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sunlightmurdock · 11 months ago

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The Parent Trap | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it, drinking / being drunk, flashbacks and references to sex, minors dni, wc: 4.8k

…

“I’m not being mean, I just think he smells weird,” Parker decides with a shrug, moving the little silver dog six spaces and narrowly missing her sister’s monopoly of hotels on the right side of the board. She lifts her gaze and looks at you, just daring you to challenge her logic. “It’s not mean if I’m just saying what I think.”

Peyton’s lips twitch as she shakes the dice in her hand, but she doesn’t add any commentary this time. You narrow your eyes across at your outspoken daughter, finding so much of your ex-husband in the amusedly defiant way she stares back at you.

“What does he smell like, then, Parks?” You challenge.

“Wood.” She answers with a shrug as her sister rolls a solid twelve and picks up the thimble to skip along the board in front of her. Peyton pokes her tongue out in concentration, like it’ll do anything to prevent her solid twelve from landing her right on the Go To Jail space. She growls in frustration and falls back dramatically onto the carpeted floor. She has spent most of this round in jail. You’re beginning to feel sorry for her, but it’s hard when she has some of the best properties and a business strategy that should probably concern you as a parent.

“Well, he is a carpenter.” You remind her, picking the dice up and shaking them in your hand. With that, the man in question rounds the corner with two glasses and two juice boxes balancing in his hands and a smile plastered across his face. This is now the fourth time that Chris has met your children, the first being a month ago.

He seems to be growing on them if Parker is actively trying not to be mean this time. You still haven’t gotten your girls to ‘fess up as to which one of them buried his phone in the backyard like a wild dog. Like you wouldn’t notice when your hydrangeas started ringing.

“Here we go, an apple, an orange, and two coffees.” Chris hands out the drinks and struggles bending his remarkably inflexible legs into a crisis-crossed shape. They made him be the phone piece — you’re certain that it’s to taunt him about the burying incident — but he’s being a champ about it.

Peyton looks down at her drink and hums, “I don’t want apple anymore. I’ll take an orange juice, big guy.”

In the years since you last hung out with Maverick, it’s so easy to miss the little Mitchell-isms working their way into your kids’ vocabulary. Your head whips around, far more concerned with what she said rather than where she got it from. Chris turns his head towards her, opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again, readying himself to get back up. Your eyes widen as you turn to find your eight year old smiling back at you.

“Then go and get an orange juice, P. Don’t be rude.” You correct her with a stern frown. Suddenly, the apple juice isn’t as much of an issue. She stabs the straw through the hole with her eyes narrowed in Chris’ direction, but this is still a big improvement from last time.

This was never going to be easy, but in the weeks since you introduced your girls to your boyfriend, you have to admit that you thought it would be easier than this. You’ve never heard either one of the girls talk about their dad as much as they do when Chris is in the room.

“Dad knows that she prefers orange.”

“Well, she asked Chris for an apple juice and that’s what she got.” It’s hard not to grow tired when you know it must be wearing him down too. You take the dice and drop them suddenly into Chris’ toughened palm. He softens in comparison, simply smiling back at you.

“So, did you guys get up to anything fun when you were at your dad’s last weekend?” He tries. If they want to talk about their dad, he doesn’t mind — he gets it. It makes you feel even worse.

“Yeah.” Payton deadpans, staring across at him like dirt on her shoe. “What did you two do while we were gone?”

Your head turns towards her again. Chris answers coolly.

“Your Mom sold that new dress she was working on. Cool, right? — We went out to dinner to celebrate that. Other than that, it’s pretty quiet around here without you guys.”

He’s looking at the board, busy moving his piece. He doesn’t know your children the way that you do. He misses entirely the split-second in which they glance across at each other. They find you narrowing your eyes at them.

At once, they’re saved by your ringtone. Another glance is shared between the two of them as you push up from the floor and head for the hallway to answer your call. In your absence, Chris’ piece lands on Peyton’s Park Row property, with the hotel sitting on top.

His brown eyes flicker up to find the eight-year old staring at him expectantly.

“You know the rules. Cough up.” She demands, in a tone she knows she isn’t allowed to be talking in. By the look on their little faces, Chris almost instinctively reaches for his real wallet rather than the colourful little notes sitting beside him.

When you walk back into the room, the first thing that you notice is the silence. Looking between the twins and your boyfriend, your frown deepens. “What’s going on?”

“Chris lost. He’s out of money.” Peyton explains calmly, flicking through her stack of ones like she’s Vito Corleone all of a sudden. Chris turns to look at you and simply wiggles his eyebrows, giving a shrug of defeat as he moves to stand.

As much as you find reflections of your ex-husband in them every day, it tugs at your heartstrings to see pieces of yourself in them too.

“You okay?” He asks, cupping the back of your neck, craning his neck to look at your face. Your palm catches his arm, sitting against his bicep as he pulls you closer.

Parker kicks her sister and they both turn their heads to watch.

You lower your voice to a whisper, fighting to keep the disappointment off of your face. “Yeah… The sitter just canceled.”

“Oh.” He sighs. You’ve been talking about this night for weeks, it’s not often that you get to go out with your friends now that you’ve all got grown-up commitments. “D’you think Bradley could watch them?”

“He’s out of town for a work thing.” You explain dejectedly, leaning in to Chris’ touch as he swipes your hair delicately back from your face.

Watching him hold you close, Parker starts to consider burying his phone once again. Or dropping it in the toilet. Or maybe pouring honey into his work boots that she saw by the front door.

Or maybe, if she was staying true to the source material, she could get him on a camping trip and push his mattress out into the middle of the lake. But he’s bigger than Meredith Blake was, and she’s smaller than Hallie Parker was.

The honey will do.

“I’ll watch ‘em.”

Bradley was out of town on a work thing. He was gone from Tuesday ‘til Friday, he told you that. He got in a little after nine and thought about having a beer, but didn’t. Instead, he just sat on his couch and tried to find a show that would keep him up long enough that he wouldn’t wake up at five in the morning.

He woke up at 1am, his neck stiff and the show two episodes ahead of where he thought it should be. Groaning, he had pushed himself off of the couch and decided to head to bed when he had gotten the text.

The conversation he had with Parker last weekend crossed his mind instantly. They had spent hours talking about fate; what is was, if they believed in it. If Bradley hadn’t startled himself awake by snoring, he would have missed the text completely.

He slipped his phone out of the pocket of his jeans with one hand, rubbing at his tired shoulder muscle with the other, squinting down at the bright screen.

Please pick me up from the Hard Deck when you see this.

He hasn’t ever made you ask twice.

Chris offering to watch the girls had come completely out of left field. It had almost caused a full-blown argument, but that man just seems impossible to get angry with. Stroking your hair and calming each one of your nerves step by step, he swore to you that he just wanted you to have a good time, that he could handle two little girls.

Bribing them was clearly the only way this was going to work, and it seemed like Chris had that in the bag. Emergency numbers set up and ready, allergy information written on the fridge and a borderline military debrief with your twins had left you practically trembling with anxiety, but had gotten you out of the house nonetheless.

You hadn’t planned on getting this drunk. The plan was to go, have a couple of drinks with your friends, and Uber home after a couple of hours. It never works out that way.

In fact, you can barely keep your head up straight when you hear one of your friends call out over the music. “Is that Rooster?”

Blinking doesn’t help you see straight. The loud music, and the bodies in the way, and the irregular lighting doesn’t help either. You squint and finally find him. Wearing jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt, heading straight for you.

When you squint harder, you expect to realize that it’s not him.

“Rooster!” The second that he reaches you, your arms are around his neck and your chest is pressing into his. You haven’t hugged your ex-husband like this in a long time. “What are you doing here?”

He wrinkles his nose, untangling your arms from around him so that he can get a good look at your face. It’s been a long time since he saw you this dressed up. Hair, make-up, heels. The dress looks familiar but he can’t quite place it.

“You texted me.” He watches your eyelids falling shut, blinking heavily and irregularly as he explains to you. He steadies you by your arms. “You wanna go home?”

There’s a disgruntled groaning sound before you try to look around at your friends. At this point, Rooster makes an effort to be polite and greet them all. After all, they were his friends too, once. They’re all as shitfaced as you.

“Come on, mama. I’ll take you home,” He decides for you, hugging you against him like your own feet aren’t secure enough for his tastes anymore. You fall all too willingly against his chest, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt while he tries to keep the attention of your friends. “Does anyone else need a ride?”

Maybe they do, maybe they don’t — maybe their own husbands will get up and come get them. Rooster won’t leave them without knowing they’ve got a way home, so you know that once you feel the outside chill on your skin he must have made arrangements for them.

He sighs quietly and jerks you as he tries to get a better grasp. Outside, you can finally hear him properly.

“Honey, you need to walk. Use your feet.” He tells you, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. Your head is lulled against the swell of his shoulder, you haven’t moved your feet since he grabbed you, and yet you’re moving towards the car perfectly fine.

Everything is happening in chapters. You’re skipping ahead and losing parts, not paying attention to much. Things aren’t spinning yet, but they sure are blurry. You manage to talk back anyway.

“I don’t.” You answer, head turned towards the sky. It occurs to you, briefly, that you’re going to be horrifically embarrassed about this tomorrow. Your feet try, then trip, and his hold on you tightens.

“What did you drink? — You alright?” His arm around your waist pulls you closer, your head lulling off of his shoulder and awkwardly onto his moving chest. You hum contentedly.

“I had a good time.” You whisper.

He sighs something about you throwing up in his car and you’re faintly aware of the sound of a car door unlocking.

“C’mere, honey. Just sit right there. I’ve got some water. You wanna sit and get some fresh air with me?” Maybe there are pauses in between — maybe he says it all slower than that, but you can’t really focus. Or open your eyes.

You know that he has guided you to sit against the tailgate of the Bronco because of the way your feet dangle. As a mother, you hate this car. As a girl who fell in love with Bradley Bradshaw — fuck, you love this car.

“Wanna drink somethin’ for me?” Rooster offers the bottle to your mouth and winces as you draw your head sharply away from it. He grabs your shoulders and stops you from teetering over.

You’re not sure how, but you settle into his side and find that his arm remains there. Draped around your shoulders as you rest your head against him.

It takes a while, but Rooster gets you to drink. It’s anyone’s guess as to how long you sit on that tailgate sipping from that water bottle, but his arm around your shoulder feels nice anyway — even if he’s just rubbing your back because he thinks you’re going to puke.

When things start to come around a little more, you’re laying across the two backseats and hugging the water bottle like a teddy bear. Your head is spinning.

“You alright back there?” Rooster calls to you, making you frown slightly and lift your head. Passing by traffic lights and street signs, the world turned on its axis as you try to push yourself up and ultimately give in to staying laid down.

He’s really here. Some way or another, you really forced this man to carry you out of the bar and spend his Friday night babying you. You want to know if you called, or texted, or if he was just in the bar and saw you — you thought he was away for work — but that’s all too embarrassing still.

Your mind is too cloudy for that level of conversation, your words still don’t sound quite right.

“You even didn’t question it.” Your body sways as he pulls to a stop at a red light, your focal point on the soft top of the Bronco swaying with you and kickstarting that dizziness all over again. With a swallow, you close your eyes. The swaying continues like the leather seats below you are actually built into a speedboat as opposed to a seventies classic car.

“Did you put that seatbelt on yet?” His dad-voice comes from the front. Eyes still shut, this makes you smile. You don’t even remember him telling you to. He peers at you through the rear view mirror. “Question what?”

All you offer him is a small shrug, not interested in a seatbelt in the slightest in your current state. This next sentence requires a deep inhale first, but is interrupted by a hiccup. “I text you out of the blue and you just… show up. Didn’t even check to see if it was for you.”

Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek, brows drawing together as the light turns green and another check towards the mirror confirms that you still aren’t wearing a seatbelt. He huffs and the car pulls sharply to the side, making you groan in complaint.

The radio plays on as Bradley stops at the side of the road and unclips his own seatbelt, then gets out of the car. Your poor brain hasn’t even had time to catch up before he’s pulling the door open and half-climbing in. You blink as he appears over you.

With the door still open, he’s just illuminated by the street light. His eyes have always looked so soft in the dark. The slight pout of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw, the bump in his nose. He’d started out with the most innocent of intentions, but as he leans over you across the backseat, it becomes clear that you’re both struck by the same abrupt chord of familiarity.

This is far from the first time that the two of you have been in this position. In fact, this is exactly how things started out the first night you hooked up.

He swallows above you. There’s a wonderstruck look on your face that makes his ears burn red. Your eyes search over his face and with each inch they cover, he watches them flood with remembrance. Warm pink spreads across his cheek, extending down his chest. It makes your lips twitch to think you can still get him to blush.

“Come on, sit up.” Bradley whispers, gently taking each of your hands in his and pulling you upright. “Let’s put your seatbelt on.”

Silently, you don’t fight him on the matter and Bradley knows that’s a win in itself. It’s not the first time he’s had to wrangle you into this car after a few drinks either. Your eyes are just on him, and he swears that’s where the heat on his face is coming from. His fingers fumble to get the buckle into the clasp.

The second that he hears that click, he’s withdrawing from the backseat and climbing back into the driver’s side. You stare at the rear view mirror as he pulls away from the curb. In truth, you had forgotten how gentle he could be with you.

“Thank you.”

He glances up at the mirror, then back at the road.

“Thanks for picking me up. Sorry that I’m…” The pause facilitates a deep inhale that stops you from hiccuping mid-sentence. He watches you sheepishly ready yourself to continue. “Such a mess.”

This, makes him smile. It spreads across his face just as easily as the pink hue had, taking over his features.

“Honey, we both know I’ve seen worse.” Oh god, he remembers. He said it so casually too, like he’s reminiscing on a fond memory. The memory isn’t quite as fond for you, but then again, you don’t remember too much of it. He used to always tease you about it.

The night you met him was your twenty-first birthday, and you were flirting all night, but then you had gotten way too drunk and he had to carry you home �� with you fighting him the whole way. He called you alley-cat for two months afterwards. Your feral behaviour had clearly caught his eye, though, because he started hanging around the Hard Deck a lot more afterwards.

Things hadn’t ever seemed that serious in the Hard Deck. Everything was easier back then. The career you have now is exactly what you wanted, but you can’t pretend that some days you wouldn’t rather have a handsome aviator leaning over a bar and telling you jokes to make your shift pass faster.

He takes one more look up at the mirror and smiles again, this time because he finds you already not trying to smile back at him.

“God, I had such a crush on you that summer.” The second that you’ve said it, you have to stop yourself from slapping a hand over your mouth. Closing your eyes will do. You can feel him staring either way.

It shouldn’t be weird to acknowledge. You were married for over five years. In love for a good while before that. Of course you had a crush on him originally. But it’s at the forefront of both of your minds that it still feels like yesterday that you were sprawled along this backseat, stomach bursting with butterflies as he unbuttoned your shorts for the first time.

The salt on his skin, the smell of his cologne mixed with sunscreen and sweat. The way his curls dry after he’s been in the ocean. The way the sunset hits the browns of his eyes. The freckles on his shoulders, dipping into the valleys between his muscles.

The brush of the same moustache you had been making fun of for months against the most sensitive parts of your skin and with it — the realisation that you actually loved that moustache.

Shivering through the late summer evening heat, whispering his name to the stars as his smart mouth worked between your legs. He drove around with the top down a lot back then.

He remembers everything about getting to know you. Getting taunted relentlessly by Hangman because of the way he blushed when you used to tell him his drink was on the house. Almost falling off of his stool craning his neck to get a better look at you behind the bar. Making sure you were invited to every beach outing. The first time he kissed you, and the way you were looking up at him before.

“Sorry, that was—“

“It’s alright.” He interrupts. When he closes his eyes at the next stop sign, all he can think of is the sight of your wet footsteps leading up the steps on his back porch. You had come from the beach. He had known he was going to find you in his shower inside. It was the first time he had ever come home to you. You were barely dating back then.

He looks at the mirror, wondering if you remember that time in the shower.

You’re not thinking about the shower. Fingers spread out, trailing the seams in the leather, you’re thinking about the last time you had sex in this car. So different from the first time. Bradley had known your body so much better, the two of you were so much more comfortable together.

The girls were with your parents for an entire weekend while the two of you were out of town for the wedding. Before the reception, Bradley had tugged you outside and bunched your pretty dress up around your middle. Closing your eyes and letting your fingers inch across the seats, you can still remember his breath fanning across his chest, the low grunts as he drove himself into you. His arms wrapped around your body, your forehead resting against his bicep and your legs around his waist.

“Rooster.” You rarely call him that anymore. It’s the first name you knew him by, since all of his work buddies called him that. Bradley was something that came letter, something that felt more for just the two of you. The last thing you would say most nights. Goodnight, Bradley. It’s been a long time since you said that, but you know it would feel just the same coming off of your tongue.

He hums from the front seat, but doesn’t look.

“Could I sit up front with you?”

“Yeah, sure— let me—“ Too late. He hears your seatbelt unbuckle and knows what’s coming next. Sure enough, as he’s going at a steady forty along Palm Avenue, you swing one foot unsteadily over the console and wobble in the direction of the passenger side. “Baby—“

It’s out of instinct, purely because you’re stressing him out. You plop down into the passenger seat and turn your head to look at him. Wordlessly, both of you decide to pretend you didn’t hear that.

For his peace of mind, you tug the seatbelt across your body and clip it in.

“We’re in so much trouble if the girls take after you.” He teases, the smile in his voice cutting through the tension. You giggle beside him.

“Me? — Do you not remember what happens when you get too familiar with a bottle of tequila?” You answer back, eyes closed and a silly smile on your face. You remember. You remember having to carry him, practically dead weight, into your bed from the living room and spend the night rubbing his back while he threw up the next morning.

“Yeah, we’re in big trouble.” Rooster scoffs, pushing his fingers through his hair. You stare across at the tattoo on the inside of his bicep as he rests his elbow against the door.

You’re still drunk enough to blame the alcohol when you reach across and take his free hand as he steadies the wheel with the other. His gaze flickers down as you loop your fingers through his. “We weren’t that bad.”

This time he laughs.

“We weren’t? — So you don’t remember—“ He’s still grinning when he stops himself, already turning into your street. You two don’t talk about that stuff anymore. You’ve moved on. Those funny little stories are private now, entirely his. Your boyfriend sure as hell wouldn’t want to hear them.

He looks over at you as he slows down to pull up to the curb.

You’re already looking across, staring at him with a look he hasn’t seen in a long time. The smile that you flash him makes him think of that first year. Then, you close your eyes and exhale, “I remember everything.”

Even with the radio playing, there’s a silence that sits between the two of you as the car pulls to a stop. It’s at that point that everything in your orbit starts to spin, forcing you forwards and making you whimper. Bradley’s already out of the car and jogging around to your side as you catch your head in your hands and try to breathe.

“C’mere, honey. I’ve got you.” He reaches around you to unbuckle you from the car, pulling you out by your underarms and holding you against him as he shuts the door. It’s still not the most graceful procedure, but he’s gotten better at it. You’re not exactly making it easy for him as you wobble back and hit your head on the window.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” He breathes out.

“I wanna go to bed.” You complain, wobbling forwards and this time crashing into his chest. He secures one hand on the back of your head to keep you there, pretending like he isn’t checking whether or not you have a bump. Even now, he can’t seem to turn the dad-reflexes off. You sigh into his shoulder. “Take me to bed.”

His free hand finds your waist and he glances down, finally clocking where he remembers this dress from. You wore it the second night of your honeymoon. He remembers this dress very well — he used to carry a picture of you wearing it in his wallet. He’s ninety-percent sure that the twins were conceived because of this dress.

“Yeah, you’re going to bed, baby. Nearly there.” In truth, by the time he has carried you to the door, Rooster has almost forgotten that you have a boyfriend. He’s expecting the same sweet old lady that you’ve been hiring for years to answer the door. That’s why he makes no effort to peel you off of him.

Rooster stares at Chris, while Chris looks between the two of you. You’re barely awake and clinging to your ex-husband’s shirt, he’s holding you at the waist, keeping you standing. Chris looks barely awake, still fully dressed. Clearly a man who has been waiting to hear from you for hours.

“Is she alright? — What happened?” His reaction is positive. Rooster appreciates that much about him. Still, he can’t stop thinking about what Maverick said. If Chris becomes permanent, Bradley’s entire family becomes his.

“She just had too much to drink, she called me for a ride home. I gave her some water and stuff, but—“ Rooster starts to explain, propping you up and holding you halfway. It’s unclear if he’s supposed to just pass you over. He doesn’t know if this guy even knows where you keep the products you remove your make-up with.

“She called you?” Chris challenges. There it is. There’s the anger that Rooster was waiting for.

“I wouldn’t take it personally. She’s shitfaced. She just needs to get some sleep and—“

“Yeah,” Chris steps one foot outside and reaches for your waist. You fall compliantly towards him, the toe of your shoe dragging along the ground as he tucks your arm over his shoulder and props you up. “I’ve got her. Get home safe.”

Rooster’s face doesn’t give away anything. He’s not immature anymore. He wants you to find someone who can give you, and by default his kids, everything that you could ever need. That’s why he keeps his mouth shut. He can think whatever he wants.

“Sure, yeah. Can I just ask… uh… where’s the sitter?” He was so close to walking away and just getting back in his car, but it’s after two now. If that old lady is still here, she would have made it known. As sweet as she was, she loves to complain.

“I watched the kids.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows at your stone-faced boyfriend. Once again, his face gives away nothing. “You did?”

…

Tags:

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ellethespaceunicorn · 1 year ago

Text

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Two

Chapter Two: The Cabin in the Woods

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: 3K

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: You search the woods for the house you were taken to that night. It’s been hours and you’re lost. Your phone has no service, it is getting dark, and your dumbass didn’t tell anyone you were going on an adventure.

Warnings: mutual pining

A/N: A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. I really hope y’all enjoy this one. It was a tough one to write, Walter was so feisty!

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

When you arrived at the hospital, you had another nurse and colleague check out your head injury on your next shift. Armed with a clean bill of health and a brain bursting with unanswered questions, you try to go about your day.

The entirety of your workday was spent having coworkers break you out of a trance. Every few minutes, you’d gaze off into nothingness until those around you noticed and snapped their fingers in front of your face. You kept thinking about the wolf and Walter, trying to piece the two together.

After work, you change your clothes and put on your hiking boots. Even though the drive from the cabin to Liv’s house was short, that was in a vehicle. On foot, you will need to cover a lot of ground. You decided against driving your car down the road that splits the forest.

If you parked at the entrance to the forest near the park grounds, you could easily sneak back to your car and bypass the curfew checkpoint at the tree line. Not that you planned on being out until nightfall.

Parking your car in the gravel-filled lot, you tighten your scarf around your neck and start your journey into the woods. Walking takes you about ten minutes to get to the clearing where you and Olivia enjoyed wine coolers. It didn’t seem like it took you this long to get to the clearing a couple of days ago, but you don’t stay long enough to dwell on it.

Retracing your steps, you walk for another few minutes in search of the tree with the giant roots jutting out from the forest floor. After ten minutes of wandering, you think about giving up because daylight is in short supply. Looking down at your phone, you curse when you see the battery percentage looking back at you. Eleven percent wouldn’t get you far should you need to make an urgent call or use the flashlight since you forgot to bring one.

After another few minutes of traipsing through the forest, you trip over a large root and accidentally find your tree. Following the roots, you find the little alcove that you had planned to hide in during your game with Liv. You notice the setting sun as you turn to sit on the higher roots.

Taking out your phone, you realize that it had shut off due to low power. Shoving it back in your pocket, you stand up and wipe a hand down your face. You’re pissed off, cold, and now have no way to contact anyone should you need to. Anger boils your blood as you stand in the now-dark forest.

Pacing for a few seconds doesn’t calm you down. You start to hear all the little nocturnal animals coming alive and usually, you would find this peaceful. However, you would give anything to hear a certain howl. But it’s just crickets, frogs, and owls out tonight.

You don’t know what else to do but…

“Fuck. Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuuck!” You scream out into the void, it would seem.

Until you hear a response in the form of a huff behind you.

When you turn around, you're only a little surprised to see the same wolf from before walking toward you. You stand still until it stops about a foot from you. You look down and study its paws, large enough to rip your throat out. But the wolf just sits down as a dog would and looks up at you before yawning, showing off its sharp teeth and long dusty-mauve tongue.

If this were a dog, you would have reached out a hand to pet it. But the sheer size of it was enough to keep your hands to yourself. You didn't have to think about that for long before the wolf was back on all fours walking around you and nudging at your leg as it started to walk away. It doesn't make it far before it turns around to look at you.

"Oh, am I supposed to follow you or something?" You feel silly asking the wolf a question, but only less so when it huffs in response, "Okay. Following a wolf wasn't on the itinerary. But it isn't attacking me so whatever," You finish, mostly to yourself.

Following the wolf, you notice you are going in a completely different direction through the forest. Of course, the last time you were here was an inebriated adventure but you could've sworn you would go right instead of left. Either way, you're putting your faith in a four-legged carnivore so you stop thinking about what should or shouldn't be happening.

A light in the distance can be seen through the trees and once you reach it, you find yourself in front of a medium-sized cabin. There is a light at the little fence encircling the property. The black Ford F-150 that Walter drove is parked to the side in the driveway. You have to admit you didn't expect to see this place look so...normal. It almost looks quaint.

You shuffle on your feet and are suddenly too nervous to propel you forward. Whining at your side reminds you that you aren't alone. You absentmindedly reach your hand out to stroke the wolf's fur. Thick, coarse fur slides through your fingers. Glowing, yellow eyes look into yours and your fear starts to dissipate. The wolf licks at your hand and then takes off around the back of the cabin.

You think about shouting after it or running after it, but instead, you walk up to the fencing. You could swear you hear a door being closed in the back of the cabin, but you can't be sure and you don't want to snoop. Opening the latch to the gate, you walk through the front yard dragging your feet. Your fight or flight response makes an appearance when you hear movement in the house.

'It's now or never,' you think, raising your hand to knock on the door.

Three sharp knocks and you shove your hands in your pockets, waiting for the door to be opened. You jump at the sound of something crashing to the ground and soon the light above the door is turned on. You hold up a hand over your eyes as the harsh fluorescent beams down on you in the dark of night. The door is opened and you take your hand down to see Walter standing there. You’re once again under the spell of him.

He stands tall at about 6’1", and his hair is a disheveled mess but it only adds to the sex appeal. His brows are scrunched together and it doesn’t look like he needs you at his doorstep right now by the scowl across his pretty pink lips. He’s shirtless, sweaty, breathing hard, and smells like a wet dog. The denim shorts he wears are tattered at the ends and his defined calves are on display. His bare feet are a bit dirty as if he’s been running barefoot.

Your eyes shoot back up to his, a faint glow makes his blue eyes look almost golden. He blinks a few times and the glow is gone, aquamarine replaces gold.

You run through a mental checklist. Wet dog smell, check. Frayed shorts that were probably thrown on in a hurry, check. Golden eyes, check. You feel so stupid thinking about the last item. Walter’s hair color is the same as the wolf that brought you here.

“Are you going to come in or are you going to just stare at me like I’m a–”

“Werewolf?” You blurt out, cutting off Walter’s sentence.

“Just come in, and I can explain everything,” He opens the door and steps aside to let you in, but you don’t move, “I won’t hurt you, I promise. Please come in?”

His sincere tone and pleading eyes get the better of you. You sigh, chewing the inside of your cheek. Walking in, you step just inside the living room, giving Walter enough space to close the door behind you. You notice a side table knocked over, a lamp, and small knickknacks on the floor next to it. You turn back to look at him and his face is that of a kicked puppy.

Of course, it is.

“Look, I didn’t–”

“As much as I want to have this conversation right now, I can’t get over how much you smell. I’m gonna need you to take care of that ASAP. Go get clean and I’ll tidy up. And where is the kitchen? I need coffee if I’m gonna have this conversation sober.” You say, taking off your coat and laying on the back of the couch.

Walter walks you to the kitchen and watches as you busy yourself with the coffee maker. You tell him politely to get out of his kitchen and go shower. He opens his mouth to talk but closes it when he sees your eyebrows raise and your hand go to your hip. He simply nods and walks away. You hear him walk up the stairs and soon the faint sound of a shower being turned on before a door is closed.

You fill the coffee maker with grounds and water, setting it then make your way to the living room. Picking up the end table, you turn it right side up and set it on its legs. You bend down to pick up the figurines from the floor. You’re not surprised when they turn out to be two wolves, the larger one made of light wood and the smaller wolf a dark mahogany.

You hear the coffee maker sputtering and go in to check on it. Pulling out two mugs from their spot in the corner cabinet, you fill one and leave one for Walter, not sure if he even wants coffee so late at night. Did werewolves even drink coffee?

So, that’s it. You’re just entertaining the idea that werewolves not only exist but that you’re in a cabin with one. In the back of your mind, your grandfather’s tale of the Claw Creek creature demands attention. You were going over it when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

You bring your mug to your mouth to take a sip when Walter appears in the doorway, just as beautiful as when you saw him for the first time. His wet hair curls around his ears. He’s wearing a tighter-than-necessary heather gray henley, the front of it holding onto his pecs for dear life while the sleeves are pulled up to show off muscular forearms. A pair of jeans hug his meaty legs and boots cover his feet.

“You stare a lot.” His words break you out of your ogling and you finally pull down the mug from your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Wolfie,” you comment, suddenly hyperaware that you may have just said something rude.

Walter’s chuckle surprises you, and you’re put at ease, “Wolfie?” He challenges, walking toward you.

You shrug your shoulders and stand your ground, looking up at him as he stops in front of you. He nods to the coffee maker and you step back to let him make a cup for himself. He takes a sip and hums at the flavor. He turns to ask you about it and you answer before he can open his mouth.

“Cinnamon. Just a few shakes and it takes away the sharp bitterness. Now, if you’re done talking about coffee, can we talk about how you can turn into a wolf?” Your frustration peeks through and Walter nods, leading you back into the living room.

Once you get to the couch, you set down your coffee on the table in front of you and turn to face Walter. He takes the cue and starts to speak.

“So, what do you want to know? Do you want me to go through my entire lifetime? It’s quite long, so far. Or start where I was attacked and bitten by someone I thought was a friend? Should I dispel werewolf myths about uncontrollable shifting during the full moon?” He rambles on, probably trying to confuse you or overwhelm you.

Luckily, you’re already overwhelmed so his attempt is in vain.

“I have a couple of questions. The first one is: Do you eat people? The second one is: Could you follow my scent to find me?” you offer, pulling your leg up to sit on it while leaning against the back of the couch.

“I don’t eat people. I don’t think Werewolves as a whole, ever eat people. Attack? Sure. But no, I don’t crave human flesh,” he pauses, looking down at his hands, “How’d you know about the scent thing?” He’s suddenly super interested in his fingernails.

“I didn’t know about the scent thing. You just confirmed a hunch, is all,” You reach for your mug, bringing it closer to your lips before taking a sip, “One more question and I’ll release you from the hot seat. Are you safe out here? Like, I mean, with the animal mutilations in the town, they were talking about sending hunters out to look for whatever was doing it.”

“That wasn’t me, just so you know. I’m safe out here. I actually live in town, I just come here to shift and get some time away. No one comes out this way. This used to be an abandoned shack, but I fixed it up over the past years. Got electricity going and made it...wait. You care if I’m safe out here?” he presses, a toothy grin showing off his sharp canines.

“You saved my life, I can’t care about your wellbeing? I’m being nice, don’t push it, Wolfie,” you snap, a little harsher than you meant to. You did feel lied to, but he was being honest with you. You shake your head before insisting, “I’m sorry, I just...this is a lot. And I need you to know that I was really pissed off with you in the beginning, but I know why you didn’t tell me. Safety and all that. Maybe you can drive me back to my car so I can start the drive back home?” You were cut off by an intense yawn that came out of nowhere.

“Speaking of safety, you look like you’re ready to fall over. You’ve had all of about two sips of coffee and that yawn almost unhinged your jaw a bit there. Just, I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re tired behind the wheel,” he admits, turning concerned eyes on you.

“You know, as a wolf, using puppy dog eyes on me should be considered unfair. And how do I know this is not some elaborate excuse to get me into your bed so you can have your way with me, huh?” you huff, squinting at him as his eyes glimmer in the low light of the room.

“Do you want me to have my way with you?” he leans back, head over his shoulder, and crosses his arms over his broad chest.

Your hand flies out to slap his bicep. You figure that was easier than giving him the answer that was on the tip of your tongue.

He rolls his eyes and gets up from the couch, pointing to your coffee cup in your hand and motioning for you to give it to him. He takes both of your unfinished cups to the kitchen and when he comes back, he heads for the stairs. “You coming, pup?”

“Pup? Is that because I called you Wolfie?” You stand up from the couch, tilting your head at him before walking to follow him up the steps.

“I don’t know, give me time and I’ll think of something better.” He winks at you and smiles when you duck your head.

Once Walter shows you to his bedroom, you don’t hide your urge to look over everything in the room while he leans against the open door. You almost get upset when you see that his bedspread isn’t a large picture of a wolf’s face. Somehow you thought it would just fit in with his vibe. But the midnight blue damask comforter that covers the bed is actually way more fitting.

“Wait, where are you gonna sleep if I sleep in here?” You question as you sit on the bed and take off your boots.

“I figured I would sleep on the couch. I don’t need much sleep anyway. Unless that was an invitation…?” he smirks and is surprised when you look to be thinking it over.

“Can you stay in here ‘til I fall asleep? I don’t want to be alone.” you confess, looking everywhere but who you were talking to. You can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth, but you also know you won’t sleep in a bed that’s not yours all by your lonesome.

“Are you alright? I mean, of course, you’re not. What am I saying?” he rambles, coming into the room fully and hunching his shoulders so he can seem less intimidating.

Walter walks over to the bed, pulls back the bedspread, and motions for you to crawl under the covers. Once you are comfortable, he turns on a low light on his dresser and turns off the overhead light of the room. Coming back to the bed, he sits at the edge and toes off his boots before you pull him to lie down next to you.

Turning to face him as he lays on his back, you stare at his face as he looks up at the ceiling. You’re interlacing your fingers so that you don’t reach out and trace his jawline when a thought pops into your head.

“When’s the last time you had a woman in your bed?” You breathe, mentally kicking yourself for not thinking longer before you voice your thoughts.

“It’s been a while. Years. I don’t really...mingle much.” He murmurs, eyes never moving from one particular spot.

You refuse to acknowledge the “lone wolf” analogy, instead, you steady yourself before putting a hand on his. “Thank you for saving me, Walter. Goodnight.” Taking your hand back, you close your eyes and let tiredness take its course.

“You’re welcome.” His soft voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s the last thing you hear before you’re fully asleep.

To be continued…

A/N: Wow, you mean to tell me I got these two folks in bed together and they’re both dressed still? What?! Don’t hate me!

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shadowuponstorm · 7 months ago

Text

Stay Away From The Coach's Granddaughter

A/N: I recently started watching One Tree Hill and when I searched it, I noticed it's rarely posted about on this platform. So, I thought "Why not write up something for it and be a part of those who want to keep it alive?". Hope you 'Ravens' enjoy! (I just wanted to mention, I love all the endgames! This is just another scenario separate from the show)

Summary: Coaching basketball for Tree Hill always seem to be first place on the list of Brian "Whitey" Durham's pride and joys, when it's in actually fourth place. The third place belongs to his son, Dale, the second for his granddaughter, and the first place is always reserved for Camila. When he gains custody of his granddaughter, he vows to always have her best interest at heart, even if it means warning his boys to stay away from her. What would happen if one of them breaks one of Coach's rules?

-4 YEARS AGO, WHITEY'S POV-

I was about to sit down to eat dinner when a knock came on the door. I grumbled as I tried to get out of my recliner, complaining that all I needed was peace and quiet. I opened the door to see two police officers standing there, with the lights on the squad cars still on.

"You Whitey Durham?" The officer on the left asked as I nodded my head and confirmed I was, "Your son, Dale, was in a car accident. I'm sorry to inform you, sir, that he didn't make it to the hospital."

Hearing those words, ripped a chunk of my heart out. "No, no, not my boy." I kept thinking over and over again, trying to stay upright.

"Thank you for coming all this way to tell me," I said to the officers as they nodded in understanding of my reaction to the shocking news I've been given, "H-have you informed his ex-wife? What about my granddaughter, was she with him?"

"Someone is going over there right now to tell her," The officer on the right responds, he then tells me, "As for your granddaughter, we have her in the back of the squad car. She wasn't in the accident with your son."

I sighed in relief as I looked past the cops' shoulders to see her just sitting there, looking devastated, and I couldn't blame her, she just lost her dad. I asked, "Is there any way you can allow her to stay with me? I mean, her mom lives pretty far from-"

"Oh, Mr. Durham, she isn't going to her mom. Social Services came by the hospital and explained to her that she was to live with you if something were to happen," the officer says as I see his partner go down the steps of my porch and get her out of the car.

"Why don't you go on in? I'll finish this up as quickly as I can," I told my granddaughter as she passed by me to enter the house.

After a few more minutes, the police left and I shut the door behind me to see Charlotte sitting on the couch, as quiet as she could be. She turned to look at me after hearing the door shut and whispered, "What am I going to do without my dad? I'm only 13."

"Oh, sweetheart," I said as I took a seat right next to her and pulled her into a hug, "I know this is going to be hard, but we'll get through this. That's what us Durhams do."

"I'm glad he and Grandma Camila are reunited at least," I hear Charlotte whisper as I tell her that was a good way of thinking.

I will do everything in my heart to keep her safe and protect her as best I can from harm's way.

-PRESENT, Charlotte's POV-

"Come on! Let's Go!" I hear Grandpa shout at the boys as I try to study on the bleachers, "Focus on practicing the plays, not showing off!"

I chuckle to myself and roll my eyes as I witness Tree Hill's star player, Nathan Scott, doing the exact opposite of what he was "asked" of. My phone buzzed beside me and I picked it up to see a text from Haley.

Haley: "Hey, wanna study at Karen's cafe?"

I text back, "Have to ask Grandpa first, but that would be greatly appreciated!"

After I put my phone back down, I glanced back at the court to see Nathan looking in my direction and proceeded to wink at me. I looked around to see if Peyton was sitting nearby, but couldn't see her anywhere.

"Nathan, you got something in your eye son? If not, stop blinking!" Grandpa yelled as the other boys laughed and I shook my head.

I packed up my stuff and headed down the bleachers toward Grandpa to ask him, "Hey, Haley texted me asking if I wanted to study over at the cafe. Can I go?"

"Sure, go ahead," Grandpa said as he glanced his attention to me for a split second, "Stay safe and remember to keep your phone."

"Yes sir," I respond as I walk toward the exit, but not before turning my head to yell over my shoulder, "See you guys at the game!" prompting the guys to hoot and cheer, much to Grandpa's annoyance.

After I arrived at the cafe, I sent a quick text before opening the door to see Haley helping Karen out behind the counter.

"Oh hey sweetie," Karen says as she spots me walking in and putting my schoolbag on the counter, "Your grandpa's yelling was too much for you?"

I laugh at her little joke and respond, "I wish I could say I'm not used to it, but I'm used to it. He's stressed about the big game and Nathan was busy showboating. Speaking of Nathan, he did something strange."

"What did he do?" Haley asked as I pulled out my notes and textbooks, "Did he flirt with you?"

"Okay, one, you know my grandpa's rule about me fraternizing with his "boys" so flirting is out of the question as well as dating. Two, no, he winked in my direction, but Peyton wasn't on the bleachers or there."

"Hold on, you say he winked in your direction, but Peyton wasn't around?" Haley asked as I nodded my head, "Charlotte, he was winking at you."

"No, he wasn't," I respond skeptically as I look over at Karen, who has the "Yeah, he definitely winked at you" expression on her face, "There's absolutely no reason that Nathan Royal Scott, who is taken mind you, would want to wink at me."

"Why not? You're intelligent, funny, and such a beautiful girl," Karen says as Haley voices that she agrees with that.

"Nathan lives up to his father, which means, he is not going to go for the smart and nerdy girl, he's going for the pretty cheerleader," I respond before mentioning, "No offense to Peyton, she definitely rocks it."

"Well, believe me when I say this, something is going off in that boy's brain when you're around," Haley says as she grabs a biscotti from the jar.

"Who are you guys talking about?" Lucas asks from behind, making me jump a little, "Oh, sorry, thought you heard the door open."

"It's fine, we're good," I said as I turned my body in his direction, "Also, none of your business who we were talking about because it's nothing of importance."

"Nathan winked at her and she thought Peyton was nearby," Haley responded as I shushed her from going further than that information.

"Well, they're always breaking up and getting back together, so I didn't know," I said as Lucas nodded his head in understanding of my theory before mentioning, "He and Peyton have broken up for good."

"There, now you have a shot at becoming the star player's girlfriend," Haley says as I roll my eyes and remind her that I'm also the Coach's granddaughter, so there's a little to no possibility of that happening, "You never know, maybe Whitey will go soft at the fact you're finding love."

Despite doubt running through a loop in my mind, maybe Haley's right about this. Grandpa is always telling stories about how he and Grandma were soulmates in love, he would want me to have a similar experience.

-BASKETBALL GAME-

"Hey Charlotte, if we win this game, how about we grab some dinner together?" I hear Tim shout at me, making me roll my eyes and yell back, "In your dreams! Now focus before he chews off your head or worse, benches you for the rest of the game."

I could've sworn I saw a little smile on Grandpa's face when he heard me rejecting Tim's offer. After my dad's passing 4 years ago, it was in writing that Grandpa was to get full custody of me since my mother wasn't acting like an actual mother and being reckless with everything regarding money, drugs, and especially men. It was honestly the best decision my father made because he didn't want me to be exposed to the fact my mom put those first instead of my health and well-being. I understand why the "Stay Away From The Coach's Granddaughter" rule is in place, but doesn't help when most of the boys are actually really nice.

"Hey Charlotte!" I heard someone shout and I looked to see who it was, "Down here!

I turned my head in the direction of the voice to see it was Martin McFadden, or what he likes to be called, Mouth.

"What Mouth?" I asked as I walked down the bleachers to his spot, "Did you need extra help with something?"

"No, it's not that, here," Mouth says handing me a folded-up piece of paper, and before I can ask, he mentions, "If your grandpa asks, just say it's my number so we can keep in touch in case we're working on something."

"Got it," I respond as I put the paper in my pocket and head back to my spot on the bleachers, with part of me itching to want to read the note now.

-AFTER BASKETBALL GAME-

As always, the Ravens kicked ass and my grandpa gained another win to his record. Grandpa and I were on our way home when he asked, "What was that kid giving you? The one with the big lips."

I laughed a little before saying, "His name is Martin, but he goes by Mouth as a nickname. He just wanted to give me his number for his phone in case we're to be working together on a project."

"You sure it isn't a love note? It was folded up pretty good," Grandpa responded as a little joke, prompting me to shake my head.

"No, just a friendly communication between the sportscaster and the granddaughter of the coach," I say as Grandpa parked the car in front of the house.

After dinner had been eaten and dishes cleaned, Grandpa went into the den to watch TV in his favorite recliner as I went into my room. I pulled the paper from my pocket and unfolded it to see a very recognizable handwriting, Nathan.

"Hey, I know this is not ideal, but you know, your grandpa has that rule of his set in stone and I don't want to be benched for the rest of the season. Here's my number xxx-xxx-xxxx, in case you want to talk or text."

I chuckle at how bold this boy is, using his friend to give me this note and bypassing my grandpa's rule. I pull out my phone and text the number, "If this is a prank, I very much don't appreciate that."

Nathan: As fun as that sounds, it's not. Guess you got my note ;)

Me: You know very well I did, it happened right in front of you, and you also had Mouth help you. Good game today.

Nathan: Thanks, that wink was towards you by the way.

I looked at my phone screen in confusion before texting back, "I know, you texted it to me just now."

Nathan: No, I mean earlier. You were looking around like it was meant for someone else.

Me: Can we switch over to a phone call?

Nathan: Wouldn't Whitey overhear you?

I closed my phone and put it in my pocket as I left my room to head towards the den.

"Hey, is it alright if I go for a night bike ride? I won't be gone long," I said as Grandpa nodded his head, "I have my phone on me."

"Stay safe, love you," Grandpa shouts as I yell, "Love you too."

After I shut the door behind me, I started biking down the road that goes toward the River Court. I pulled my phone out and called Nathan as I leaned my bike against the bleachers. He answered on the first ring and said, "So what excuse did you give?"

"Har har, very funny, I gave him an honest one. He's used to me doing rides at night, as long as I'm not out too late," I respond as I hear Nathan laugh, "What? I'm serious, I've never broken any of his ground rules, as of now."

"What a way to break the old man's heart, betrayal," Nathan said as I rolled my eyes and rebutted, "At least I'm always on his good side."

"Touche, question, why were you looking around when I winked at you?" Nathan asked as I ran my hand over my face and groaned.

"It's embarrassing," I respond as Nathan hits me with a "Try me."

After I took a breath, I said, "I thought Peyton was around, so when you winked at me, I looked to see if it was for her since she's usually your girlfriend."

Nathan laughs a little before saying, "We do break up a lot, don't we? Yeah, we're done for this time. Don't worry, that's not something to be embarrassed about."

"Jeez thanks, Scott," I respond jokingly before pulling my phone away from my ear to see the time, only have 15 more minutes before I have to start biking home.

"How much longer do we have on this call?" Nathan asked and before I could ask how he knew, he said, "I heard you pull the phone away."

"We have 15 more minutes before I have to bike home," I respond before I hear his voice change when he asks, "I'm sorry? Did you say bike?"

"Yeah, I thought I mentioned that," I said before clarifying, "I don't have a car yet and I think we both know how my grandpa feels about your dad, so there's no way my car is coming from him."

"Yeah, probably best if you don't," Nathan agrees as I add in, "Sorry, know he's your dad and all, but he can sometimes be an ass."

"Oh no, feel free, I feel the same way," Nathan responds as I start to feel bad about the way how unhappy he is talking about Dan.

To change the topic, I asked, "So, what's the real reason you wanted to talk to me?"

"Just to get to know you, the real you. You know, finally know your personality, not just the fact you happen to be related to my basketball coach," Nathan responds as I feel the inside of my body warm up and blush.

"Didn't know Showboater Scott actually had a heart," I say sarcastically as Nathan laughs and mentions, "Just takes the right person to make it skip a beat."

"I really should get back before Grandpa sends a search party, I'll see you tomorrow," I respond as Nathan agrees and tells me goodnight.

After I told him goodnight back, I closed my phone and started biking back up the road. I entered the house to look into the den to see Grandpa snoring and see the TV was playing a video of an old Ravens game. I grabbed a blanket to cover him up and I kissed him on the forehead to whisper, "Goodnight, Grandpa."

My phone buzzed to signal a text came through as I entered my bedroom, I pulled it out to see Nathan texted me.

"Had to tell you goodnight again, hope your dreams are sweet and have me in them ;)"

I laughed before putting my phone on charge and getting dressed for bed. Maybe tomorrow will bring something more into my life.

-TOMORROW-

"Have a good day today, I'll see you later," Grandpa says as we both exit the car and head toward the school.

After I told Grandpa to have the same, I headed toward my locker to see Tim leaning against it. I thought to myself, "Great, another day to reject his advances, again."

"What do you want Tim?" I asked as I stopped in front of him and shoved his shoulder to get him to move, "And get off my locker."

"Just thought I'd try to serenade you to go out with me, no one can resist my charm," Tim says smugly like he thinks he'll be successful in his attempt today.

Before I can say something, I hear someone say, "Tim, she's never going out with you, so stop. Besides, Turner's looking for you, it looks like you're in trouble as always."

"Aww man, I gotta hide," Tim nervously says as he bolts down the hall and keeps looking in all directions to try to avoid our principal.

I turned around to see Nathan standing there with a smile on his face.

"Clever, is Turner really looking for him?" I asked as Nathan shook his head and said, "Nope, thought I'd save a damsel in distress."

I open my locker to get my textbooks before saying, "I could have handled it myself, but thank you. I swear he just never gives up."

"Yeah, that's Tim for you," Nathan responds as I laugh, "Did you make it home in time? You didn't respond to my text."

"I did, thanks for being concerned. I did get your text, was nice," I said as he plastered an "I take offense to that" expression as a joke and whispered, "How dare you? I worked on that text for hours."

"Fine, it was funny, better?" I respond as Nathan nods and looks around for who I assume is my grandfather to make sure he isn't nearby before he leans in, "I really enjoyed our phone call, we should do it again."

The school bell rings and everyone starts rushing the hallways, causing my attention to be distracted and when I looked back, he was gone. So I pulled my phone out to text him, "We should."

I entered class to take my seat and the teacher started teaching his material when I saw a folded piece of paper get thrown on my desk. I looked towards the person who put it there and they shrugged their shoulder, meaning they were only told to give it to me. I started to unfold the paper when the teacher called my name.

"Yes sir?" I asked as he glanced toward the paper in my hand and asked what I had in my hand, "I'm not sure, I was given this just now."

I handed it to him after he asked for it, knowing he believed me since he knew I was not the type of student to break school rules, opening it to see what it said, before folding it back up.

"Sir, isn't it your rule to read notes aloud?" I hear a student asks before the teacher responds, "Yes, but in this case, I'm not going to."

"Not fair to the other times you did it," Another student says before the teacher looks at me with a somber expression and apologizes before he unfolds the paper to read what it said.

"Charlotte, you should wipe your existence off Planet Earth because of how ugly you are, no wonder your daddy is dead and your mommy didn't care to want you."

My stomach dropped and my veins turned cold hearing those words,

"I-I-" I tried to say but sentences weren't forming in my brain nor connecting with my mouth, "I can't."

I suddenly grabbed my bag and ran out of the classroom with tears streaming down my face. I didn't even know I was going outside the school until I was actually outside, standing on the sidewalk.

"I can't stay here, I don't want anyone to see me like this, especially Grandpa," I kept thinking over and over in my head.

I walked back into the school and towards Turner's office, who was surprised to see me.

"Charlotte, how can I-. Is everything alright?" He asked as I shook my head and told him, "I'm feeling sick and can't stay for the rest of the day. Do you mind telling my grandpa I went home?"

"Of course, hope you feel better soon," Turner says after I thanked him and left the office towards the parking lot to grab my bike.

After I biked home, I got in the house and that's when I finally decided to let out a scream and started sobbing, where no one could hear or see me this way. I've been bullied like this a lot by Rachel, and no one knows about it, not even Grandpa. I don't know why she's doing it, she's only been in Tree Hill for a few months. "I wish she would just stop."

I went into my bedroom and practically slammed my whole body onto the bed to grab a pillow to hold. I must've fallen asleep for a few hours because my phone buzzed with a text and I looked at the screen name to see it was Nathan.

"Hey, where were you? All the guys asked Whitey and he said you'd gone home sick."

Me: I did. A bug must be going around and I caught it.

Nathan: You looked fine this morning so I know that's a lie. What's going on?

Me: Nothing, I'm fine. Aren't you supposed to be practicing?

Nathan: Practice is over, didn't you see the time?

I looked at the time to see it was 5:30, which meant Grandpa would be home in an hour or so from mingling with his friends.

Me: Didn't realize, oops. Sorry, I had to miss seeing Grandpa yell at you guys.

Nathan: I need to hear your voice, phone call?

I sighed and tried to make my voice sound like I hadn't been crying before pressing the call button.

"Hey, how did practice go?" I say with a hint of crackling in my voice, which I silently curse that I let it slip

"About how it is sometimes, are you really okay?" Nathan asked with concern in his voice.

"Yeah, I might've just caught what's been going around. I'll be fine," I said as I heard a car door shut nearby, "Shoot, Grandpa's home early, I'll talk to you later."

After Nathan and I said our goodbyes, I made it look like I'd been sleeping since I got home. The door creaks open as Grandpa's footsteps enter my room and they stop as he sees my appearance. I hear him set down something on my desk and walk over to kiss my forehead to whisper, "Hope you feel better sweetheart, whether the bully is getting to you or you're actually sick."

I open my eyes to see a soup container and by the smell, it's from Karen's cafe, which means it's bound to be delicious. First, I need to talk to Grandpa, so I exit my bedroom to enter the den.

"Listen, I'm really sorry-" I started to say before Grandpa stopped me and said, "I know, your teacher got worried so he came to see me and showed me the nasty note. Then Turner came and told me you left because you weren't feeling good."

"Does that mean I'm barred from going to the next game?" I asked as Grandpa shook his head and told me the skipping class rule doesn't apply to me, "I promise, it's a one-time thing."

"Oh really? So, you're not going to skip class even if Nathan asks you to?" Grandpa asked, making my eyes widen in shock, and before I could ask, he said, "I see the way he looks at you, and I admit, maybe my rule is a little harsh."

"It's not, I understand why," I responded as I mentioned, "He doesn't know about the note or the bullying. This is all recent."

"Well, you outta tell him, he was worried about you when he didn't see you in the bleachers," Grandpa said as I sighed and responded, "I know, I just- I don't know why I'm allowing their words to hurt me."

"Those words hurt me too, seeing those awful things said to part of my whole world, hit me in the core," Grandpa said as I went to sit on the sofa, "You know your daddy loved you so much, loved you to the point he thought of the world of you and ensured you'd be with me as well as protected."

"I know, and I appreciate him for that. The mom part though, struck a chord since it's true, she loves those things more than me," I mention as Grandpa shakes his head yes, "At least I have the best parental figure take her place, because it makes me miss her less."

"Now you're just pulling my leg," Grandpa says to try to make me laugh. I shout, "I'm not! I'm serious."

"I know, just wanted to see that smile of yours, which I hope you've been showing Nathan," Grandpa responds as I blush and say, "We just started recently talking on the phone, but you can say he has since I have a tiny crush on him."

"As much as I don't like the fact he broke my rule, I'm glad," Grandpa said as he smiled and mentioned, "He'll be excited to see you back in the bleachers."

-BASKETBALL GAME-

I sighed, trying to keep the butterflies at bay, before pushing open the door to the gym to enter the basketball game. I looked up at the scoreboard to see the Ravens are winning by 5, hopefully making Grandpa pleased.

"Hey Charlotte, glad to see you're feeling better," I hear Peyton say to me as I walk near the cheerleaders, causing me to turn my head and respond, "Thanks, Peyton."

Before I even passed by the cheerleaders fully, I heard from behind me, "You look like you need a good purging, why don't you go into the bathroom real quick?". Rachel, she's on the squad?? I decided to ignore her and keep walking, but she apparently didn't like that because the next thing that came out of her mouth was, "Hey fatty, did you hear what I said to you?"

"Rachel, stop," Brooke said, genuinely worried, "Don't you realize who you're speaking like that to?"

"Oh I don't care that her grandpa is some big-shot coach, doesn't excuse the fact she looks like that. Probably why her parents didn't want to be near her," Rachel responds with a smug look on her face.

Before I could turn around and call her out on her disgusting behavior, I heard Nathan shout, "That is enough!" causing the whole gymnasium to be quiet.

"Oh come on, you know it's true," Rachel says as if she believes Nathan is on her side and will get the others to join in.

"No, it is not. And you have no right to speak to her like that," Nathan responds as he inches forward, "Ever since you came to Tree Hill, you've been acting like a real bitch to Charlotte, who has never done anything to you. Despite what you've done to her, she remained silent because she knew what it would mean if she spoke up."

"It's not like I'm going to get in trouble for this," Rachel says as Turner speaks up, "Rachel, we know it was you who wrote that note to Charlotte, we'll be discussing your punishment."

When Rachel turns to look at me, she had pissed written all over her face. "You are so fake! People need to know the truth about the real you." Rachel shouts, looking desperate for attention to be on her.

"She's not fake," Nathan says as he moves to be closer to me, "She has a heart of gold, she's kind to everyone around her, she's so smart, she's funny when she thinks she isn't, and doesn't pay any notice if someone is admiring her from afar."

"Nathan, I-" I started to say, fear of my grandpa's rule creeping in when he said, "He gave me permission, it's okay." He took my hand in his and squeezed it in comfort before whispering, "Now, you have another person in your life to love."

I looked up into his eyes to see sincerity swimming in them before I pressed my lips against his and kissed him. I felt him wrapping his arms around my midsection and picking me up, causing everyone to cheer and hoot. Meanwhile, Rachel stormed off with a fuss, but no one was paying attention to her. I pull away before whispering against his lips, "Now go kick some ass, boyfriend."

"Not a problem, girlfriend," Nathan said as he put me down and I smiled as I watched him run back onto the court.

I looked over to see my grandpa smiling back at me and I gave him the thumbs up before going to my seat next to Haley.

-WHITEY'S THOUGHT-

"Camila and Dale, you would be really happy and proud of our girl. She's doing amazing and found herself the best boy I'd imagine she falls in love with and he treats her like she deserves to be treated. Keep watching over us and blessing us with what we need most.

#nathan scott #nathan scott imagines #nathan scott fanfic #one tree hill #one tree hill imagine #one tree hill oneshot #nathan scott oneshot #james lafferty

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thezombieprostitute · 9 months ago

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Panic Attack

Summary: A panic attack leads to a conversation with a handsome Detective and he helps you feel better in a few ways.

A/N: Reader is plus sized. No other descriptors used. Thank you @peyton-warren for the idea!

Warnings: Abusive ex - Fat shaming; Food denial. Panic attack. Let me know if I missed any!

The scent hits you and brings back all of the memories. You can control for so many triggers but not scent. It’s the sense with the strongest ties to your memories and you can’t avoid it. You can’t get your brain past it. There’s no talking yourself down when all you feel you can do is shut down completely. You sit on the sidewalk and wait for the pain your brain and body know is coming.

“Give them some space,” a voice says. It catches your attention because the accent seems out of place.

Thinking you’ve finally fully snapped you start gently rocking. Suddenly a face comes into view. Curly hair, beard and deep blue eyes etched with concern. It’s enough to get you to stop rocking.

“Hi there,” he says. “I’m Detective Walter Marshall. You look like you’re having a panic attack?” His words take a little time to register in your brain. When they do, you nod. “Do you know what triggered this? Is it still here?” His voice is calm and caring without being condescending.

“Smell…” you whisper. “Someone’s cologne. It’s gone now. Can’t…I can’t…”

“It’s okay,” his voice soothes. “Do you need to go inside or do you need the open space?”

“Umm…” your brain keeps trying to work but it’s stalling out. Every time you try to look away his eyes follow yours, keeping your focus on him. “Inside, please. If only so I’m not sitting on the sidewalk?”

“Okay. Can I help you up?” He stands and holds out his hand. You’re taken aback at just how tall and thick he is. You’re almost too shy to take the help but you do need to get off of the ground. You take your hand and pull yourself up. You’re a little scared you’ll hurt him with your weight but he barely seems to register it. When you’re on your feet he gestures to a nearby restaurant, “if it's a smell that got you worked up maybe a bunch of different ones will help you? My treat.”

The two of you walk the few steps to the front door and he holds the door open for you. Your movements are slow but he doesn’t comment, letting you set the pace. You find a table in the corner and sit there. You need to be able to see the entire (thankfully empty) room, can’t risk someone sneaking up on you. He sits next to you, close enough to hear you talk but far enough to respect your personal space.

“Is there anything I can get you,” he asks. “Any comfort food or drink? Maybe even a YouTube video to help you out?”

Your brain gives a few false starts before you’re able to say, “chocolate? Chocolate flavor means he’s not here. Means I’m okay.”

He nods and gestures to one of the staff who quickly comes over. He orders a couple pieces of chocolate cake and the waiter goes to quickly grab them.

“While we’re waiting,” he looks at you, “can you tell me your name?” You’re happy with how quickly you’re able to tell him, like maybe your brain can do something right. He nods, “when is your birthday?” That one takes a few seconds longer but you’re able to tell him. “Are you able to take a deep breath?” Almost involuntarily you find yourself slowly breathing deep. By the time you exhale you’re feeling a smidge better.

The slices of cake get to the table and he puts one in front of you, taking the other for himself. When you hesitate he starts eating his as if telling you it’s okay to eat. You take a small bite and the chemicals in your brain start adjusting and letting go of the terror that cologne had inspired. He never let you eat chocolate, sweets in general. He’d always said you needed to stop embarrassing him and lose some weight so he cut you off from your favorites. But you’re eating chocolate cake now so he can’t be here.

After a couple of bites your panicked state eases up, leaving you feeling weak and exhausted. You start crying and apologizing. He’s quick to console you, holding your hand in his, speaking in a soothing tone about how you can’t always control when these things will hit. How trauma of any kind isn’t something that can just be pushed down and forgotten. How you’re a lot stronger than you think because you’ve survived this and more.

When you’ve cried yourself out you switch to thanking him for his help and the cake. He smiles softly and goes back to eating his slice, encouraging you to continue eating yours. You do so with gusto, smiling, and comment on how tasty it really is.

“It goes really well with coffee,” Walter comments. “But I didn’t want to order any in case that was another trigger.”

“No,” you softly shake your head, “that sounds really nice. Decaf, though. I don’t think my nerves could handle caffeine at the moment.” Walter turns and orders the coffee which is quickly brought out. You heartily agree that the flavor of the cake is enhanced when paired with the coffee and his smile grows.

The two of you start conversing in general small talk, leading to talking about your various interests. It’s a very restorative conversation as you let yourself feel excited to explain some of your hobbies and recent fixations. He listens and adds some of his own commentary about your shared interests. Turns out you have quite a few of them.

After the cake and coffee has been consumed, your nerves are still raw but not as sensitive. You thank Walter for helping you out and ask if you can repay him.

“It’s not a problem,” he smiles. “I’m genuinely happy to help. In fact, can I take you home? You look like you could use some rest.” You smile and nod.

He leads you to his truck and you tell him your building’s address. He makes sure to walk you to the building’s front door and gives you his card in case you want to talk some more. You give him a big hug before heading inside.

Between your name, birthday and building address, Walter is able to look up your history in the department records. He finds the restraining order with your ex-boyfriends name and address on it. He can’t do anything yet but it’s good information to have in case something happens. In the meantime, he really hopes you call or text him.

Part 2

#walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x plus size!reader #walter marshall fluff

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year ago

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Don't knock it till you try it

Masterlist

Pairing: Syverson x reader x Walter Marshall (technically college AU. I needed to make the road trip scenario plausible.)

Summary: Your friends Walter and Sy have offered to drive you home for the summer, and you have decided to turn it into a nice relaxed camping trip on the way...

Word count: 9146 (yes, really...)

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering (vaginal, anal - f receiving), oral sex (f and m receiving), penetrative sex (vaginal, anal, DP - f receiving), masturbation (f), smug and dirty talking Sy, sex in a tent, hint of a size kink (blink and you miss it), silly bets, and an astonishingly solid bromance. I think that's all, but call me if I missed any.

A/N: I've finally really stopped hurting the boys and now we're just going for some nice relaxed sex in a goddamn tent, dammit! Also yeah I'm going to keep imagining the boys in college until the day I die, I don't know why (maybe because I'm young), but just... idk, read it as a memory or something? idk :')

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

You were not – by a long shot – the first girl to see the backseat of the beat-up chevy pickup you were sitting in. Fact. A fact so factual, in fact, that Sy hadn’t complained when you demanded he put a blanket down for you to sit on, which told you more than you really wanted to know.

Now, your eyes kept drifting shut to the sound of tires on asphalt and the bickering of soothing baritone voices in the front seat. The outside world consisted of mountain views and clear blue skies, and the fresh breeze of early summer that worked just hard enough to raise goosebumps on skin, but inside this rusty old vehicle the atmosphere was dominated by two pairs of broad shoulders, deep voices, and what you always mockingly referred to as ‘disgusting man sweat’ – always hoping neither of them would ever find out how often you dreamt of licking those salty droplets off their abs after a workout.

Both of them had shown up, first semester, in a class they didn’t have a prayer of passing, and you’d been teamed up with them because of what you then thought to be a hideous trick of fate. Somehow, you whipping them into shape for that tutorial hadn’t put them off you, and what started as whatever the educational equivalent of ‘frenemies’ is, turned into study buddies and eventually friends. The only downside to your friendship was that you chronically had to explain to your entire dorm that, no, you weren’t sleeping with either of them – let alone both of them.

As you still toed the line between asleep and awake, a heavy hand on your knee – belonging to Walter – made a decision for you in favor of consciousness.

“We’re hungry,” he said.

“You’re always hungry,” you grumbled as you reached for the bag of food and snacks on the other side of the backseat. It was a good thing they didn’t bother to deny it, because you would have strangled them both. God forbid you ever left a bag of Doritos out in your dorm. Seconds! Gone!

Sy had the stones to ask for a tuna sandwich. Absolutely the fuck not!

“I’m not opening that bag in this car, Sy.” It already smelled like stale beer and weed in there. Not in a bad way, but in a ‘you’re not allowed to smoke on campus, so this is our only option’ way. That said, adding tuna to the mix would be a complete disaster.

“Suit yourself,” he snapped. You rolled your eyes. For the love of God, it was all of ten minutes past feeding time! Walter snickered as he held out a hand. Turkey on wheat for Walter, BLT for Sy, mozzarella pesto for you. You’d splurged on groceries, because the boys had offered to take the lion’s share of the drive.

“We were thinkin’ of callin’ it a day soon, sugar.” They’d had morning classes, and you were falling asleep while on snack-duty… Plus, you’d agreed to just take it easy the whole drive. It was summer; there was no need to rush home.

Sy pulled off the highway, quickly ending the smooth, rhythmic hum of the tires on the road, until the asphalt finally made way for the crackling of gravel. Without Sy, you never would have found the campsite at which you pulled over. Camping ran through that guy’s veins, as you could tell from the impressive amount of camping gear in the bed of the pickup – all his.

Even though he helped you get out of the truck, you still lost your footing and stumbled into him, leaving Walter grinning to the side of the spectacle, commenting on your horrible clumsiness.

“Dunno,” Sy replied with a sly smile. “Guess she’s just fallin’ for me.” The cheesy joke made Walter stop dead in his tracks.

“I think that’s twenty-five,” he deadpanned, looking at you. In a less-than-sober state, somewhere in the past year, you had made a deal: if either of them managed to make that joke twenty-five times before the end of the year, you’d… Alright, let the records show that when you made that bet, you had been entirely convinced they’d never take you up on the offer to let them kiss you. But they had.

“You’re not gonna hold me to what I said back then, are you?” you asked in a small voice, your cheeks so hot you could probably fry an egg on them. The door of the truck slammed shut behind you, and Sy slowly stepped forward, forcing you to step back, until you were backed up against the truck, with him leaning over you – completely caged in between his solid body and the car.

“Deal’s a deal, sugar.” There was no trace of his usual grin, no hint of the mischievous glint in his eyes that normally told you he was kidding. He just came closer and closer as your eyes went wide – Walter did nothing. Jackass.

Not that kissing Sy was something you didn’t want. Oh no! In fact, it was something a fairly large part of you wanted so badly you thought you might burst. On some days, being close to either of them – let alone both – was torture, where your heart raced every time they came near you, and you unconsciously held your breath when they touched you… And while the guys just freely admitted to having sex dreams about you, you kept the little nugget of truth that you had similar dreams about them, tightly under wraps. Not because you thought they’d tease you about it, or anything, just… No, wait, actually that’s exactly why you didn’t tell them.

A few more seconds passed in which your heart tried its best to jump out of your chest.

“This isn’t funny, Sy,” you snapped on a sharp exhale when his mouth curled at the corners into that signature smirk you loved to hate. Finally able to gather your thoughts as well as your strength, you put your hands on his chest and pushed. It was a good thing he let you go, because if he had decided to stay put, you wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell.

“I want my kiss, sugar,” he called after you as you paced away to… alright, you didn’t actually know where you were going, but away, at least. “One way or another.”

As pissed – or confused – as you were, this was ‘the outdoors’ and therefore absolutely not the type of environment you were well equipped for in any kind of way, thus you decided it was best to stay close – within earshot, at least – to the boys. But they could take care of unpacking and pitching tents and whatever the fuck else needed doing.

“Hey.” Sy sat down next to you on the rock you had claimed, and put an arm around you. This was oddly comfortable, especially compared to the tense situation by the car, earlier. “I was messin’ with ya back there, you know that, right?” Whether it was to make a point, or simply because Walter wasn’t watching – or maybe because the threatening wall of man from before was now your familiar gentle giant again, you had no idea, but you impulsively reached for Sy and kissed him on the cheek. A low chuckle escaped him, and he pulled you closer.

“There’s a trail up to a waterfall we maybe wanted to check out, you in? Easy hike.” The good thing about hanging out with the guys was that they really considered your level of… adventurous ineptitude. If they suggested this hike, it meant they were at least medium convinced you could actually make it there and back in one piece – or that they could make it at least halfway with you on their backs.

The hike led up to a beautiful, clear river, and a spectacular waterfall. Between the smell of the woods, the sun comfortably warm on your skin, and the phenomenal view, this hike had been more than worth it – never mind that you were all sticky and sweaty from trying to keep up with the guys and their superhuman pace.

“On the way back, can we please remember that I have little legs?” you complained as you sank down onto the rock at the river bank the boys had selected to eat yet another sandwich on. Sy hummed, finally contently munching on the tuna sandwich you’d denied him in the car, and Walter laughed. You sat in silence while your friends ate their food, which meant the rock inevitably became too boring for your limited attention span.

What started off as a relatively sure-footed expedition over the rocks that stuck out of the water, inevitably ended with your very accurate portrayal of a soaking wet person regretting most – if not all – of their life choices. Sy sighed and rolled his eyes as he swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, taking his sweet time to get up and make his way over to you to fish you out of the water – which he then called ‘refreshing’ instead of ‘freezing fucking cold’. That didn’t improve your mood. Next, Walter had to dive for your phone – which, luckily, could swim, but was still going to be next to useless to you at the bottom of this far-deeper-than-anticipated vein of icy death.

Shivering, covered in goosebumps and with chattering teeth, you stood on the bank of the river.

“Take your shirt off,” Walter commanded, plucking his own off the dry rock.

“What?” you stammered, staring at him in disbelief. Now, that alone would have been just fine, if your eyes hadn’t dropped from his face to his chest. Small droplets of water dripped from his hair and beard onto his shoulders and chest and… somehow trickled down his body in slow motion. If they knew how much willpower it took to lift your eyes to his again, they would never let you live it down. Sy repeated his words from a distance – there went your excuse that Walter had just been talking too softly. Sy was still up to his knees in the river, unbothered by the cold, just hanging out there as if that water didn’t rival the fucking arctic ocean for temperature.

As you looked at him, he started to walk back to the riverside. The sun was starting to set, changing the light in a way that made it look like Sy, much like those fucking drops of water, was moving in slow motion, flecks of sunlight dancing over his skin… These guys were distracting enough when they were dry and dressed, but now that they were wet and half naked, with damp, coarse curls sticking to their chest and abs, catching the water that dripped down from their heads… These boys were fucking with your head. Big time.

“Sugar, take off your shirt, please,” Sy repeated when he stood next to you. “You’re freezin’, let’s get you a dry t-shirt, at least.” Oh. So, they weren’t putting the moves on you. Good to know. Hopefully, your exasperated sigh didn’t give away any of the disappointment you felt. With a little help from Walter, you lifted your soaking top over your head, not caring that they saw you in your bra until it was already too late. Sy used his t-shirt to dry you off a bit, before handing you Walter’s to put on. The whole time, they kept their eyes in decent places, and their hands didn’t wander anywhere they shouldn’t. Now, why did that make you feel sad?

“We should head back,” Walter said – mostly to Sy. The sun disappeared rather quickly, and without the heat from it, that dry t-shirt – save for the two tit-shaped wet spots where your soaked bra touched it – didn’t do much to keep you warm.

By the time you made it back to the campsite, you were shivering again. The walk had done next to nothing to warm you, and your still wet jean shorts chafed painfully against your thighs. Not to mention your thighs were starting to chafe painfully against your thighs. So, the first thing you did was disappear into the tiny single tent that was meant for you – as you had made it abundantly clear that sharing a tent with the boys was out of the question – and change into something dry, warm, and comfortable. The guys did the same, although – as it turns out – their version of ‘warm’ included no shirts. Did they ever get cold?

It was tough enough to keep your eyes off Sy in cargo shorts – although Walter in jeans was just as much of a sight for sore eyes – but now that it was getting dark, the sweats came out to play. You silently thanked Walter for his choice of black sweatpants, because keeping your thoughts out of the gutter was hard enough already. Sy was shamelessly sporting a pair of grey sweats, filling them out just about as nicely as humanly possible as he sat there, getting a fire started. The sly glances and that godforsaken smirk he flung your way from time to time told you that he was more than aware that you were checking him out.

The heat from the fire alone wasn’t enough to warm you up. Sy’s solution was tequila – which helped, but not quite enough, so Walter wrapped you in a blanket, pulling you close to his side as he ran his hands over your arms in an attempt to stop your shivering. At the same time, Sy inched closer, and before you knew it, four arms were wrapped around you.

Apart from being hot, proverbially, these guys were hot in the literal sense, too, warming you up slightly more effectively than the blanket around your shoulders and moderate amount of alcohol in your system. Still, the icy temperatures from the ground you were sitting on seeped into you without mercy. Of course, the boys took notice, both getting the same idea, and each grabbing one of your legs to try and pull you into their respective laps. Needless to say; it didn’t work, and you just ended up with spread legs, sitting between them on the floor. Sy had that twinkle in his eye, that smirk on his face that was dripping with confidence and indecency… You had to get out of there before he could speak!

As you scrambled to your feet, mumbling something about getting another blanket for yourself to sit on, you tripped and fell into Walter’s lap. Of course! You had been keeping score on that bet as well, and you knew you had come here – fucking camping – with both of the guys stuck on twenty-four counts of the same lame fucking joke… This was your fault, really.

To your surprise, however, Walter said nothing – instead, he smiled politely, pulling you into a more comfortable position in his lap.

“You’ve earned it,” you whispered, although you had absolutely no idea why. Maybe because it was the truth, maybe because you just wanted this bet to be over. Either way, it hurt you that he didn’t make the dumb joke, and asked to collect his reward the way Sy had. Hoping to get up before Walter looked into your eyes – where your thoughts were no doubt displayed for everyone to see – you made a move that was entirely too advanced for your mediocre balance and agility, and you crashed down again, this time falling harder than before. As Walter grunted, panic shot through you…

“Darling, I’d ask you if it hurt when you fell from heaven, but so far the only person who got hurt in that process, is me,” he blurted out in a strangled voice, while Sy was losing it next to you, howling from laughter.

Was it the booze? The fire? The tension from this afternoon? The fact that you were sitting in his lap, with his hands maybe a tad too low on your hips, but high enough to not rouse suspicion? Or maybe just your complete lack of self-control? Whatever it was, it caused you to move to straddle his thighs, and without thinking about it for so much as a second, you kissed him. If you’d had a sliver of hope before that Walter would break the kiss after an at least semi-decent amount of time, it was gone now, because the hand on your hip pulled you tighter against him, and his other hand tangled in your hair.

Walter kissed you. It took far more effort than you had ever expected to really let that sink in, but at the same time there was no way around it. He was kissing you, and it was eager, and rough, accompanied by ragged breaths and the occasional moan. It managed to make you forget everything around you. Everything except for Sy – mainly because he let out a pained grunt just as you were about to stick your tongue down Walter’s throat.

“I got a kiss on the cheek, man,” he groaned as he leaned in slightly on one elbow.

Now, if you had been thinking clearly, you would have laughed it off, gotten up and gone to bed. Safe to say, you were not thinking clearly.

Sy’s mouth felt just as good on yours as Walter’s had, with similarly soft lips, a similarly coarse beard scraping your skin, and a similar roughness to him that only wound you tighter. You moaned, your hips unconsciously grinding into Walter’s, his growing hard-on providing extra friction to soothe the ache between your legs. When you briefly opened your eyes to see if Sy was as involved in this as you were, you saw him palm his own erection through his sweats – casually adjusting its position before focusing on you again. In that moment – timed perfectly with a moan from Walter – something inside of you snapped.

“I’m going to bed,” you stuttered as you broke the kiss with Sy, at the same time scrambling to get to your feet – this time succeeding without falling into anyone, and making it to your own tent without a hitch. ‘

Now, if it had been a sober conversation, and it hadn’t been in the middle of nowhere without a sound to be heard for miles other than crickets, the occasional owl, and the crackling of the fire, at least half of it would have been inaudible from where you had pitched your tents. But the boys were too drunk, and their voices too deep and dark – the sound just traveled too far. You could have ignored them. You could have turned around, pulled your sleeping bag over your ears, and pretended to be asleep until it became the truth. Instead, you listened, sometimes straining to understand what they were saying.

“So, who do we say got her first?”

“I’m asking for a do-over.”

“Because it was me?”

“We could just… Y’know…”

“Think she’d go for it?”

“What, both of us? My ex did…”

“But she was nuts.”

“Hey! Okay, fair enough.”

Both of them? Both of them? As in… Separately? Or… Oh, what the fuck did it matter! The answer was yes.

What surprised you most about your thoughts was how completely unsurprised you were by them. Somehow, the idea of sleeping with both Sy and Walter felt as natural as could be, and left you not only stumped, but with another problem that needed tending to…

Without thinking, you slid your hand down your body, and into your sweatpants. Kissing the boys had definitely had its effect on you, you had known that as soon as it had happened, but the extent of the mess between your thighs was still quite surprising. Somehow, tasting both of them, followed by your eavesdropping, had made you dripping wet and craving something more than just your fingers. Unfortunately, they’d have to do.

You thought of that first kiss with Walter, then the one with Sy, then wondered what it would feel like to have those beards scratch the skin of your neck, slowly making their way down to your chest. Would they lick? Bite? Moan? You pictured Sy, eagerly making his way further down, while Walter kept his attention on your chest. Would he be as quiet as he always was? Was Sy as loud as you imagined him to be?

There were so many things to wonder about, besides the obvious size question, that the thoughts consumed you completely as you worked yourself up to your peak. So completely, in fact, that you didn’t hear the guys return to the tents – just as you squealed from pleasure while you came. Hard.

“Fuck, sugar,” Sy said from outside. Walter warned him to stop talking, but he didn’t listen. “Tell me if you want any help.”

It was tempting to say ‘yes’. It was tempting to crawl into that tent and tell them you had heard everything they said by the fire. It was tempting to offer yourself up on a silver platter, hoping they’d make good on their promises from before by fucking the life out of you. But things that are tempting can also still be difficult, so you did nothing. Well, nothing… If ‘dying of embarrassment’ counts as ‘something’, you were definitely not doing nothing.

The sound of your own teeth chattering prevented you from falling asleep, even though you could hardly keep your eyes open. And who knew goosebumps could hurt like this? The boys had warned you beforehand that it would get cold at night, and you’d even told Sy what you had planned on wearing as pajamas, and he’d said you’d be good. Well, you weren’t good. You were covered from head to toe, and you were not – by any definition of the word – ‘good’.

As hard and painful as it was to just lay there and freeze, it was harder to get up, worm your double-socked feet into your sneakers and get out of your tent. Outside, it was pitch black, and the dim light of your phone was barely enough to prevent you from falling flat on your face. You had to credit the boys with their incredible foresight to keep the path from your tent to theirs free of tripping hazards – something you were so delighted in at that moment that you forgot to question whether or not there was some sort of ploy, or whatever in place. Lewd scheme or not, you were glad to make it without a hitch.

“Eh, guys?” you whispered after zipping open the tent and poking your head in.

“Hm? What?” It was Walter – and from Sy’s continued snoring, you deduced that you shouldn’t wait for him to answer; he wasn’t waking up.

“I’m really fucking cold,” you admitted reluctantly. That seemed to wake Walter up a little more…

“Cold? You could go on an expedition to the north pole dressed the way you are!” The sleep-drunk slur of his voice was… adorable, in a way. To his left – no, his right… To his left from where you were standing? The left side of the air-mattress they were on when you looked at it, standing at the foot of the bed, the right side if you were actually lying in… oh for fuck’s sake! Next to him, Sy groaned and turned – although you couldn’t see any of that, because it was very dark.

“The fuck is going on?” he grunted, his voice gravelly and dark – which did a good job of making your knees weak.

“She’s cold,” Walter replied dryly.

“There’s no way,” Sy said in disbelief, “she’s dressed for winter in Alaska.”

“If you two are done mocking me, I’m actually freezing my ass off out here. Do you have an extra blanket or something?” you snapped.

“Sugar, we’re not even wearin’ shirts,” Sy said, his voice steadier now that he was waking up.

“Great, so you put on a shirt, and I’ll take your sleeping bag.” It was a shame they couldn’t see you roll your eyes, but the snippy tone would surely get your point across.

“Or you could just come here, love,” Walter said all of a sudden. There was rustling in the tent and then a dim red light over your heads turned on.

“Interesting choice…” you started, but Walter and Sy chuckled.

“It’s easier on your eyes, sugar.” Shit, Sy was easy on your eyes, god damn. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the way he casually lounged on that fucking mattress right now, with that arm behind his head, eyes half shut…

Walter was sitting up, holding a hand out to you, waiting patiently until you had zipped open the door further – which took so long that he ended up helping you with it. As you got in, he got out, and for a moment you were scared he would offer to leave you with Sy while he took your tent, but after a while he returned holding your backpack and sleeping bag.

The bed was a bit small for the three of you, especially since the guys were so bulky, but you managed to make it work. The only thing was… shivering in between them was hardly more comfortable than shivering by yourself, and now there wasn’t enough space to curl up into a ball and hope for the best.

“Sugar, stop squirmin’, c’mere.” Sy’s strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, when up until now you’d been trying desperately not to touch either of them. “Alright, I take it back, she is freezin’.” A gesture to Walter you could feel but not see, made him scooch over, too, until his body was flush against yours.

Your heart raced in your throat when warm hands slipped underneath your hoodie, stroking your side and – eventually – your stomach. Somewhere down the line, you forgot how to breathe properly, taking in shallow breaths, hoping the guys wouldn’t notice. Of course, they did, because they were inches away from you.

“You should take this off, sugar,” Sy mumbled into your ear. Every muscle in your body tensed up at the suggestion, and it felt like the air was knocked out of your lungs.

“C-can’t,” you stammered, “I’m not… eh… I’m not wearing a bra.”

“Fairly sure we’ve seen a pair of tits before, love,” Walter replied, right at the time Sy muttered ‘neither are we’, making you laugh. Somehow, all of this seemed innocent – or rather; you were convincing yourself it felt innocent, and any subtext and undertones were a figment of your imagination, instead, when in fact, it was far more likely that it was exactly the other way around…

“Not mine,” you protested, biting your lip as a third hand, belonging to Walter, began to roam your back.

“We’re aware of that,” Sy said, his voice dangerously close to your ear. His breath was hot against your cold skin – a sensation that made you shiver.

“In fact, we try not to think about it. It makes us sad,” Walter said, leaning his forehead against yours, sliding his hand down your back and then up your side until his thumb was less than an inch away from the underside of your boobs.

For a moment, the thought that this was just a tactic to actually warm you up flashed through your head, because – in all fairness – it was working. Every part of you was suddenly glowing, breath quick and ragged in anticipation of whatever it was that would come next. What surprised you, though, was how calm they both seemed. Then again, they had already – unknowingly – admitted to having done this before. If that was where this was headed, which you still didn’t quite know for sure… It was as if the guys were both waiting for something. Waiting for… you.

Your lips trembled as you tilted your head up, Walter taking your hint and pressing his lips to yours. Sy pushed your hair out of the way and latched on to your neck. Neither of them went straight to groping you – not more than they had been up until now – but it was only a matter of time before you felt Walter’s hand creep up to your chest. He broke your kiss, his eyes silently asking for permission, which you gave him with the flash of a smile and a slight nod, gasping when his fingers brushed past your nipple. Despite the rising temperatures in the tent – even though most of that was likely just your imagination – the difference between your skin and Walter’s was striking, and you moaned when his warm hand cupped your breast.

Sy was less subtle by about a million degrees, boldly grabbing as much of your other boob as humanly possible – and he had big hands, so you quickly ran out of tit for him to dig his fingers into.

“Can you take it easy,” you blurted out as you laughed in surprise at his – as far as you were concerned – unwarranted enthusiasm.

“Darlin’, I’ve been dreamin’ of these tits for weeks, throw a man a bone.” He groaned when you backed a hip into him the same way you would have if he had been standing next to you.

“Looks like you’re the one throwing me a bone, Syverson,” you teased when you felt his cock push against your ass. It was a horrible joke; Walter laughed, Sy did not – possibly because he was the one on the receiving end of your mockery. Instead, you heard a low, arrogant chuckle in your ear, that told you exactly how he wasn’t going to give you the upper hand.

“I ain’t throwin’ you nothin’, sugar,” he growled, putting a hand on your hip, gripping you tight. “I’m gonna make you fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Promises, promises.” Teasing the boys was fun when you were studying, because you very clearly had a head start in that department, and they would get frustrated, and it was very cute. But now, sandwiched between their bodies, gone was your head start. Any advantage you had over them, in any other way, was useless here. The worst part? They fucking knew it. It was as if they grew bigger and you got smaller, and you were loving every second of it.

Suddenly, the hands underneath your sweater grew impatient, tugging the fabric up until there was no point in keeping it on. Rough hands turned you on your back, which left you staring up at both guys while they raked their eyes over your naked upper body. The knowledge that they were far from unaffected by you graced you with a sense of pride that helped keep doubts and shyness away as you reveled in their attention and the appreciative grunts and moans they let out as they looked at you.

“Fuck,” Walter muttered, licking his lips, completely focused on your bare skin. He scooched closer to you, grinding his hips into your side as he did, and turned your face to his to kiss you.

It was as eager as before, this time with Sy descending, pressing his lips to your neck, exceeding every expectation you had created in your fantasy from before; their lips were softer, their tongues wetter, and the way the coarse hair felt on your skin better than anything you could ever imagine. You whined and squirmed as their hands glided over your body, paying plenty of attention to your boobs, their fingers treating the soft flesh in remarkably similar ways. After a while, they switched places; Sy kissed you, Walter explored your body, making you gasp into Sy’s mouth as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently on the hardened little bud while his fingers worked the other.

Eventually, he came back up to kiss you, a situation Sy took advantage of by diving straight back between your boobs, this time sliding his hand down your stomach and into your sweatpants – which is when you grabbed his wrist.

“Stop.” Stern and very effective – not that you were about to give the boys any credit for not assaulting you; that sounded like common fucking decency to you, actually. “Before this goes any further; did either of you, with your infinite wisdom and incredible foresight, pack condoms? Because if not…” Before you finished that sentence, both of them sat up and reached for their bag, leaving you there, taken aback by… You didn’t actually know what had you so shocked about this.

Sy made it back to your side first, tucking a handful of condoms beneath his pillow before laying down again. “Oral?” he asked. It was only half the question, but you understood perfectly. You quickly established that everyone was clean, making the short answer to his half-question ‘without’. Sy responded to that agreement by promptly sliding his hand into your pants, not wasting any more time. His fingers slipped between your folds, and he let out a low chuckle.

“For a moment I was worried you didn’t want this as much as we do,” he growled in your ear. “Guess I was wrong.” One quick, skilled swirl of his finger around your swollen clit made you whine – a sound he clearly found very motivational, because his fingers picked up a steady rhythm. You tried to hide your face in Walter’s neck to cover up the sound of your moans, but he caught you and kissed you instead.

Sy somehow found the time to kiss your neck, your jaw, your ear – sinking his teeth into you ever so slightly, stopping just before he hurt you – while he continued what he was doing. His fingers were absolute magic, making you swear under your breath as he effortlessly slipped two of them inside you. Next, he kissed his way down again, not stopping at your breasts, but continuing over your abs, until he reached your sweatpants, pulling them down eagerly without waiting for your permission. Of course, he had it – and you’d had plenty of time to stop him while he was headed there. It’s just that… That was about the very last thing you wanted.

Next to you, Walter kept busy pressing lazy kisses to your neck and jaw, occasionally pulling away to look at you, while he held you and played with your boobs. A few times you tried to move your hand to the bulge in his sweatpants, but he stopped you every time.

“Would you just...”

“Darling, been there, done that. You’ll be useless to me within seconds.” He nodded towards Sy, who was taking a moment to find a decent position between your legs. You raised your eyebrow at Walter, questioning his words, but he didn’t budge. “I’m gonna wait my turn, love.”

“I know this one,” Sy said, running his fingers over the fabric of your thong. You chuckled – he was right; he’d barged into your room one night while you were changing into whatever you were going to wear out to the club, and he’d seen you in your underwear. This underwear. He took his sweet time taking it off, teasing you with kisses on the inside of your thighs, his beard rough against your sensitive skin, until you were almost begging him to keep going. Finally, he pulled your panties down.

“You were right,” he said to Walter, leaving you to wonder what the fuck… “It is her natural hair color.” Oh. You fought the urge to kick Sy – instead, you lightly squeezed your thighs shut around his head. It didn’t seem to bother him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The urge disappeared altogether when you – finally – felt his tongue on your pussy. He wasn’t subtle, but damn, he was good. Walter had absolutely had a point; barely ten seconds in and you couldn’t keep your eyes open, let alone focus on anything other than the feeling of Sy’s tongue on your clit. He impatiently spread your legs further while mumbling some very dirty things about how much he wanted to taste you. Involuntarily, you chuckled – causing both guys to stop what they were doing and looking at you in suspicion. Lying was pointless; they knew you well enough by now to effortlessly see through that, and you sighed.

“I… eh…” you stammered, unable to find the words.

“Come on,” Walter said, “if you’ve still got things to hide from us now…” He was right, of course, this wasn’t a position you’d have found yourself in at all if you hadn’t been so comfortable with – and hot for – these guys. Then again, you were already exposed and vulnerable… Why make that worse?

You hid your face in Walter’s neck as you just said what was on your mind without thinking about it: “I always imagined you to be the quiet one and Sy the loud one.”

“Always?” Sy teased you. His usual cocky attitude transferred seemly to the bedroom – or… tent – as it would seem. Except now, for once, you had a decent shot at shutting him the fuck up – although you did have a feeling you were going to like his smug confidence for a change. Sy had been growing out his buzzcut for a few weeks now, which made his hair just about long enough to grab – a fact you used to your advantage when you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled his face back to where you wanted it.

“That’s just going to make it harder to answer the question, darling,” Walter muttered next to you while drawing circles around your nipples with impatient fingers.

“Fuck!” you shrieked as Sy’s tongue hit your clit just right – a note he took to heart, because he didn’t leave that spot again, leaving you wishing that all men were that smart. Because why – for the love of God – did they always change their approach as soon as they found a spot you let them know you really liked? Right… The question at hand… “You really thought it was just the two of you dreaming about me?” They had to be smart enough to figure out what you meant on their own, right? The flustered look on Walter’s face told you enough, as did the deep chuckle and gentle bite on the inside of your thigh.

Apparently fed up with your conversation, Sy doubled down on his efforts, eating you out like a man starved, more chuckles escaping him as he watched you pull his pillow over your face in an attempt to keep quiet. ‘Attempt’ because you still failed quite horribly when he pushed two fingers into your pussy and curled them, finding your g-spot without any effort. The orgasm that followed was the kind of toe-curling, earth-shattering, life-changing thing that made you really mad at yourself for one particular reason…

“Jesus fucking Christ, I should have taken you up on your offer when my useless ex broke up with me,” you moaned as Sy made his way up again, pulling in the pillow that you had haphazardly thrown aside – after you were done screaming, that is – so you could catch your breath. Sy immediately pulled you on top of him, kissing you hard and deep, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was something that had always made you feel weird and – if you were being perfectly honest – mildly disgusted when it had been your ex doing it, but there was something about the way Sy had gone down on you, and the way he was kissing you now, something unapologetic, passionate, and enthusiastic, that made you want to kiss him.

In fact, you were just about to commit to the bit when someone – and that someone had to be Walter – grabbed you by your hips and dragged you back until you were on your knees. You tried to lie down again as you heard him rummage around, looking for something – the obvious, really. The smack on your ass made you shriek in surprise, only making you slightly worried that either sound would have been audible well outside the tent.

“Stay there,” Walter’s husky voice commanded. “My turn.” Maybe he was the quiet one, but when he did speak… Oh my! You didn’t dare to move a muscle, leaving you sitting there, exposed as you heard the pretty familiar crinkling of foil. Shortly after, you felt the tip of Walter’s cock glide along the length of your slit. He teased you for a moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing into you. Sy laughed as your eyes went wide, and he grabbed your hand, guiding it to the bulge in his pants. Jackass. As soon as you got a good sense of what he was equipped with, you squealed. Not with any particular emotion in mind, just… Right now, you didn’t know what to think. In fact, Walter was well on his way to at least semi-permanently turning the whole thinking-function of your brain off.

“You alright, love?” Walter asked as he slowly pushed further into you.

“So far so good,” you moaned, “but I hope you’re running out of dick, because I’m running out of places to put it.” Cue roaring laughter from both guys…

“If you ever wonder why we love you,” Sy said, his sentence interrupted by more laughter, “that, right there. That’s why.”

You wanted to respond to that, you really did, but Walter pulling out of you already left you breathless, meaning all you could do was gasp when he slammed back into you. You’d never pictured either of them to be gentle. Concerned for your comfort, sure, but not tender. You’d been right. Luckily, gentle lovemaking was very low on your list of priorities in this particular situation – or ever – which meant you reveled in the brutish attention you got and soon found yourself wanting to beg Walter to fuck you harder.

Sy, as vocal as he’d been before, turned out to also be a champion in impatiently nudging your hand, vaguely suggesting he wanted you to do something, and for a moment it felt like you were about to regain some control of the situation, but no… He was also not above manhandling you into a position where your face hovered over his crotch, and taking his dick out himself once he got really fed up with your stalling. With your eyes wide, you looked at him – something he enjoyed for a moment before tapping the tip of his cock to your lips.

“Don’t make me ask, Sugar,” he growled. As much as you wanted to protest and act out, with Walter fucking the attitude out of you, there was nothing you could do but open your mouth and carefully wrapping your lips around him. The chuckle you let out as Sy grunted appreciatively when you swirled your tongue around his cock was interrupted by your own moan when Walter did… whatever it was that he did to cause it.

Slowly but surely, you made your way further down Sy’s dick, until a particularly violent thrust from Walter threw you off, accidentally forcing Sy deeper than you could handle. Choking and sputtering, you moved away from Sy, only scared for a moment that he’d be disappointed, but he had a different reaction – similar to Walter’s: checking to see if you were okay. Again, you were not in the habit of handing out bonus points for normal behavior, but it was nice, regardless.

“I’m fine,” you said between ragged breaths. “Note to self: deepthroating while getting railed from behind; bad idea.” The guys laughed, and as soon as you’d caught your breath, you joined them.

“There’s one way we all get attention without any risk of choking,” Sy mentioned casually, wiggling an eyebrow suggestively. Yes, you knew what he meant instantly, but… both of them? At the same time? All it took to convince you to at least give it a try was Walter slipping out of you, leaving you empty and nowhere near sated. One of Sy’s sly glances was a question to Walter, who ‘hmmph’-ed. You didn’t like the sound of that, per se, and looked over your shoulder to see what he was on about.

“Definitely depends,” he said, taking your lack of an immediate ‘absolutely the fuck not’-reaction as a sign you were considering it. And he was correct in that interpretation of the situation. “There’s a time and place for first time anal, and this is not it.” That was a sentiment you could absolutely get behind. Luckily, it didn’t matter, because it was hardly applicable. You assured the guys you had plenty of experience in that area.

Another potential spanner in the works that Sy mentioned, was the lack of lube. Somehow, Walter surprised you by mentioning you should have some with you – you did, but how did he know that?

“You use it to keep your hair from going frizzy,” he deadpanned. You looked at him as if you’d seen a ghost, while Sy looked at you as if you’d gone completely nuts.

“What?” you said, turning to Sy again. “It works!” With one hand, you reached for the strap of your backpack, pulling it towards you so you could look for the bottle. It was just under half full, but that should be enough…

Walter wasn’t stingy with the stuff, which was a good thing. There were few things more annoying to you than continuously having to tell a guy to use more lube. One, then two, then three fingers disappeared into you without a hitch, and although the fourth was a nice reminder that you had to relax, that went over without too much trouble as well. Somehow, somewhere in your mind, the fact that Walter seemed to know exactly what he was doing irked you – it was completely hypocritical of you, for obvious reasons, but right now the thought of him with anyone else made you mad.

The boys laughed when you voiced the absurd thought, and Sy didn’t neglect to point out that they hadn’t been too happy about several of the ‘scum’ (yes, really) you’d gotten together with in the time they’d known you. It was a weird thing to be joking about with two of your closest friends while one of them had several fingers stuck up your ass, but at the same time it felt very natural and on-brand for your relationship with the guys.

You whined when Walter pulled his fingers out, making Sy chuckle in a way you didn’t like at all.

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” he suggested with a smug grin on his face that only widened when you told him you were definitely not going to do that. “Why not, sugar?”

Fuck, he was making good on that promise from before. Now, of course, you could convince yourself that begging for cock was beneath you, and you weren’t going to do it, but that would leave you – relatively – unfucked, which was… not desirable, to say the least. Or you could admit to yourself and them how much you wanted both of them inside of you, and have a great time.

Somehow, the red light that no one had bothered to turn off – luckily, as everything you had been doing so far would have been more or less impossible in the dark – already made the tent feel like… a brothel, quite frankly, you put your doubts aside and looked at Sy.

“We’re not going to sleep, because you’re not done fucking me,” you said, giving him your best bedroom eyes. Sy seemed impressed at first, but his eyes flitted to Walter and…

A strong hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you up until your back hit Walter’s chest. His arm reached around, grabbing you by your throat – lightly, almost as if to ask for permission, but demanding.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice dark and gravelly. Down on the air mattress, Sy smirked up at you, making it painfully obvious that you wouldn’t get out of this, no matter how hard you tried. You quickly scanned your brain for all your options, sadly coming up completely empty. No matter which way you sliced it, they were going to come out on top.

“I want you to fuck me,” you snapped, “both of you.” A sarcastic chuckle behind you and Sy shaking his head as he looked up at you told you that that wasn’t good enough. After a deep breath, your voice softened as you spoke again, finally saying the word they wanted to hear: “Please.”

For a long, dull moment all you really heard was the sound of two more condoms being unwrapped, and the top of the bottle of lube clicking. Then, Sy pulled you towards him. As soon as you felt his tip at your entrance, you sat down, fighting the urge to slap him when he threw a smirk and that godforsaken horrible wink your way. Under normal circumstances you considered yourself very well versed in resisting that desire, but today… He laughed when your palm landed lightly on his cheek and thrust up into you for good measure, making you squeal and fall over. Luckily, he caught you just in time.

Just as you wanted to sit up again, Walter put a hand on your back. Right. In that little moment of silliness, you’d almost forgotten what the endgame was, but now that you felt Walter’s cock pushing against your ass…

“Keep talking to us, okay?” Sy whispered softly as he saw your expression change. He cupped your cheek, gently stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. “Breathe.” You took his advice immediately – no doubt a nice change of pace for him, as he was used to your stubbornness at this point – taking a few deep breaths. It wasn’t until the third or fourth one that Walter moved, slowly pushing into you. Keeping your eyes open was absolutely impossible, the sensation of both of them filling you up at the same time too much to even really wrap your head around. “Sugar, you okay?”

“Uhuh.” You nodded, showcasing your current full extent of your ability to answer. When Walter moved, you swore under your breath – when they both moved you hid your face in Sy’s neck and let out a loud moan, followed by an out-of-breath ‘fuck yes’, and that was all the confirmation they needed.

They established a rhythm suspiciously quickly, pumping in and out of you in sync. Yeah. They’d definitely done this before. As you pushed the thought away and focused on the incredible sensations of their cocks moving inside of you, their eager – and mostly greedy – hands on your hips, shoulders, ass, thighs, and tits, you felt a familiar pressure inside of you.

“Don’t stop,” you blurted out – and the boys seemed more than happy to oblige. With one little disclaimer…

“Make it quick, love… Not gonna last,” Walter grunted, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hips. It hurt, causing you to swat at his hand, which made him relax his grip a bit. Judging from Sy’s rapid breaths and a concentrated look on his face that gave away just how much difficulty he was having with keeping his rhythm steady, he was getting pretty damn close, too. In fact, pretty much the second their thrusts dragged you over the edge, both of them grit their teeth and gave in to their own pleasure, growling profanities as they came.

The boys were nice enough to handle most of the cleanup for you – which was, given that you were camping, largely a matter of wet wipes, which was definitely not even close to the shower you would have loved to take right about now. And you couldn’t really appreciate Sy’s joke about a lovely, refreshing river near where you were, either.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you yawned, turning around in the middle of the bed, wrapping your sleeping bag tightly around your shoulders. It didn’t take the guys long to join you, and soon you were sandwiched between them again, strong arms wrapped around you – clearly not planning on letting go anytime soon.

Walter pressed his lips to your shoulder and let out a low chuckle. “Still cold, darling?”

The next morning, you woke up in an empty bed, in a tent that was already slightly warmer than comfortable, with just your sleeping bag on it. The guys had somehow already managed to worm theirs into the tiny little bags they came in, and all without waking you. Then again, it was safe to say that by now they’d proven themselves to be experts in the field of putting pretty big things in relatively tiny places…

For a moment, you wondered if you should feel weird about getting up and going outside, seeing the guys, but something about the whole thing felt so oddly natural that you didn’t give it a second thought.

“Mornin’, sugar,” Sy said as he held out some coffee to you when you joined him on the ground by the fire, where you’d spent the start of last night, as well. The two of you called Walter over, who was just about done putting your tent – the one that had been meant to be yours, anyway – away. He tossed the bag into the bed of the truck as if it weighed nothing – and maybe it indeed didn’t, you wouldn’t know, because you hadn’t touched the entire thing – and made his way over to you, gratefully taking the other cup of coffee Sy had poured.

You knew better than to try striking up a conversation with either of them before they’d finished their morning coffee – it was so bad that whenever you had classes together in the mornings, you showed up there with two double espressos for them and a latte for you, because if you didn’t do that, they’d just grouch and snap at you all the way through the first half of class.

It was all the more surprising, then, when Sy suddenly asked Walter a very unexpected question: “Have you ever kissed a dude?” The answer was no, he hadn’t - to which followed an even more surprising question: “Ever wanted to try it?”

The casual energy of the shrug with which Walter answered that question was absolutely unmatched by anything you had ever seen, and you stared at the guys, wide-eyed as they leaned in until their lips touched. It wasn’t just a quick peck, either! No, there was tongue involved in this… And by the end of it?

“Eh,” Walter said, “not for me.” Sy agreed.

“I’m sorry,” you said, completely taken aback by the unexpectedness of what had just happened. “What? You can’t just… Stick your tongue down your friend’s throat and then casually decide… What?”

“Hey,” Sy said, his tone still infuriatingly indifferent, “don’t knock it till you try it.”

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