until the mug cracked and he switched to using it to house typical office junk. She asked him about the mug exactly once, fearing it was bait to intrigue a certain kind of person, to make him seem like a certain kind of person himself. But he surprised her. Turns out he’s not a douche (or at least not a douche who lures women in with female authors of historical significance), just a genuine Shelley fan.

He’s not many things Michelle initially assumed him to be, striking them off a mental list over the months they’ve worked together: not a guy who takes the last free seat at the table during a team meeting, not a guy who checks out his own reflection on his black phone screen, not a guy who wears sturdy hiking boots for show. When they troop out to conduct surveys on behalf of the conservation initiative they work for, Brad scrambles up the side of eroding banks and squelches into marshland until water soaks his socks and surface residue clings to his leg hair.

Brad’s not pushy, though she’s well aware that he’s been watching her as long as she’s been watching him.

Early on into them working together, she fell into his arms. Literally fell. The team encouraged Michelle to wait for the second truck, the one bringing the ladder, but she got stubborn and climbed the tree to check the bat box the old-fashioned way. Unfortunately, some of the branches were dead and hollow inside, but Brad caught her when she dropped eight feet. And then flirted with her before she could catch her breath. She had some less friendly words for him in return. The first time he surprised her was when he immediately respected her clear boundaries and backed off. They’ve learned to work easily with each other and drink together in the same booth when people from the initiative hit the bar—on evenings they don’t smell too much like they spent the day in Mother Nature’s armpit. They’re friendly, could almost be friends, except that she’s incredibly conscious of his persistent attraction to her, even if he doesn’t do anything about it because he’s not a douche. It’s a knowledge Michelle simply lives with.

But there have been an awful lot of evenings lately of smelling like whatever swamp she waded into during the day, of either going straight home to shower the stench away (thank fuck for rent with utilities included), or hunching over her laptop as she tries to get a grant application finished before a midnight submission deadline. Nobody she works with is holding their breath for the day the government decides it should just give them the money to protect local habitats without making them prove themselves over and over and compete against other worthy environmental projects for the funds. So, Michelle works, and she wades, and she loses many of the evenings she could be out getting laid.

On a regular they-better-pay-us-for-the-overtime evening and not a marshy/swampy/boggy one, she’s comfortably stretched out in a booth with Brad across the table. Two of their colleagues were here a minute ago, but they got up to… go to the bathroom? Grab another round? That’s a little hazy, but Michelle can feel something becoming clearer to her. Observing her own hand as she twirls the base of her latest empty across the tabletop, she asks a question.

“You like Mary Shelley, right?”

Brad, glassy-eyed but still trying to look professional with the way he has his hands folded on the surface in front of him, smiles at her. She can feel it.

“Yes. Her creativity was astounding. If I were in the running for the Miss Universe pageant—”

Michelle jerks her chin back and looks up to make a face at him.

“—and they asked me what historical figure I would most like to have dinner with, I would say Mary Shelley. Hands down.”

“Cool story, bro. Hey, Brad?”

“Mhmm.”

She can tell by his drifting gaze and expression of introspection that he’s planning out his pageant answers.

“Do you still want to sleep with me?”

That focuses his attention. He laughs uncomfortably.

“Why… why would you think that?”

“Oh, so, what’s your limit?” Michelle presses, slightly snide with the alcohol in her bloodstream. “You’re not interested in going past holding hands? Making out for no more than five minutes? Because you obviously want something,” she rambles on. “You look at me, I know you do.”

“This isn’t just an idle question, is it?” Brad asks.

He leans forward to look at her as carefully as his tipsiness will allow. As if he already knows the answer. Their thought patterns are very similar, she’s found. It’s why they’re effective at work and why it’s possible to fall into a discussion on books during their overlapping lunch hours. She likes him—not a lot, but enough to have started this conversation. She stares back at him.

“I wouldn’t say no to it,” he offers quietly, though the bar is crowded tonight and Michelle doubts their words are traveling beyond the booth.

Now, Brad’s looking at her in a way that makes her realize, all this time, he’s barely been looking at her. With the permission to think of her in this way, there’s a clear desire there, a gaze that slips again and again to her mouth. Huh. Ok. Maybe she didn’t completely think this whim through before sharing it with him. She can’t fuck that Brad. She’s been imagining the drinking companion, the nice forearms he reveals when he literally rolls up his sleeves in the field, the man who will always be a little on her nerves for flirting with her as he cradled her against him. Someone whose world she could casually rock with the assurance that they both have enough self-confidence to carry on afterwards without getting clingy or feeling disposed of.

What’s the compromise between abruptly shutting this down (her sex drive weeps) and getting in bed with a guy who will make the experience too emotionally intense?

“Have you ever had a threesome?” Michelle blurts.

“…What? No.”

“Neither have I. But I’ve been, um, wanting to try it.”

Have you? she demands of herself, wiping a damp palm on her jeans.

“You, me, and someone else?” Brad’s eyebrows are very high on his forehead. “That’s a lot of bodies, uh, coming together.”

“Come on, Brad—”

“‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’” he guesses.

“I was going to say, I thought you loved Frankenstein.”

She rounds her impulsive invitation off with a smile.

—

Michelle doesn’t volunteer to select the third person. When she considers which of her friends and acquaintances she’d be comfortable having sex with, well, there’s Brad. That already hasn’t gone the way she predicted. Everyone else she’s close to either feels like family, is in a monogamous relationship, or just isn’t attractive to her in that way. She consoles herself over putting the choice of their third into Brad’s hands with the thought that he seems like he’d be the most suspect person in a friend group (yes, they get along, but there’s something sleazy about the way he tries too hard), so whoever he asks can only be more tolerable than him.

“So, a buddy of mine said he’d be into it,” Brad says as she’s passing his desk one day. Michelle stops dead and he swivels in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“You’re talking about…”

“Yeah.” He darts a look around, then hits her with a conspiratorial smile.

“Oh. Ok. Good. Turtles,” she says more loudly to cover for them. Her gaze darts to the nearest desk, but Jocelyn’s wearing headphones and bobbing her head as she populates a spreadsheet. Reassured, Michelle takes a step towards Brad and lowers her voice again. “What’s his name? How do you know him?”

“His name’s Peter. We play soccer together.”

“How the hell do you have time to participate in organized sports?”

“That’s what I do while you’re working your way through the New York Times Best Seller list,” Brad jokes.

“Fair. But who is this guy?”

“You want his résumé?”

“No, I want to know he’s not going to give me an STI or try anything freaky.”

“Freaky,” he echoes. “As opposed to threesomes, which are an incredibly common thing to do with your boyfriend.”

“Or your friend from work,” Michelle retorts, to keep things very clear. Brad appears fleetingly wounded. Too bad. He can say no any time, but it’s obvious that he’d rather see her naked in a threesome than the alternative. Which is never.

“Yeah, of course. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about Peter. He’s responsible, he’s single, he was raised by his aunt and they’re still really close. She comes to all our games.” He lets out a derisive sort of laugh and Michelle narrows her eyes at him.

“That’s sweet.”

“I guess,” he concedes.

“Why’s he single?” she asks, rapid-fire.

“I don’t know, because he wants to be?”

“‘Wants to be’ like he’s emotionally stable and waiting for the right person to come along or ‘wants to be’ like he’s a flake with commitment issues?”

Brad gives her a look like she’s overthinking this; it betrays an utter lack of comprehension of a woman’s perspective on relationships. The validity of her questions goes over his head.

“Why does it matter if he has commitment issues?”

“Relax,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not trying to date him, it just says something about his personality. I don’t want to do this with somebody selfish, because if he’s selfish in other areas, he’s probably selfish in bed.”

“He’s a good passer,” Brad says. “On the field. He always ends the season with more assists than goals.”

“That’s… not a totally useless testimonial.”

“I appreciate your approval.”

Michelle would laugh if his tone weren’t a little too earnest. The way he really wants to impress her can be grating. Well, he’ll soon have his chance to impress her in a situation where she actually wants to be impressed.

“Get back to work, slacker,” she tells him, returning to her own desk.

Fifteen minutes later, Brad texts her with three different dates to choose from. Michelle pulls up her calendar, colour-coded with deadlines and days she’ll be working out in the woods. Taking late nights and the need for long showers into account, she picks a date, then leaves her thumb hovering over ‘Send’. She puts her phone down.

This is where she could still back out. Brad’s mentioned it to his friend, but she’s under no obligation to either of them. Would it be awkward to change her mind and see Brad at work every day? Yes, though she could always say she just wasn’t that serious about it to begin with. Which she wasn’t! For someone who’s soothed by referring to her colour-coded calendar and progressing through life with each forward step carefully considered, tossing out a suggestion to have a threesome was rash.

Michelle eyes her phone.

On the other hand, Brad likes her too much to be a dick post-ménage à trois, which, as far as she can see, is sort of an ideal trait in a threesome companion. If she were going to do this. She wheels her chair back and cranes to peer across the room at him. Focused on his screen, he brushes his black hair out of his face with a quick swipe of his hand. Damn, he is nice-looking. The kind of guy Michelle would definitely approach at a bar for a one-night stand if he flashed a smile her way. If picturing him naked intrigues her, then the idea of lying down between him and another muscled body (Brad said soccer, so she’s assuming this friend has an athletic build) while the three of them wind over and under each other like a braid definitely ticks a big ‘YES’ box in her brain. Her hand shoots out for her phone. She hits ‘Send’.

Three bodies which will, in Brad’s words, be coming together. Maybe not what Mary Shelley had in mind, but anticipating this threesome does more for Michelle’s libido than an electrified jigsaw of corpses ever could.

—

It’s a different bar, and she’s in different clothes, but otherwise, it’s not a totally foreign way for Michelle and Brad to spend their Friday evening. Provided he shows up. She darted home after work and a loaded glance at Brad, showered, and starred deep into her neglected makeup bag like it was some sort of prophetic tool. Michelle, it said to her, you don’t want lipstick smeared all over your face and eyeshadow fallout stinging your eyes. Leave it at mascara and a whole whack of waterproof eyeliner. She obeyed these wise words with trembling hands, nearly prodding herself in the eye with her mascara wand because, even with a doable task to concentrate on, she was nervous.

She adjusts her short, black skirt, rocking side-to-side on the stool. For a regular date, it’s the kind of item she would borrow from a friend, but it struck Michelle as incredibly gross to wear a friend’s skirt to a threesome and then return it to them afterwards, so she bought this one online. During work hours. Feeling incredibly furtive, though everybody dabbles in online shopping during lulls in their workload. The skirt was never a normal purchase; she knew it was going to end up right here, right now, between her ass and a barstool. She gulps the end of her whiskey and goes back to cradling the beer that’s been her emotional support as she waits for the guys.

Arriving ten minutes early has felt like an age—time stretching wretchedly like those clocks in ‘The Scream’—but she finally hears a familiar voice calling her name. Flipping her hair out of the neck of her leather jacket and grabbing her support system, Michelle turns to spot Brad’s face. He smiles and waves, stepping through the crowd that’s building steadily as the after-work drinkers are exchanged for the cutting-loose-for-the-weekend drinkers. When she slips down from the stool, her skirt rides up, and the man who is usually just a co-worker allows himself to notice. His gaze on her bare legs feels good.

“Sorry we’re late,” he says, though they both know she’s early. But Michelle will take this pleasantry over an implication that she’s overeager.

Since they were at work together only a few hours ago, she skips small talk.

“Where’s your…” Friend, she’s going to say. She doesn’t need to.

Brad—tidy in a partially unbuttoned blue shirt—angles himself towards her side, making room for the woman taking the barstool she vacated, and Michelle sees a man approaching with the two of them as his clear destination. Her first sense of him is filtered through Brad. Once, through Brad’s description, twice, through Brad’s cologne. It may be coming off her friend’s skin, but the scent clings to Peter in her brain. What she’s smelling is the woods, only more expensive somehow, like a perfume company bottled the idea of glamping. Doesn’t matter that the scent doesn’t suit him at all. He walks with his head up, eyes openly excited, and it makes her think of a schoolkid progressing through a museum’s dinosaur exhibit. All he’s missing is a backpack with straps for him to clutch. Letting her gaze skim down from his face, Michelle actually can’t picture him trying to haul on a backpack; his shoulders look broad and strong, even under the incongruous red hoodie he’s wearing.

“Oh,” he says when he sees her standing next to Brad. Under any other circumstances, she’d be taken aback by his eyes scanning the full length of her body, but she’s going to fuck this stranger tonight and when he looks back up to her face, he’s grinning. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replies, more guarded, less forward, until Brad suggests trying to find someplace to sit and Michelle’s able to check Peter out from behind as he leads them away from the bar. Nice butt.

They snag a coveted corner spot as a small group in business attire is leaving it, settling with Brad between them. Peter makes himself useful by dashing back to the bar and returning with the fingers of one hand twined between the necks of a trio of beers and the fingers of the other slightly dipping into the liquid in a pair of tumblers.

“I didn’t know what you’d like beyond what you’re already drinking,” he says, jerking his chin towards the beer Michelle finished while he was gone.

“That’s fine,” she assures him. “I don’t want to be too… I want to be aware of…”

God, trying to discuss the imminent threesome directly is making her flustered. She has a swig from the new bottle he placed in front of her. Peter leans across Brad and offers his to clink with. Where Brad’s face is aggressively handsome in the heavy line of his eyebrows and the sharp perfection of his teeth, up close, Peter’s is cute and unintimidating.

“Here’s to being a consenting participant tonight and remembering it tomorrow,” he says.

Unintimidating, but not uncompelling, especially when he tilts his head back to drink and she can watch the line of his jaw.

Michelle blushes, but knocks her bottle against his.

Two rounds deeper for them and one for her, the heat of the bar and the alcohol in her system are getting to her. She winds her way back from the washroom and shrugs out of her jacket before sitting down. Peter manages to get the end of his sentence out, but Brad doesn’t even try to respond as he takes in the low sides of her silky top. Michelle slides closer to him than she was sitting before and puts a hand on his knee as he finally turns his head and stutters out a reply to Peter. Peter looks past him and catches her eye. Her heart’s springing up and down in her chest because she realized, staring at her reflection as she washed her hands, that, if they’re going to do this, somebody’s gotta make a move. Peter, sleeves shoved up, is staring back at her like he’s been thinking the same thing. His hand smooths over Brad’s thigh.

Under the table, Brad keeps his legs still, his feet flat on the ground. His comfort in his own skin is something Michelle’s always respected. He even succeeds in raising his glass steadily to his lips and taking another drink while Peter runs his hand higher. With a little throat-clearing, Brad parts his thighs further. She doesn’t mean to be, but Michelle’s waiting for Peter to go first. They were talking about something innocuous when he said just enough to imply that he’s never been in a threesome either. Regardless, there’s a confidence in the way he touches Brad. She trails her fingers up Brad’s thigh and Peter locks eyes with her as their gazes cross watching their friend swallow.

Suddenly, the man between them is a little less present, even with the sharp breath he takes at the moment Peter tucks his hand against his crotch. Michelle rests her hand over his. She feels his skin, lets her fingers slip through his, as Brad gasps and swells beneath Peter’s palm; she can tell—they have to change the curve of their grip to accommodate the erection. Brad’s arm curls around her waist and presses her into his side as her and Peter’s hands move together, stroking through Brad’s pants, rubbing him. He glances at her, heat in his eyes, but she’s looking at Peter again by the time she leans in and kisses Brad’s throat. She draws it out into a lick at the slack way Peter’s mouth is hanging open. Hopefully, the fall of her hair is blocking the necking from the view of other patrons, but that hope is tough to keep in mind when Peter’s tongue appears to wet his lower lip. Like she’s kissing him.

There’s a squeeze between Michelle’s thighs that has her gripping Peter’s hand more firmly, urging him to jerk Brad off faster. She glances towards Peter’s lap and he lifts his hoodie with his free hand to expose the bulge in the front of his jeans. The scent of her perfume rises as sweat trickles between her breasts. They knead Brad rapidly until he chokes out a plea for them to stop, begging to take this someplace private. She grabs her jacket in one hand and links the fingers of her other through Brad’s. Tugging him to the exit, she trusts Peter to bring up the rear.

—

Making out in the back of a rideshare is bad behaviour, so Michelle takes the passenger’s seat when the car pulls up. Because she is feeling the need to go back a step from risky under-the-table handjobs and just kiss someone. And that someone is not the friend she arranged this with. She glances at the sidemirror as they’re passing under a streetlight and Peter’s staring at her. He winks. Slowly, like she’s just looking idly around as they drive, she turns to glance into the backseat. Brad has his arm stretched out along the top the seats and his fingers have dipped into the neck of Peter’s hoodie. Michelle’s pulse accelerates just imagining the warmth of that throat. Scrambling for her phone, she sends Brad a text.

Put your fingers in his mouth.

She faces forward again for about a block, prolonging her outward nonchalance even as she hears a vibration, followed by Brad’s soft snort of acknowledgement as he reads her text. She glances around the edge of her seat and sees him act. His hand comes out of the sweatshirt to take Peter by the chin and turn his face towards him. Briefly, he inclines his head towards his friend, speaking too quietly for her to distinguish the words, but Michelle guesses it’s something about her watching because Peter’s gaze jumps to her as he opens his mouth and accepts two of Brad’s fingers. She can see him sucking as Brad withdraws, cheeks flushed. He looks to her—for approval, she thinks, until he holds his wet fingers up and curls them in the air in a highly suggestive motion. Oh shit. Michelle feels herself pressing down on the floor of the car like she’s in the driver’s seat with the accelerator under her foot.

They’re going to her place where: she’s on home turf, she knows it’s clean, she can go right to sleep after kicking them out. Also, the one luxury of her second-story apartment is the king-size bed her friends seriously, outrageously got on ladders to help her push through the sliding door of her balcony because that was easier than carrying it up the narrow staircase. Tonight, she plans to get some good use out of all those acres of mattress.

As with the hijinks in the car, she knows both men are watching her as she lets them into the building and then through her front door.

“Kitchen,” Michelle says, with a loose wave of her hand. “Living room, bathroom. And the bedroom’s at the end of the hall.”

Brad excuses himself to empty his bladder and/or psych himself up in the mirror above the bathroom sink and she’s wondering how to entertain his friend during these uncertain moments of transition when Peter basically lunges forward and kisses her. She moans into his mouth because it’s sudden but it’s good. His hands go right to her ass and her arms wrap around the back of his neck, holding him against her. With her heels, she has a handful of inches on him, but that doesn’t appear to make him pouty or daunted. It’s less than a minute, probably fewer than thirty seconds (understanding the flow of time is temporarily lost on Michelle), but they separate panting.

“You can tell Brad to stick his fingers in my mouth all you want,” Peter murmurs, still staring at her lips, “but I’ve got something I wanna to stick places too.”

“Understood.” She nudges her thigh into his groin.

“So, you guys aren’t waiting for me, huh?” Brad asks with a tight smile as he walks out of the bathroom to see Peter’s hands on her ass and her pressing back against him.

This is kind of the idea, all three of them experimenting with each other, but she can tell he’s annoyed that anything went on while he was out of the room. That he’s possibly jealous. Though it doesn’t feel right to move away from Peter, Michelle knows how to rectify this. She strides to Brad and puts her hands lightly on his chest before kissing him, more coyly than Peter kissed her. She lets Brad come down to her as he hunts out what he wants from the kiss. This feels nice too, though it has more of the familiarity of kissing a friend—even though they haven’t touched in this way before—than the bubbling lust that went with kissing Peter. As she continues, tracing her fingers to the center of his chest to stroke his skin and begin undoing his buttons, Peter comes up behind her and helps her out of her jacket. She hears her keys jingle in the pocket and tap against her phone. When his hands sneak through the sides of her shirt to run across the underside of her breasts, Michelle pushes Brad back, back, back, and the three of them stagger to her bedroom.

She and Brad make out in the dark for a while, and without light, the kissing get rougher, their breathing ragged. Once she has all the buttons of Brad’s shirt undone, she reaches back for Peter and he grips her hand tightly as he grinds his erection against her ass. They’re pressing snugly into her front and back when she thinks of things like being able to locate condoms and ogle muscles—both activities require some light. Michelle squeezes out from between them and turns her bedside lamp on, angling the shade so the light stays low. Turning to check on them, she sees one man standing there with his shirt open and dishevelled and the other rigid in the front of his jeans. Brad’s hard too—she felt it when she stood against him, but his erection’s not visible from where she’s standing now. It’s odd, seeing the space between their bodies and knowing she was just in it. But with Peter rubbing Brad’s dick at the bar and Brad clearly turned on by having Peter suck his fingers on the way here, they’ve been messing around too. Why should they pause to get her back in the middle? Stubborn and curious, Michelle crosses her arms where she stands and gives them an expectant look.

Peter reacts first; he grabs the back of Brad’s neck and stretches up to kiss him. The instant their mouths meet, Michelle understands the three of them have a problem. Trading off sexual favours, these guys are ok, but being on two sides of the same kiss makes them competitive. Fucking weekend athletes. Countering the dominant neck-grab, Brad bats Peter’s arm away and takes his face in his hands. It’s not sweet, it’s controlling. Peter’s next move is yanking Brad’s body against his by crumpling the open front of his shirt in his fists. Oops, well, alright, Michelle decides. Maybe it’s better to put herself back in the equation.

Because she has no intention of babying Brad through this experience, when she slips between them, she puts her back to him. Picturing his disappointed face, she raises her arms.

“Take her shirt off,” Peter interprets, tearing his hoodie over his head in a flurry that peels the t-shirt beneath halfway up his torso.

It’s evident in his method that Brad isn’t interested in being told what to do with her. He makes sure to drag his hands over her as he takes his time. Maybe he’s being a dick about it—that’s what the narrowing of Peter’s eyes tells her as he stares at Brad around Michelle’s head—but she’s enjoying this. There’s something about having spent so much time with Brad and those hands that has her pressing back against his erection. She’s witnessed him performing countless practical tasks, like driving the stakes for ‘Trail Closed’ signs deep into semi-frozen ground with a sledgehammer to protect new plant growth in the spring, knotting a rope leash around the waist of one of their colleagues as overkill when they wade into a pond to collect a sample, or just his impressive typing speed. (Not as many words per minute as she logs, but still.) He’s only quick when he pushes the material above her breasts and shifts his hands down quickly to cover, then massage them. She can almost hear him internally screaming at Peter that he beat him to this, only she doesn’t care. He’s tugging her nipples now and she shuts her eyes with a sigh.

“You like that?” he asks into her ear, which is when Peter loses patience for this display and removes her shirt the rest of the way himself.

Michelle retaliates by dropping her arms and edging his shirt up his stomach while Brad continues to caress her chest, now also kissing her shoulder. Though Peter lets her remove his t-shirt herself, she can add a willingness to get naked quick to the few things she knows about him; he seems like he’d be just as happy to whip all his clothes off at once as go through the foreplay of undressing each other. She remembers what he said to her in the kitchen. He has his own aspirations for tonight and the grin he gives her when she gets his t-shirt off makes her wonder what he wants and how soon she’ll be giving it to him. Michelle can’t feel any part of her resisting. It’s… surprisingly freeing.

Brad shuffles behind her, slipping out of his shirt, and her heart leaps as his chest presses to her back, skin to skin. Peter makes a grab for her crotch, but she lifts her eyebrows wryly and spins to face Brad instead.

“This fucking skirt,” she hears Peter mumble behind her as he slides his hands up her thighs to play with the hem.

It’s not exactly a sexual fantasy she’s fulfilling when she digs her fingers into Brad’s hair and combs it back, but it’s definitely a fantasy. He just has great hair. Sometimes, when she’s bored in a meeting, she’ll look over at him and feel this compulsion to run her fingers through it. She discovers that the strands feel soft and wonderful, so there’s one dream realized.

As she’s moving the palm of her hand down to cup his cheek, she shifts her head to the side, catching Brad’s eye and nodding back towards Peter.

“Kiss him nicely,” Michelle instructs.

Brad’s dark eyes bore into hers for a moment, then he breaks the stare and looks to Peter.

“Let’s go, Parker.”

Satisfied, she gets out of the way, circling behind Peter. While he’s partly distracted by the kiss (tamer than last time, by the looks of it), she rests her hands on his waist. Then, Michelle thinks, Screw it, and feels him up all over his chest, shoulders, and stomach, before wending her way down to his hips. His jeans are probably really putting pressure on his erection right now. She’ll help. After flicking the button open, she means to move away, but… plans change. She’s barely dipping the tips of her fingers below the waist of his jeans when Peter pulls away from Brad’s insistent mouth to mutter, “Well, that’s not fair.”

Instead of continuing, Michelle delights in retreating. Peter’s protesting noise is absorbed by his friend’s lips and she pats his ass before going to tease Brad. First, she guides the hand Peter has on Brad’s shoulder up into his hair so he can share her joy at how touchable it is. Then, she grazes her palms down his back. His friend’s body is dense with muscles, like somebody who goes to the gym a lot, where Brad’s is lean. Their work is a decent split between time indoors and outside, fairly physical, so she knows he has strong legs, good lungs, all the endurance he needs for the days they have to park far from a trailhead or navigate gullies. She forgot to ask what position they each play on their soccer team, but she’ll be concerned with another type of position for the foreseeable future.

To keep things even, Michelle unbuttons Brad’s pants. He makes a needful sound and goes momentarily loose between her body and Peter’s. This is not the reaction she expected from a man so socially comfortable, who apparently maintains a far better work/life balance (and, presumably, a steadier sex life) than she has lately. These noises, which continue as she works his zipper down against the push of his erection, expose him. He makes himself vulnerable. Something zinging through Michelle’s body compels her to take advantage.

She and Peter propel Brad’s co-operative body towards the bed. The guys land with a thump and continue kissing; Peter’s fingers form a gun as he angles Brad’s jaw, driving his tongue into his friend’s mouth. Michelle stares at them, breathing hard for having done nothing. Not breaking the kiss, Brad raises a hand to reach for her, but she’s quicker than that, dropping to her knees. She and the band of his underwear get along immediately—it’s easy to uncover his dick and the elastic cradles him instead of trying to snap back into place against his abdomen. Though the access with his pants still on isn’t amazing, she kisses his stomach, then the head of his cock. Up above, Brad moans.

With a smirk, Michelle repositions a little on her knees and grasps her friend’s thighs. He’s whimpering. He’s full-on whimpering. She leans in and licks slowly up his length. Her heels are already starting to bother her, so she reaches back and tugs them off one at a time. The next thing she means to do is gather her hair out of the way as she shallowly sucks Brad’s erection and strands swing forward, trying to tangle in his open zipper and stick to the saliva she’s coating him in, but Peter’s hand is there first. Still making out with Brad (she can hear it if she can’t see it), he encircles her hair in his grip and rests his fist lightly on her shoulder. Dammit. She’s a soft touch for his soft touch, closing her eyes to the sensation of his knuckles brushing her skin. This stranger is ruining the nice underwear she put on tonight.

“Please, Michelle, please,” Brad breaks free of Peter’s mouth to say.

He reaches out to hold her ribs, cup her breasts, but while he and his friend might share the field on Saturdays or whenever, they don’t seem to be on the same team tonight.

“Nope,” Peter informs him. “I get her next.”

“None of that possessive shit,” she warns.

“Can I please have you next?”

“You must be a real pain for your friends,” Michelle guesses sarcastically, letting him guide her over to his lap instead of Brad’s. (Who’s probably looking sour. She doesn’t know. Her eyes are glued to Peter’s.)

“No pain, I promise. I’ll be gentle.”

She rolls her eyes and settles in, straddling him.

“Oh my—” There is no ‘god’ because he kisses her before she can finish.

That’s his second annoying offense in seconds and she’s going to let him know. Really, she is. But he’s reminding her that he never let go of her hair by lifting it and slipping his hand against the nape of her neck to caress her skin. Michelle angles her hips and grinds up and down the swell in his jeans. Peter doesn’t mess around stroking her legs and hips, he just darts both hands beneath her skirt and traces the edges of her underwear where they curve around her thighs and narrow between them. She can feel him draw the fabric aside and gasps into his mouth, anticipating his fingers, when Brad tips the both of them over.

It’s disorienting, but they twist onto their sides and her friend scoots close behind her, so she decides she doesn’t mind.

“You’re not getting out of this,” Peter speaks quietly against her mouth when she thinks he’s about to kiss her again.

Michelle finds herself smiling, almost laughing, as he flips her skirt up and elects to take her underwear off. There’s only so much he can do like this, so she takes over, kicking them to the floor. That’s annoying offense number three; those underwear are sexy and she thought she’d be showing them off some before they hit the hardwood. Weirdly, Peter’s disregard only makes her smile broaden.

“Like I was trying,” she quips.

“Are we bantering,” Brad checks, “or are we fucking?”

“Dude, I am so sorry for the people you sleep with. Banter is an important part of the process,” Peter instructs.

“Fuck you, Parker.”

“And when you do, I guess I can’t expect any banter. I’ll adjust my expectations.”

“I’ll adjust your nose with my fist,” Brad responds in a playful tone. Michelle isn’t completely sold and she wavers, sandwiched between the two of them.

“Cool,” she says, “but actually, I am here to get laid.”

Two sets of male hands collide where her thighs are pressed together. She takes a deep breath at their enthusiasm, unable to tell whose fingers are skating along the skin just above her pubic hair and whose are subtly attempting to wedge between her legs.

“After you,” Brad says smoothly.

“Thanks, man.”

Her friend’s hands retreat a short distance and Peter insinuates one of his thighs between hers to create some space.

“This ok?” he checks, sweet face even sweeter horizontal.

“Be my guest,” Michelle says, copying Brad’s formality and reaching up and back to squeeze his shoulder so he realizes. She gets a kiss on her neck in response.

Peter’s fingers run slickly through her arousal. It’s a methodical mapping, feeling as though it’s meant to arouse her rather than him, but their eyes meet and he’s wearing an expression like he’s the one being fondled, though his erection cleaves to his abdomen, twitching under his clothes as he fingers her.

“You’re teasing me,” she points out, pulse jumping at her inner thigh.

“Am I not supposed to?”

Michelle tries to rock harder against the pass of his fingers and he moves them away with a grin and a chiding, “Ah!”

“Just give her what she wants,” is Brad’s disgruntled input.

She turns to watch as he sits up and undresses from the waist down. He gives her a smile like they’re on the same side, demonstrated by him advocating for her pleasure—something Michelle’s quite comfortable doing on her own. And yet, alright, her friend’s heart is in the right place, and it is difficult to monitor and decipher the fluctuating moods and responses of two other people, and his directive is obeyed. Peter’s fingers return and push through the wetness he helped generate, touching her entrance and gliding inside her, one finger, then two. Michelle groans deep in her throat because finally.

Brad lies down at her back again and, with Peter working her up, she fumbles behind her and grabs her friend’s ass to encourage him closer. She can feel him hard and hot against her, partly touching her rumpled skirt, partly her skin. He rubs against her and reaches an arm around, greedily squeezing her hip, then sweeping down to feel for her clit.

She’s sweating between their bodies, breathing hard and shuddering involuntarily when Brad gets his fingers positioned to trap her clit and begin gradually cracking her mind like peanut brittle. Where he’s painstaking, Peter’s exultant. He increases the pace of his fingers until they’re shuttling in and out of her. Michelle grips Brad’s wrist with one hand, Peter’s neck with the other, then switches, then moves both hands, grappling for some constancy that the part of her brain currently squashed beneath her need for satisfaction knows she’s not gonna get. Her hips are writhing in their hands as a clear goal fights its way through the fog of lust: unzip Peter’s jeans. It’s tricky, with the over- and underpass of arms, but she does it and he thanks her with a sloppy kiss that only seems to land on her mouth by miracle.

“Close,” she gasps.

Behind her, Brad groans and nips at the base of her neck, making her shake. He’s humping her quickly, pushing with his hips as he pulls back with his fingers on her clit. Good thing Peter hooks his fingers firmly inside her so he doesn’t get jostled off this ride. Good thing too that his curling motion strikes her so, so right. Michelle cries out and comes, his fingers still pumping ruthlessly inside her, Brad pinching her clit, and then coming himself; she feels the jet spurt up her back, probably some on her skirt too.

Which is why she did not borrow clothes for this threesome.

Peter’s expression is impish as he tries to keep coaxing her through the pleasure, but she pushes at his chest and he finally takes his hand away.

“Oh my god,” Michelle sighs, flopping back and half onto Brad.

“Go team,” her friend pants from beneath her.

“Yeah. You guys have some kinda cheer you do at your games?”

“Sometimes we bump chests,” Peter offers, hands suddenly on her boobs.

She twists, trying to see Brad’s face without lifting up. Her temple makes contact with his chin.

“Does your friend have an off switch?”

“If he did, I’d skip that and just pull the plug,” Brad says. He wraps an arm around her and she wiggles until he relaxes the hold, forcing him to make it less territorial.

“Aww,” Peter says, managing to cup her breasts in a perfunctory way, like he’s pushing them up to prevent under-boob sweat while she cools off post-orgasm, “you guys are bantering. I knew you could do it. Also,” he adds, “I don’t know if anyone happens to be keeping track, but I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten off.”

“That sucks, man.”

With effort, Michelle sits up and glares at Brad’s unconcerned face.

“Don’t be a dick,” she says.

“Yeah, Brad,” Peter joins in.

Shaking her head, she puts her back to her friend and checks Peter’s face for her go-ahead. He nods in rapid approval, so she grips the waist of his open jeans and pulls down while he lifts his ass from her bed. Fuck, the three of them never even got under the sheet. Then again, it’s easier to be mobile above it. Plus, it’s an extra layer between her expensive mattress and the fluid drying on her spine.

Because Peter doesn’t seem like the kinda guy who cares to be undressed layer by layer, Michelle doesn’t striptease herself with taking off his clothes slowly. At some point, he kicked his shoes away, meaning it’s straightforward to yank the boxers and jeans down his legs. Her intention is to remove them completely. He doesn’t seem to have a hell of a lot of regard for her intentions.

“That’s far enough, I swear,” he says, when she has his jeans around his shins. “I’m good. Nike time. Just do it.”

“Just do what exactly?” Michelle asks indulgently. She rests a hand on his naked thigh and tries not to stare openly at his dick, red as a slap.

“Anything. Whatever you want. Brad says you’re multitalented.”

Brad rolls over lazily to glare at Peter.

“What the hell, Parker? Don’t make it sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I talk about Michelle like that!”

“I get it,” she says, cutting him off. Please shut up, Peter, she thinks. “You talk to him about work. You appreciate me as a co-worker.”

“That’s definitely why I’ve heard so much about you,” Peter agrees provokingly. “Because he appreciates you as a co-worker.”

“You know what?” Brad bites out.

“What?”

Michelle rolls her eyes and opts to terminate this snippy little back and forth by grasping Peter’s cock and bending over to wrap her lips around the head. That shuts both of them up. Thank god, some fucking peace.

He emits a deep groan of approval and weaves his fingers into her hair, slightly bucking his hips. As she sinks to take him deeper, she hears another groan—hoarse with an entirely different emotion—coming from Brad. She doesn’t stop. If he has something to say, he can damn well use his words. Michelle clutches the inside of Peter’s muscular thigh and sucks as she starts to withdraw only to plunge him farther into her mouth. Peter’s hand finds hers and tangles their fingers together next to his hip, catching some of the sheet in his grip too. The gesture dizzies her heart.

While he’s seeing god, Brad’s apparently seeing red, because he taps, then tugs, at her shoulder, until she pulls off of Peter and shoots her friend an impatient look.

“What?”

“I’ll do that,” he says, nodding towards Peter’s straining, saliva-slicked erection.

“Somebody better fucking do it,” Peter says in the tragic tone of an established sufferer. They ignore him for the moment.

“You want to?” Michelle asks skeptically.

When Brad averts his eyes from hers, she realizes that, no, he doesn’t want to, he just doesn’t enjoy watching her blow Peter. She wavers, wondering if she should cancel tonight halfway through. Maybe that would be sacrificing what she wants for the self-esteem of these two men, but they’re just so goddamn annoying. They’re supposed to be friends and they’re acting like rivals. Michelle doesn’t owe loyalty to either of them, she’s nobody’s girlfriend, and yet she’s getting the feeling that she needs to pick a side. Even a novice like her can tell this isn’t the way a threesome’s meant to go. If they were worse at this, she might be able to walk away.

Abruptly, Brad kisses her, then nudges her gently aside as he drops to his elbows to pick up where she left off. Peter draws a fraying breath. Well, either these two aren’t combative enough to present her with an ultimatum, or they just want to get laid as badly as she does. If Brad bites Peter or some shit though, she’s throwing them both out and leaving the necessary medical care in their hands. Michelle will not be responsible for these men and their egos.

Peter tweaks her fingers, their hands still clasped. She leans in close to observe his heavy breathing and the way his hair’s sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“I still want you,” he whispers. The words are like static shock, like a finger tracing unexpectedly down her neck. “And you better be quick because I think Brad thinks he’ll get extra points for speed.”

He gasps, eyes rolling back, and Michelle instinctively cups his neck, running the pad of her thumb along his throat. She doesn’t glance over at Brad; hearing the frantic wet noises paints a sufficiently informative picture.

“You think you can concentrate while he’s doing that?”

“Totally.” Immediately, a desperate, guttural croak leaves Peter’s lips.

“You sure?”

“No, but I still want to put my tongue inside you and that should count for—uhhh!—something.”

“Such as?” she asks with a wry smile, straightening her legs out so she can remove her unspeakably defiled skirt.

“Hell if I know, my concentration was pretty shitty to begin with.”

“Center yourself,” Michelle says in the calm, instructive tone of a yoga tutorial as she levers herself over his chest and rests her ass lightly on the hard planes of his pecs.

“Brad,” Peter begs, “cut me some slack for one fucking minute, dude.”

“One minute, huh?” she teases.

“Are you doubting me?”

“Peter Parker, I don’t even know you.”

But, somehow, she’s beaming down at him as her hair falls around her shoulders. For an instant, he looks completely focused on her and not the sound of Brad switching from giving him head to pumping him in a fist (his version of slack-cutting, evidently). Peter eyes her from her face down to where her legs are spread above his body. Then back to her face.

“I’d like for you to.”

Her teasing expression softens. She parts her lips to respond and he wrenches her forward, onto a mouth that opens at once. He licks up into her, then keep his tongue tensed and prods her clit back and forth. Michelle curls into herself, thighs suddenly snug against the sides of his head, fingers locked in his hair.

This is, perhaps, the single event within the larger experience that sells her on threesomes. Peter’s mouth feels incredible on its own (like he’s fusing the peanut brittle shards of her mind back together again and going too far, melting them into goo), but the intermittent moaning that leaves it due to Brad’s contribution down below means Michelle’s riding something that licks, sucks, and vibrates. She’s a mess. Tilted forward, she’s nearly crying out to plant her hands on the bed and just grind across Peter’s tongue, but the hand not hold hers has her hip in a formidable hold and she can’t reach far enough to be comfortable. Each time she thinks to force her eyes open and check his face to make sure he’s enjoying this as much as she is (and still breathing), Peter’s eyelids are flickering as he absorbs the combined pleasure of taking from Brad and giving to Michelle. She’s shaking and trying not to get too rough with him, smoothing a hand over the hair she’s been practically pulling out at the roots. Peter counters with a quick smack to her ass before seizing her hip again. Fine, she won’t be nice.

Michelle shifts and rolls her clit against the tip of his nose. It positions her entrance above his wide-open mouth and he slides his tongue thickly back inside her. The sound of him tongue-fucking her is graphic. He loses his rhythm and gets even more aggressive with his mouth—she figures he’s close to release. Peter groans and arches his neck and chin up when he finishes, so she lifts swiftly away, hating to do it, aching and slippery.

She throws herself off of him, collapsing back onto her elbows with her thighs quivering. Dazedly, she observes Brad hurrying from the room with his lips clamped together (not a swallower then—the things she’s learning about her friend tonight). Peter’s lying there, spent. With her emotions high, their tableau causes her to despair. It’s over. It’s all over. One of them’s too wiped to carry on, the other’s just finished giving oral and won’t want to return just to bring her to orgasm. Michelle lets her head hang back and swipes two fingers over her clit, catching it and adding pressure on the upstroke.

Peter rolls over like he’s risen from the dead.

“You don’t—” she begins, but then he’s there, between her quaking knees, suctioning his mouth to her and using his tongue to fiddle around with her clit. His arms are limp and heavy as they hold her thighs down and open. Any energy he has is converted into strokes and twirls, from there into her overwhelmed sobs. Brad walks back in to Michelle yelling, “Peter, fuck!” as she climaxes with her head thrown back and his pressed insistently into her groin by her stiff hand. When Brad comes to sit on the bed, Peter’s leg kicks out and catches him right in the stomach. The kick drives him off the mattress and onto the floor with a thud.

Michelle scrambles away from Peter, to the edge of the bed, as Brad stands and starts putting his clothes on, his back to her.

“Are you going?”

She sees Brad’s shoulders rise and fall as he sighs, but he doesn’t answer her. Once he’s dressed from the waist down, he lifts his shirt from the floor with a swish and slips his arms in as he walks back out of the room. Uh oh. Michelle glances to Peter who appears maddeningly unsurprised. She yanks at the bedsheet until he moves off of it, but touches her wrist as she wraps it hastily around herself to chase after their friend.

“I’m sorry if I wrecked this for you,” he says.

“No.” She shakes her head. “He wanted tonight to be something it was never going to be and I thought, when he invited you, that he could handle it, but… I gotta go talk to him.”

“I think I’m already lucky he didn’t jump up and break my nose, so I better stay here.”

“Alright.”

Michelle almost stumbles trying to keep the end of the sheet off the floor, but she gets to Brad while he’s still buttoning his shirt, patting his pockets to check for wallet, phone, keys, maybe the little Swiss Army knife he carries because it always comes in handy eventually.

“Brad,” she says, cautious in cotton and bare feet.

He cuts a look at her with his dark eyes.

“Better not,” he suggests.

“You’re really leaving?”

“Do you need me to stay?”

She hesitates, leaning away from him slightly at the question.

“Well, it was supposed to be—”

“No,” he interrupts. “Do you need me to stay?”

His eyebrow twitches with everything he’s suppressing: hurt, hope, jealousy. Brad’s smart, he knows the answer, but he still ventures forward with grave determination, the way he’d lead a group of their colleagues down a forest deer path that may or may not be crossed with poison ivy. But Michelle is not something for him to sweep clear and overcome.

“We can only be friends, Brad,” she tells him, straight and honest. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy doing this with you…”

He grins ironically, giving her a glimpse of his bright, perfect teeth.

“Please. You two were shutting me out before Parker booted me in the stomach.”

She doesn’t really have a defense for that. They might have touched Brad, grabbed him, licked and kissed him, but none of that compared to how she felt whenever Peter took her hand. She’s actually a little scared to walk back into her bedroom and face that.

“He didn’t mean to,” Michelle asserts awkwardly. Brad lifts his eyebrows. “Probably,” she qualifies. He nods tiredly.

“If he tells you I was a dick to him after our next game…”

“What makes you think I’ll still be in contact with him then?” Brad gives her a look and she frowns, chastened. “I’ll believe him,” she says instead, “and I won’t blame you.”

“This sucks,” he admits, smiling tightly at the floor.

“Can I get you a glass of water for the road? Transit fare?”

“I’d actually rather get out of here and begin the process of trying to forget what Peter’s dick looks like close up as soon as possible.”

She says nothing to champion the dick in question. That would be cruel.

“This was… something I hope we can laugh about someday,” Brad says, and quickly kisses her cheek.

“I’ll—” they say together.

“—text you tomorrow.”

“—see you on Monday,” Michelle says. “Oh. Uh…”

“Space,” he says, understanding.

“Probably good for right now.”

“Yeah.”

When he leaves, she locks the door and bangs her forehead against it. Fuck. She’s going to have to get a new job, isn’t she? Walking in to spot his heartbroken face every day is more than she wants to deal with. Their initiative has a bigger office downtown, not the outpost-like space they work out of. She can apply there. Probably should’ve ages ago, when she started outgrowing the place she’s at. She’ll miss traipsing around outside the city, having to check her legs for ticks, her hair for spiders, and her arms for dead-branch-inflicted scratches deep enough to require infection-preventative measures, but she can buy some fucking plants. Start a garden in her windowsill. Hike on the weekends. Regain some of that thankless grant application time by devoting it to projects more clout will actually allow her to push forward. Be the chooser instead of the beggar.

Michelle laughs at herself, faintly tipsy and two orgasms deep, standing alone in her entryway in a poor man’s frat party toga.

She gets herself the glass of water she offered Brad. She pees with her goddamn adult white sheet scrunched up in her lap like a bride’s dress on her wedding day. She strides back to the bedroom and drops the sheet at the door.

“Hello,” Peter says, perking up.

“Hello yourself.” The man is stark naked and unashamed. “You’ve been, what, chilling?”

“I also eavesdropped.”

“You’re a loser.”

“I’m the loser you haven’t kicked out of your apartment,” he points out. His gaze slips naturally to her chest as she climbs onto the bed on her knees and takes a seat beside his prone body.

“Why is that?”

She asks rhetorically, but Peter either doesn’t pick up on that or ignores it. She kinda likes that about him. Where Brad tries so hard with her, Peter leaves her room to try a little too.

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately, that is possible.”

“Unfortunately? Give me back those orgasms I gave you then,” he demands.

“Orgasm,” Michelle corrects, emphasizing the singular. “The first one was assisted. You can’t take full credit.”

“Bullshit.”

She shakes her head but Peter grabs the back of her knee, pulling her forward, stretching her out, until she’s on her back, laughing, and he’s hovering over her, inches from a kiss that she really, really wants to receive. Strange.

“Is not,” she tells him flatly.

“Then I’m earning that plural.”

“Oh yeah?”

Instead of kissing her or lowering himself down onto her or otherwise touching her in any way at all, Peter leaves. Michelle sits up and looks after him, baffled.

“Where are your washcloths?” he shouts from the bathroom 30 seconds later. A laugh bursts out of her.

“Tall cabinet next to the shower!”

She listens to him running water in the sink. Laughs again when he returns at a run.

“Flip over!” Peter says wildly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Come on, while it’s still hot. It’ll feel nicer.”

Michelle rolls her eyes and maneuvers onto her stomach. He washes her back with the warm cloth. He washes her back. She folds her arms under her head and pillows her cheek on them, candidly observing him. In a practical sense, Peter’s wiping away what Brad left behind, and buying himself time to get hard again, she’s certain. But it doesn’t all feel like practicality. Not when every pass of the cloth is so careful, or when Peter makes another sprinted trip to the bathroom to heat it up for her, or when he’s lying down alongside her by the end, beginning to lightly kiss her clean skin.

“I don’t understand you,” she hears herself confess.

“I’m an enigma,” he agrees. Michelle snorts.

“I do like you though.”

“Called it.”

He chucks the damp, cooling washcloth over the side of her bed and she glares at him.

“This room has wood floors. Which I pay for. As a feature of this apartment.”

“It’s not on the floor, it’s on my jeans.”

“So, it’s soaking into your jeans right now? That’s convenient for you.”

“Is it?” Peter asks vaguely. His hand is rubbing back and forth very low on her back.

“I’m assuming you’re not planning to get back into wet jeans tonight and make your way home.”

“I would if you asked me to,” he swears, giving her puppy-dog eyes.

“Are you forcing me to say this out loud?”

A winning smile. She sighs in exasperation and turns onto her side, propping her head up with her hand.

“Peter, would you like to stay over?”

“Do you want that?”

“You’re a pain,” she says for the second time. Peter continues smiling, waiting. Michelle takes a deep breath and keeps her eyes on his, not letting her gaze drift around the apartment that is nice but lonely, tranquil but lifeless. It has life with this surprising person in it. “I want that.”

He shuffles close to her with a grin.

“I want that,” he says, brushing his lips across hers.

“Mmm,” Michelle agrees. Her eyelids fall. She parts her lips for his tongue. His hand fits into the curve of her waist and slips over to touch her back. His thickening erection nudges her mons, then her abdomen as he swells against her. Her moan skips and drags and Peter clutches at her more purposefully, tipping her onto her back.

“Condom,” she remembers, and points him to the box tucked out of sight. Discrete for the fact that she bought it for use in a threesome with a work friend and a total stranger.

Peter holds up her copy of Frankenstein, resting beneath the box.

“You a fan?” he asks, returning it to its place and tearing open the wrapper on the condom.

“I’ve read it twice, but I think I prefer Dracula.”

“Aw, I’m a wolfman guy,” Peter offers. He puts the condom on like it’s a sock or a baseball cap; there’s definite familiarity there. And Michelle doesn’t care. “Dracula and Frankenstein’s monster are creepy, sure, but the wolfman is two different people: the regular guy and then this creature in the shadows during the full moon. I don’t know, I think there’s something really cool about that. You ever watch the old Lon Chaney movies?”

Ok, she more than likes him. She likes him quite a lot. Smiling, Michelle shakes her head.

“Well,” he says, but he stops talking then. There’s a depth to the look in his eyes as he gazes at her. She lets him in and stands as horizontal witness to his existence in blinks and breaths and the pound of his heart she can almost feel from here.

“Why don’t you get the light?”

Click.

In the dark, it’s less of a performance, not that Peter doesn’t clearly intend to perform. Michelle’s eyes rest without the light and she breathes deeply as Peter comes over her and kisses her neck. Her eyes are still adjusting while he takes a meandering route down her chest, pressing his mouth harder against her breasts. He licks across her nipple; she scratches her nails up the back of his neck and into his hair. When she lets out the smallest huffing sound of enjoyment, he cups his hand between her thighs, skates a finger along her entrance. As if she wouldn’t be wet. As if the foreplay didn’t start the minute he walked back in with that warm cloth and draped it across her back.

“Any specific requests?” he asks, lifting his head from her chest. She can see his face now. Enough light gets in around the edges of her blinds. She runs her fingers through his loosely curling hair, then arches her body up against his.

“Don’t be gentle.”

Michelle feels the eager tremor of his hand against her inner thigh as he lines himself up and eases inside her. His breathing catches. She tilts her hips and raises her knees from the bed, urging him in, farther, all the way. Peter withdraws and she’s assuming he’ll build up to what she asked for, but he slams back in. Though she clenches her teeth around the sensation of him filling her so hard and so well, a whine escapes.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” she acknowledges, accuses, admires.

He pauses, hands planted to either side of her on the bed.

“Like I said, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ve been waiting for this since I convinced Brad to tell me your name.”

She wants to think and hide and hold him close, but she can reflect later. He seems to agree. Peter’s thrusts are rough and rhythmic. Pounding into her like a machine one minute, he’ll be playfully grabbing her wrists and licking her neck the next. When she tightens her legs around him, he lets her change their positions, only to haul her beneath him again—on her stomach this time—as he rocks in and out and wedges his hand under her to rub her clit. They chase each other across her mattress and Michelle comes clawing at her pillow, invigorated by the certainty that this is the best time she’s ever had in bed. Peter bites her earlobe as he snatches one of her scrabbling hands and spills into the condom.

He doesn’t help her remake her bed with clean sheets because he claims to be “bad at it.” She’s debating the potential truth of that when he returns with a bowl of popcorn after leaving her alone to do it herself, joins in, and somehow puts a lavender pillowcase on inside out. Michelle sets it right with a laugh and they get back in bed together, popcorn and her laptop playing Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man between them.

She slips away to shower after Peter falls asleep with his head on her lap. When she gets back, she quietly removes the bowl and the laptop. The bed’s a king—she’s used to her space and she doesn’t need to sleep close to him—but Michelle squirms into the warmth his body radiates. He stirs enough to breathe in the scent of her hair, kiss her forehead, and thrust his hand into hers. Confused by the gesture, she frowns at his face, with its softly closed eyes.

“By the way,” Peter mumbles, shaking her hand, “nice to meet you.”

Michelle smiles and pats his arm as he drops it over her, instinctively pulling her close.

#my writing #thotumn #peter parker is a thot #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones #brad davis #been sitting with this done for almost a month lol

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