#boy got some brass balls to be going to the hotel and expecting them to just act like nothing happened | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 4 years

Text

Imagine:

Erik walks in on his homeboys sister stepping out of the shower and she is embarrassed/ has a huge crush on him.

Warnings: Smut. Flash back.

Micheal and Yara.

Two siblings from Oakland who decided to get an apartment near Telegraph Ave so that Yara could study at Berkeley. Yara is currently studying Art History there and she will be graduating in May at the age of 21. Micheal, her older brother, is into graphic design and web development so he works for a small company creating websites for Architectural businesses. He also does free lance work on the side to earn extra cash so he can afford living in their expensive apartment. Micheal and Yara’s parents are divorced. Their father lives in San Francisco city and their mother lives where Micheal and Yara are with her new husband in Alameda County. Yara used to live with her mother but she didn’t get along with her step father. Micheal brought up the idea of sharing an apartment to Yara since his on-again, off-again girlfriend, Evette decided that she didn’t want to move in with him.

Currently, Micheal and Evette are arguing about Micheal's whereabouts last Friday evening. Yara was trying to take a nap in her room before her late shift at 9:00 PM as a bar tender. Tossing and turning in her bed covered in fluffy white sheets, Yara groaned loudly before throwing her sheets back, temples pounding with a tension headache that Yara tries to sooth by massaging them but it doesn’t work. Only in a Metallica T-shirt, Yara grabs a pair of Champions sweatpants from her dresser, sliding her feet in her canary yellow UGG slippers, and walking out of her bedroom. Yara’s eardrums damn near bust when she stepped into the hallway of the apartment. Rubbing the cold from her eyes, Yara walked out into the living room area coming face to face with the source of the commotion.

“STOP LYING!” Evette, Short, petite, reminded Yara of Keyshia Cole because of her bright red hair and nose piercing, tossed a decorative pillow at Micheal from across the room. Micheal caught it with his quick reflexes before placing it back on the couch. He didn’t appear bothered at all by Evette’s screaming and hollering.

“Evette, I ain’t got nothing to lie about. I told you, I was with my boy, Erik. He’s back in town for a little while before he goes back to the Military,” Micheal spoke with a flat tone, eyes bored.

“I don’t believe you. I think you were with some girl. I think you’re out here sticking your dick in some other bitch. When I find out, I’m beating both of yall ass, for real,” Evette threatens Micheal with one of her long acrylic hot pink nails almost jabbing him in the eye.

“This ain’t the first time you accused me of cheating,” Micheal ran his hands down his face, “It’s really getting on my nerves, Evette. The constant trying to go through my phone, picking fights with me, the insecurities. What do I have to lie about? I could have dropped you years ago but no, I care about you too much to do that. Now, I’m just tired of you acting like a damn child.”

“Ahem,” Yara clears her throat.

Micheal and Evette turn towards her.

“Do y’all mind taking this shit somewhere else? I have to work tonight and I can’t sleep with all this yelling.”

“Hi to you too, Yara,” Evette spoke sarcastically.

“Bitch, don’t give me attitude. Do you pay the bills in here?” Yara has her fists balled up like she was ready to hit Evette. Evette simply laughs, staring at Yara like she’s a joke before turning her attention back to Micheal.

“My bad, little sis, Evette was just leaving-“

“WHAT?” Evette’s voice grew loud again.

“You heard me. Bounce. If you don’t trust me I can’t deal with you, Evette.”

Evette folds her arms across her perky chest, “Do you actually mean it this time around or will you be calling me tomorrow night asking to come over? you are famous for that shit, Mike.”

Micheal groans, “I don’t know right now. All I know is I need you to leave so I can clear my head, you know what I’m saying?”

“Okay, clear your head, GOTCHA,” Evette turns around, practically stomping to the door, “Lying ass piece of shit.”

“Don’t slam the door either!”Micheal yells.

BAM!

“Yeah,” Micheal closes his eyes to calm himself.

“You’re better than me. I feel like following her and kicking that bitch down the steps. You need to drop her, Mike. Do you even see what’s going on?”

“Nah, baby sis, tell me what’s up? What am I NOT seeing?”

Yara tilted her head at Micheal with sad eyes. Micheal shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t understand what Yara was trying to tell him without using words.

“You can be so damn thick-headed sometimes,” Yara threw her hands up matter-of-factually, “Evette is cheating on you, Mike. She’s just trying to give you a reason to end things so she can continue fucking whoever she is fucking without you knowing.”

“Wait...what?” Micheal says with disbelief.

“You’re Girl? The love of your life? She’s fucking someone else, Mike.”

Micheal blinked at Yara with bewildered eyes.

“Listen, fool, while you’re sitting there stuck on stupid, Evette is driving to a dick appointment trying to think of a plan B to get rid of yo’ ass. Just end it with her. The shit is toxic. I don’t even want a nigga to step into my personal space after witnessing the shit you and Evette go through.”

“If Evette is cheating on me...” Micheal didn’t finish his sentence but Yara knew her brother would bring hell to earth if he caught Evette fucking another man. As much as they bickered and broke up, Evette was her brothers first real love. He wouldn’t admit it, but Micheal would be heart broken.

“Then I’m going to whip her ass,” Yara said in her brothers defense, “Nobody fucks with my bro like that.”

“I’ll let you beat her ass too.”

Yara kisses her brothers forehead, “I’m going to go back in bed, I am so exhausted with school- hold up, did you say that you were with Erik?”

“Yeah,” Micheal said whole scrolling through his phone, “He’s back for a little while.”

“I haven’t seen Erik in, like, three years?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long ass time. I thought he forgot about us,” Micheal laughs, “He’ll be here later if you want to catch him before you go to work.”

“Mama was asking about him a few days ago,” Yara says recalling the conversation they both had when she went to visit her. Micheal and Yara’s mother always pulled the photo albums out whenever they came to see her. The photo album she brought out when Yara came over was Micheal’s prom photos. Micheal and Erik went to prom together their senior year.

“Look at Erik! Wasn’t he so skinny?!” Yara’s mama says.

“Yeah, mama, he was swimming in his suit.”

Yara’s eyes twinkled when she stared at Erik’s photo. Her first ever crush. The guy she kissed on a whim when she was 18 and he was 24. Yara felt so embarrassed. Erik simply gave her a kind smile, hugging her tightly. She felt like a silly child. Erik was a grown man. Ever since then, Yara hadn’t seen Erik.

“You Aight?” Micheal looked over at Yara with a smirk.

“I’m fine.”

Yara couldn’t stop thinking about her brothers friend who used to spend the night when they were kids. His friend who wore only a pair of basketball shorts when he slept. His friend who used to stand in Yara’s doorway to her bedroom teasing her.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Yara looked off to the side.

“When you look away like that it’s a sign that you’re lying. You ain’t gotta tell me, it’s probably some nasty shit that I really don’t want to know anyway.”

“Shut up, Mike,” Yara rolls her eyes, turning away to walk back to her room with her middle finger raised behind her, directed towards her brother.

——————

A few hours later:

Erik Stevens stepped off of the elevator within Micheal and Yara’s apartment building on Telegraph Ave. kinky fro freshly shaped up and a new fit and shoes on his feet, Erik checked his text message from Micheal that informed him of what apartment it is.

“9C,” Erik places his phone back inside of his jacket pocket, eyes searching from left to right before spotting the crisp white door with a bronze letter C on it and a tiny peep hole. Erik knocks, the gold Piaget watch on his right wrist making a loud tapping sound against the surface of the door. In under two seconds, Micheal opens the door, a broad smile on his handsome chocolate face when he noticed who it was.

“What’s up, cuz?” Micheal gave Erik dabs, “I ain’t expect you to be over this early, bruh, you good?”

“I’m good, I just needed to get away from CeCe. You know she offered for me to stay at her new place instead of a hotel.”

“You know you have to tell me about all of that, right?” Micheal jokes, holding his door open further for Erik to enter. Erik steps inside, his eyes admiring the urban styled apartment. It was Boho vintage with different shades of browns, greens, and reds. The living room was decorated and furnished with cream colored walls, Urban photographs of Oakland, cactus plants, a standout leather sofa set in a dessert brown color accompanied with khaki colored patch work leather ottomans and an elegantly modern coffee table featuring a round metal tabletop in a brushed, antique brass finish. 60 inch flat screen TV, an acacia wood credenza that Erik was sure is filled with old 70s and 80s records.

“Shit, let me take my shoes off, I don’t want to mess up this nice carpet,” Erik kicks his shoes off near the front door.

“You can put them in that shoe rack right there if you want. Yara got that from the thrift store about a week ago.”

Erik looks up at Micheal with expectant eyes, “Little Yara? She lives with you? what happened with Evette?”

“Long story, bro, Yara and I decided to get a place together close to Berkeley and I work for that new company I was telling you about last weekend so we can commute easier. Plus, you know moms live near us too.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, what is little Yara studying at Berkeley?”

Micheal smiles like a proud older brother, “Art History. She wants to become a Curator.”

“I’ve always seen her working in a museum. She loves history so much,” Erik reminisced with a slight smirk, “Is she here?”

“Straight back there-Wait.”

Erik was ready to rush back to see her.

“Let me see if she’s decent. She gotta work in about a few hours.”

“No problem, bruh, I’ll chill out here.”

Erik watches Micheal walk to the back of the apartment where the rooms are. Taking a seat on the leather couch, Erik strokes his beard, thinking about Yara. He hadn’t seen her in three years. He wondered how different she looked. By different he meant mature and filled out like a women. Back when she was just 18 years of age, Yara was so petite and athletic since she played Lacrosse, braces on her teeth, and so sweet and innocent. From what Micheal told Erik last weekend when they went out to a Hookah bar for Boys night, Yara gained weight. Micheal joked about it, typical sibling teasing, but Erik wished he could have seen a picture. Now, his mind went back to when Yara kissed him the night of her graduation party before Erik left to start his JSOC training. He honestly didn’t know how to respond. Yara looked like her world came crashing down when he didn’t reciprocate the same feelings. She was much younger than him, Erik has her by six years. She was 18 and he was 24. Yeah, Yara was legal but it still felt weird. He always knew little Yara had a crush on him and he surely didn’t want Micheal to know about it.

“She’s still asleep,” Micheal walked back out with a generous bag filled with an eighth of top-shelf weed, “You want to smoke a blunt and tell me about this bitch named CeCe?”

———————

Yara. Don’t forget. The history project is due tomorrow night. Since you’re group lead, you have to submit it.

Yara rolls her eyes at the group chat she was in with her fellow History classmates. That assignment was the last thing on her damn mind. Yara closes her Mac, stretching her curvy body out like a cat before getting up from her comfy bed. Like a strong wind, the smell of kush hit her nose. Yara noticed that her bedroom door is cracked. Micheal must have come to check on her. Yara slips on a pair of Champion Reverse Weave drawstring shorts that were folded on the end of her bed in a pink color, bed hair and all, walking out of her room and towards the living room. When she entered the hallway, two male voices could be heard. It finally dawned on Yara who the other male present could be.

Erik.

Yara walks to the bathroom, deciding to wipe her face off and brush her teeth. She still needed to shower but that could wait until she ate something. Admiring her hair, Yara reaches up to pull her hair tie from her curly hair, fluffing it out and shaking her head so it wouldn’t look like she just rolled out of bed. Yara then brushes her teeth, using her water closer afterwards. Satisfied, Yara takes in a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies in her stomach before walking out of the bathroom and towards the living room area.

“So, you’re telling me that CeCe is trying to hook you up with someone? why are you there?”

“You know she likes playing match made in heaven. CeCe is cool, Mike, I know me and her used to fuck around before I left but it ain’t even like that now. Just a friend helping out a friend. No big thing.”

Micheal chuckles, “E, I know you, man. You had all that pussy around you to play with and you ain’t have a taste? Nigga-“

“Like I said, nah. I don’t want that anymore or her friend she’s trying to get me with. Her friend just wants to know how the dick CeCe used to get is really about. You can look at me like that all you want. Everything is temporary. I’m shopping for a house right now-“

“You can just sleep on our couch-“

“I’m too big for this fucking couch,” Erik laughs, “Once my house is built from the ground up, you’ll see that it was all worth it. And you know I can’t stay with our other friends they gon’ get me caught up and I don’t need to be in jail.”

Erik takes a puff of weed before handing it over to Mike.

Micheal accepts the weed, instantly smoking it before letting the smoke out from his nose, “You’re a changed man, E. Got a house in the works, left the hood to pursue your dreams of being this J.I Joe motherfucker,” Erik playfully jabs Micheal in his ribs, “Seeiously, man, I’m proud of you. Wait until Yara sees you, bruh.”

Erik licks his lips before raising a single brow, “What you mean by that?

“She ain’t gonna believe this the same Erik from three years ago. What you do? Get inside of the same machine as Captain America?”

“Funny, nigga.”

Yara didn’t reveal herself just yet. She just wanted to hear him talk. Erik’s voice definitely appeared deeper. Raspy, then husky, then deep and gruff. When he genuinely laughed it was still just as light as before. Yara peeked out into the living room. A tiny gasp escaped her mouth. Kinky fro, muscles, facial hair, and tiny scars on his arms is what she noticed first. Micheal was right, this was Erik 2.0. Then, whenever he talked; those lush lips moving, Yara saw gold canines in his mouth. He looked so rough and scruffy. The Military definitely made him harder.

“Yara, stop being nosy!” Micheal yells. Yara almost jumped where she stood. She was so in tune with her thoughts that she hadn’t realized how close she’d gotten into the living room.

“Shut up Mike!” Yara fired back. With nervous eyes, Yara looked over at Erik. He didn’t speak, all he did was look fixedly at her with his eyes wide open. It was as if time stood still and she was the only thing that mattered in that room. Even the weed in Erik’s hand could burn to ash.

“Hi, Erik,” Yara couldn’t stop herself from grinning when Erik smiled at her with his dimples.

“Little Yara, what’s going on girl!” Erik hands Micheal the blunt back before standing from the couch, walking over to Yara with his arms outstretched for her to give him a big hug. Yara walks up to Erik, giggling nervously before bringing her arms around his waist, squeezing him. Erik rocked Yara back and forth while his chin rested on top of her curly head. Erik then brings his lips down to kiss Yara’s forehead before pulling her away to get a good look at her.

Heart shaped face, dimple in her chin, glittering eyes fringed with long eyelashes that reminded him of maple syrup, silken skin like cinnamon, ebony ringlets that made her thick but arched brows pop, lips full and glossy with a prominent Cupid’s bow. Erik’s eyes burned with desire when he gazed at Yara’s voluptuous, curvy, ample, and generous body. She really filled out from the last time he saw her. Mike can joke all he wants but Yara looked...

Erik covered his eyes with his hands, a suppressed laugh escaping his mouth before he opened his arms wide for her to hug him again. Yara giggles, stepping back into his embrace again to accept his hug. He smelled like patchouli. Tall, brawny, chiseled, broad-shouldered, and hulking, Yara couldn’t get over how comfortable she felt within Erik’s embrace. The deep baritone of his voice made her shiver.

“Look at you girl, all grown up. Crazy how that happened in three years, right?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Yara turned her face away timidly, “So, how is the Military treating you? I mean...” Yara looks Erik up and down with a shake of her head, “It seems like it’s treating you nice. Go hard or go home, right?

“Treating me like I’m a piece of shit but it’s worth it,” Erik laughs, “The Military transformed me.”

Yes it did

“You do look great, I almost didn’t recognize you sitting on that couch. The hair, the muscles, the scars...”

Yara looked at them, her hand extending out suddenly to touch a row of scars that looked freshly raised against his skin.

“Don’t.”

Yara jolted upright, her hand jerking away. His voice and the look he gave her had her shrank in front of him.

“Shit, my bad, girl. You don’t want to touch these. Bad memories. That’s all, little Yara, I’m sorry.”

“It’s...it’s okay,” Yara steps away, shifting from one foot to the other, “Good to see you though, Erik.”

“You too, girl,” Erik scratched his beard before reluctantly turning away from Yara to take his seat next to Micheal on the couch. Yara watched him walk away while tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The way they greeted eachother felt so different. Erik wasn’t only physically changed, He’s mentally changed too.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?” Micheal stretched his slender tattoo covered arms above his head.

“Yeah, but I’m hungry so,” Yara rubbed her hands on her thighs to get rid of the sweat before walking away and into the kitchen. Yara finally exhaled when she entered the kitchen after holding her breath while walking past Erik. The kitchen was open and you could peek into the living room. Erik was sitting directly across from Micheal staring straight ahead at Yara while smoking his blunt. He tilted his head at her while half listening to Micheal talk about Evette. Yara turned her face away, grabbing a loaf of wheat bread from the counter to make herself a PB&J sandwich.

“Little sis, what you cooking up in there?”

“Nothing for you,” Yara spread strawberry jam on her bread, “Why don’t you order in?”

“I was thinking about it, E, I’ma make a liquor run real quick, you want anything?”

“I got some good stuff in the car I can grab, you aint gon’ drink it so don’t even ask.”

“Yeah, I like my own shit,” Micheal stood from the couch, walking towards the back of the apartment to his room. It was silent minus the low TV and Yara washing the butter knife she used to make her sandwich. Erik leaned back into the leather couch, crossing his arms over his solid chest. He watched Yara walk over to the trash can to toss a paper towel in the trash that she most likely used to clean up crumbs or spilled jam. Erik has a great view of Yara’s thick ass bending over, her drawstring shorts raising up her thighs and getting caught between her ass cheeks. Such a beautiful sight has Erik’s brows knitted as he gave her a once-over. At that particular moment, Yara looked back at him as if she could feel his eyes boring into her.

“Hi.” She spoke in a trembling tone.

“Hi, back,” Erik says suggestively.

“Did Mike leave yet?”

“Nah-“

“Aight, I’ll be back, y’all good? Need anything?” Micheal was back with a hoodie on, a dad cap, and a pair of vans on his feet.

“Can you stop by that corner market that sells those organic fruits? I want some mangos.” Yara yelled from the kitchen.

Micheal grabbed the door knob, pausing, “I’m making a liquor run too.”

“Oh! I want some Hypnotiq.”

“Cool, you, E?”

“We can order in when you get back, I’m good.”

“Bet, I’ll be back.”

Micheal exits.

“Mike still just as skinny as he was since the last time I saw him” Erik laughs.

“Yeah, he can eat but it goes nowhere. Me, I gained all the weight in the world.”

Erik gave Yara a dismissive wave of his hand, “Girl, you look good. Ain’t nothing wrong with the weight you put on.”

Yara giggles, popping a green grape in her mouth, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Erik craned his neck to try and see her, “Why don’t you come in here and eat. Over there hiding and shit from a nigga.”

“Okay,” Yara got up from the dining room table, walking through the kitchen and entering the living room. She decided to sit her plump bottom on the floor while using one of the leather ottomans as a surface for her grapes and half eaten sandwich.

“So, how have you been?” Erik asked while rolling a new blunt.

“I’ve been doing just fine. Ready to graduate honestly.” Yara nervously rubbed her shoulder before gazing at Erik, “You?”

“Busy, busy, busy,” Erik’s onyx eyes landed on hers before looking back at his blunt, “Just traveling, training, that’s about it.”

“Oh,” Yara massaged the back of her neck, “Does those scars have anything to do with it?”

“Partly, yeah.”

“I see,” Yara admires them, “They look...they don’t look like typical scars.”

“That’s because they’re not.” Erik spoke in a flat tone.

“Let me just, stop asking,” Yara laughs awkwardly.

Erik chuckles, “It’s not a subject I rather talk about with you, Little Yara.”

“I understand. I won’t pry.”

“Cool,” Erik takes a hit of his blunt, cheeks blowing out as they filled with smoke, “Seeing anybody?”

“Nope. I haven’t for the past three months. Been trying to stay focused. Men are a distraction.”

“Y’all women are too,” Erik laughs, smoke escaping his nose.

Yara cocked her head, “So, my guess is you aren’t seeing anyone either.”

Erik licks his lips, “I don’t have time for that.”

“Does that include sex too?”

Erik clapped his hands together while chuckling, “Ahhhh, shit, Yara, did you just ask me about my sex life? Are you having sexxxxxxx?!

“I did. And I’m grown, ERIK, so yes, I’m having sex,” Yara gave a half shrug while rolling her eyes.

“21, right? I remember when I was 21. Legally can drink now and everything. Too bad you still can’t hang with us,” Erik chuckles.

Yara gave Erik the finger, “fuck you, don’t play with me like that.”

“I’m just saying, I remember you graduating high school the last time I saw you. Now you’re in your 20s, barely.”

Yara lowered her head, “Will you always remember me like that? Like DAMN, I did grow up, nigga.”

Erik noticed the attitude in her voice, “You’re mad at me?”

“Just annoyed,” Yara stood up, grabbing her food, “I’m gonna eat in my room so I can look over this project I have to submit tomorrow. I’ll see you later, Erik.”

Confused, Erik watched Yara practically storm away. He didn’t understand why his words offended her so much. It’s just what Erik is used to. He’s used to seeing Yara so young not a 21 year old adult. It was all still so new to him. Deciding not to chase after her, Erik gets up from the couch to retrieve his shoes so he could grab his drink from his car.

———————

Yara couldn’t even focus.

She was really bothered by Erik’s comments.

It was mainly because every time he cracked jokes she thought about her kissing him. He probably cracked jokes about that too. Clearly, Erik couldn’t look past the fact that Yara is Mike’s little sis. She really thought he was past that when he first laid eyes on her. She could tell what a look of lust was in a man’s eyes since Yara often receives that look. Erik’s eyes were gleaming with desire and attraction. He almost looked shocked that it was Yara. Then, the way he looked her up and down. His eyes damn near gaped when she noticed him staring while she was in the kitchen. Pupils flared and all. Now, it was as if he was trying to hide the attraction he has towards her after three years. Yara was disappointed honestly. She always thought the next time she ever saw Erik they would honestly re-do that kiss and possibly have sex. If Yara had the choice to go back and lose her virginity it would have been with Erik.

Glancing at her phone, Yara noticed it was around 7:45 PM. Luckily, the bar she worked at wasn’t too far from her. Yara didn’t drive so she usually walked or caught an Uber. Lifting from her soft and fluffy floor cushion, Yara grabs her white cotton towel and soap sponge to take a shower. Leaving her room, she could hear Erik watching a basketball game. Yara closes her bedroom door, walking across to the bathroom, closing the door behind her softly. She began to undress, stripping her clothes from her body into a wrinkled pile on the floor near the sink. Opening the medicine cabinet, Yara grabs her Dove sensitive skin body wash and exfoliating spin brush. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Erik being in the living room right now while she was naked in the bathroom. There was no way Yara could ignore the growing dampness between her legs. She hadn’t been wet to the thought of Erik in a very long time.

Luke warm water running, Yara pulled the tribal patterned shower curtain back, stepping inside carefully not to slip on the the shower mat, then closing the curtain behind her. Yara forgot to pin her hair up but she needed to wash her hair anyway so she allowed it to grow wet while she wet her body completely. Grabbing her exfoliating brush and the body wash, Yara applied the body wash to her curvy body, turning on her brush and in a circular motion, began to cleanse her skin from the neck down. She had a separate skin care routine and a spin brush for that as well. Yara lifts her leg on the side of the tub to wash behind her thighs, the warm water running down her ass and to her pussy. Yara felt extra tingly between her legs. She didn’t have time to rub off in the shower and she forgot her favorite vibrator in her bed room. Groaning, Yara tried to ignore it as best as she could while scrubbing the top of her feet.

————————

Erik sat cross-faded with his eyes sitting low. The basketball game was just background noise for him. Bored out of his mind, Erik really wanted to go and talk to Yara. He didn’t want to approach her on some awkward shit but at the same time he missed talking to her. Erik remembers how he used to talk and goof off with Yara from her doorway when they were younger. Micheal is very long-winded and sitting on the couch will eventually lead to Erik falling asleep. Erik leans forward on his elbow to peek down the hall where Yara’s bedroom is located. The hall was brightly lit from the light and he couldn’t tell which room was hers exactly. All the damn doors looked the same.

“Fuck it,” Erik places his phone on the coffee table, rising from the couch and making his way down the hall. Hands in his pockets, Erik approaches the first door. He knocks, no sound, twisting the knob and opening the door. It was Mikes room. Erik closes the door, walking further down the hall and approaching a door to his right. The light was on, he could tell from the glow beneath the door. Erik knocks, no sound. He grabs the brass knob, twisting it, then opening. Standing there, Erik’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. His mouth hung open and his eyes went round as if they were about to fall out of their sockets. He gawked at the sight of Yara before him. A sight he never imagined in a million years he would see up until now.

Yara was arched over the bathtub with her ass pointed straight out at Erik. Erik could smell cleaning products; Fabuloso from what it smelled like. The water in the tub was on full blast as Yara cleaned the porcelain. Her body was still wet and she had a T-shirt wrapped around her hair. Yara’s ass jiggled each time she scrubbed the tub out. She wasn’t aware of his presence. Erik was so stunned by her naked body and the fact that he walked in on her that he couldn’t even speak.

Too late.

Yara lifts her body up, turning to place the scrub brush on the floor near the tub, her eyes catching Erik standing within the entrance to the bathroom. Yara felt as if her heart was leaving her body. Shell-shocked almost. Now, her breasts were revealed to him. Large, big brown areolas and nipples soaking wet and dripping, curvy waistline glistening with water down to her waxed mound and thighs. Pretty toes painted white with a tattoo of a rose on her left foot. Yara looked appetizing. Yara bit her lip bashfully, eyes glossy as if she wanted to cry from embarrassment, her hands reaching out to the toilet to grab her folded towel. Yara presses her lips together to try and stop her lower lip from trembling and eyes her looked heavenward.

Yara spoke with a shaky voice, “I-Why didn’t you knock? Erik?”

Erik didn’t respond. His eyes were ablaze staring straight at her face. He felt turned on but at the same time he felt guilty. Luckily, Yara couldn’t see how fat and long his dick had gotten within his jeans. She couldn’t hear him, maybe he should have knocked harder. Yara’s hands were shaking and she couldn’t meet his eyes. She was overly embarrassed and not at all prepared. Yara crosses her thighs, pressing the towel further into her chest.

“...I knocked. I should have knocked again. Shit, Yara, I’m sorry-“

“Just-it’s cool,” Yara sized Erik up before rolling her eyes, “Can’t go back now, yeah?”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Yara,” Erik felt like shit, “I’m so so so sorry, Yara.”

“Erik, stop with the apologizing,” Yara drew in a long breath.

“I’m just gonna go,” Erik turns away, walking out of the bathroom. Yara stayed rooted to the spot, her hand pressing further into her chest to calm her rapid heart beat. As always whenever Yara felt embarrassed, she sighed before laughing quietly to herself. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Yara shook her head at what just happened. She was afraid to even look Erik in his eyes now. He saw her in full on nudity. Not in her panties and bra, not in a swimsuit, not wrapped with a fluffy towel, no, fully naked.

Twirling a strand of hair that fell from under the T-shirt, and chewing on her cuticles, Yara gathered herself before leaving the bathroom. She places the cleaning products back in its designated basket under the sink before grabbing her sponge. Yara walked out of the bathroom, entering the hallway and her eyes disobeying her as she nervously glanced into the living room. There seated on the couch with his eyes focused on her, was Erik. Like a magnet, Yara couldn’t pull her eyes away. It was as if he waited to see her leave.

Yara raised a hand in greeting.

He waved.

Yara hung her head, a small smile on her face.

Erik did the same thing before looking at her again.

“I hope this doesn’t make it weird between me and you,” Yara says.

“Never,” Erik spoke with his deep voice, “it could never be weird with you.”

Yara licks her lips, eyes set with long lashes blinking slowly at Erik.

“What are you thinking?” Erik asks while leaning forward on his elbows.

“I’m...I...just-forget it-“

“Nah, tell me.” Erik pushes his eyes searching.

“Mike will be back soon, I have to get dressed.”

“He ain’t back yet,” Erik tilts his head at her, “Don’t be so shy. It’s me, Erik.”

“But it’s what I’m thinking that I shouldn’t be,” Yara crosses her ankles in front of her while staring at her toes.

“Well, I wanna know.”

Yara fidgeted with her fingers before looking up at Erik through her lashes, “I was thinking that I’m glad you saw me like that. I’ve always wanted you to see me like that. Sorry I stormed away like I did earlier.”

Erik swallows spit, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Erik has to look away himself, scratching his nose. He wasn’t prepared for that response at all. Little Yara always wanted him to see her naked. He knew she had a school girl crush on him. No wonder why she didn’t rush to cover herself even though she still looked embarrassed.

“No worries, ma. Uh,” Erik scratches his dreads, “So...you’ve always wanted me to see you naked?”

Yara toyed with a lock of hair, “Yeah...” she spoke with her voice barely above a whisper.

“You shouldn’t talk like that, little Yara, you’ll get yourself in trouble.”

They way he said that sounded so dangerous like fucking with him was the last thing any women would want to do. But Erik didn’t understand, that was ALL Yara wanted to do. He was back, if she didn’t make a move now he would be gone again.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen me, Erik, I dabbled in trouble,” Yara spoke with a honeyed tone.

“Maybe you should get in that bedroom before Mike gets here then,” Erik says with a sly smirk.

“Yeah, maybe,” Yara giggles before letting out a sigh,

“Bye, Erik.”

“Bye, Yara.”

She didn’t want to move. She really wanted Erik to get up and follow her into her bedroom.

“What you waiting on?” Erik says inclining his head towards the bedroom, “Get in there, little Yara.”

“Come with me?” Yara says before she could even stop herself.

Erik’s eyes dropped and his lips parted. Eyes fully closed now, he clenched his jaw to try and calm his dick. Too bad it was already growing stiff in his jeans. The way she told him to come with her. Such a tempting little thing. Nothing he expected Yara to ever say to him. She’s right, she definitely is a grown women now. Erik wondered what that body could really do.

“I’m-im Sorry,” Yara’s brows creased, eyes cast down at her hands, “I’m being a little too bold right now.”

Erik looked towards the door, then back at Yara. He took in the sight of her barely able to keep that towel around her body.

“You mean what you said? You’re not playing games?” Erik asks with a serious tone, “Cuz if I get up off this couch and come with you, you’re getting all of me, girl.”

“I know,” Yara bites her bottom lip, “I know what I want.”

The way her lips pouted and her eyes looked up at him all innocent caused Erik to stand up slowly from the couch. Erik drew his lower lip between his teeth hands in his jeans pockets before stepping forward. Yara’s lower lip trembled and her breath came out in short gasps. Standing directly next to her now, towering over her with his large intimidating frame, was Erik looking down at Yara with awe transforming his face. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Yara began to walk forward towards her bedroom. Yara twisted the handle, turning to face Erik before opening the door. Erik followed her into darkness, Yara turning to face him with timid eyes. Erik raised a single brow at her, silently asking her if she was sure about this. Yara swallows spit before nodding her head slowly. Erik licks his lips before closing that door behind him, the light that illuminated the hallway disappearing.

@tgigoldie @soufcakmistress @chefjessypooh @chaneajoyyy @pananegra @theblulife @becincere @blaqwidow91 @fish-outta-watah @eyeknowmywrites @crowngold @njadakillthiscookie @blktinkerbell @luvanxi @sheisexcellent1 @chocolatedippedinhoney @brandithecrystalgem @dababydababydababydababy @soulfulbeauty19 @btitannaaa @sunkissedebony97 @youngblackndgifted @harleycativy @rbhp @theesotericqueen @thee-germanpeach @thadelightfulone @palmstreesallday @skylahb @bakaris-shorty @nizzle-mo @truglori @queenflaws @ljstraightnochaser @theegoldenchild @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @vikkidc @thehomierobbstark @rent-emspoons @abluesforlyssa @abeautifulmindexposed @fd-writes @chasingsunlight @sickaddiktions @momobaby227 @informalmelancholy @soulshinechronicles @hearteyes-for-killmonger @goddessofthundathighs @soulfxll @whazzzupmyhitta

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #killmonger x reader #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger #black panther killmonger #killmonger smut

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mentalmimosa · 5 years

Text

no place in the world left to go

They’re at a flophouse in Rome, a hotel so rundown that no fleas would set down their bags, and Tony’s tired, fuck, is he. The kind of tired that only scotch on the rocks, keep ‘em coming and an icy blonde with a nice rack can fix.

But there’s no blonde here. There’s only Bucky, a roughshod sergeant with dirt from the forests of France under his fingernails, still. They’ve been in Italy almost a week.

Which is why when the sergeant turns from the window and pulls off his shirt, the view is pretty but also rank.

“Need a bath,” Barnes grunts. “I saw taps down the hall.”

Tony waves his hand and doesn’t bother to raise his head from the bed. “Sally forth, then, soldier, and be clean.”

Bucky takes the view with him. But sadly not the smell: sweat and blood and something else, something even more pungent. Tony takes it in, lets it out, sticks it. Ah yes, he thinks, weary. That’s grief.

Steve Rogers, the Allies’ last great hope, had been dead for a fortnight, as the Brits say. 14 days, two weeks--whatever way you slice it, he’s dead and now Hitler’s winning the race. It was a propaganda boon. It still is. Tony’s gut says it might be enough to carry Germany to the finish line. There’s the Manhattan thing back at home, but the boys there have been too goddamn slow, and who’s fault is that, now? Not Tony’s. They’d booted him out of their secret club a few years before.

He isn’t bitter about that anymore. Mostly.

He’d loaned himself out to Churchill’s men and that had been a better fit for a while; they’d seen his value, the British, and given him money to play with and men, so many men eager to do what they could for Old Blighty and for Tony, eventually. They fell easy for him, those Englishmen, happy to spread their cheeks for the cause because they all wanted to be chosen as the world’s first Super Soldier: rich men and poor ones, Scottish and Irish and Welsh, each ready to pay for the privilege if necessary and oh, Tony was damn good at convincing them that it was.

But in the end, it hadn’t been his call after all. No, Winston had phoned his friend Franklin and the president had send his choice across the ocean and delivered him to Tony’s front door.

“Hi,” the kid had said, confident despite the skinny legs and big ears. “I’m Steve Rogers, sir. You must be Mr. Stark.”

“What the fuck,” Tony had said through a head full of hangover. “You’re Steve Rogers?”

That’d only made the guy stand up straighter. “Yep. Mr. Roosevelt sent me, sir. I was told you’d be expecting me.”

“Expecting, yes. You? Pffft.” Tony had turned his back and wandered back into the cool dark of his lab. “Fuck no.”

It had taken a lot of convincing and a flurry of all-caps coded telegraphs, but in the end, Tony had gone with it and strapped the kid into his machine and made--if he did say so himself--a hell of a man with a chip on his shoulder when it came to Tony a fucking mile wide. But Tony liked that about him, liked that he was mouthy when the brass wasn’t around, liked that Steve had a bit of temper that even after the serum a little well-placed whiskey could bring out.

“You,” Steve had hissed in his ear the first time Tony got fucked, bent over a workbench with screwdrivers biting his arms, “you are the bane of my existence, Stark.”

It was hard to sass with that thing in his ass, but he managed. “Then get the hell off me, asshole.”

Steve had laughed then, laughed and pulled Tony closer, squeezed his hips tighter. “No. I like screwing you too much.”

It was fun while it lasted, but then, of course, Steve had a job to do, didn’t he? To go and win a goddamn world war.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” Steve murmured that last night, his mouth pressed to the back of Tony’s neck. “You’re gonna miss me so much.”

They were in Tony’s bed and Steve was fucking him through it and Tony was crazy to come, dying for it, but Steve’s fist around the base of his dick was a bitch .

Which was why he’d lied, whispered “I won’t” even though he knew that shit wouldn’t fly.

Steve nuzzled his throat and Steve slammed into him again and again and Steve didn’t make him take it back, didn’t call him on it, didn’t have to, so bald was the lie. And when Steve had come, he'd bitten the meat of Tony’s shoulder and howled and was still spurting when he'd open his fist and muttered “Come” and Tony'd gone firehose in the sheets and screamed for what felt like a week.

“Yeah,” Steve said when they were face to face again, when he was weaving his fingers through the mess on Tony’s stomach and Tony was panting like he’d just run the three-minute mile. “You will.”

*****

They hadn’t seen each other for years after that, not until 1944 when the Battle of the Bulge went south and with it, everybody knew, the Allies’ advantage. Russia had drained Hitler’s forces but the Bulge fiasco gave the Germans the victory they needed to get the homefront onboard with the war effort again.

Times were bad. Tony’s life, too. He hadn’t been able to get the serum to take in anyone after Steve and the Brits had taken his tech and booted him out. He was one wrong bottle of rum from sleeping on the goddamn street.

But then the telegram had come from a holdout area in France: SR WOUNDED. DOCTORS USELESS. COME. And then a set of coordinates, which he had chosen to ignore, because how the fuck was he going to zip across the channel while dodging Nazi arms? He'd comforted himself with bathtub gin and no ice. It was probably a prank, anyway.

In the morning, though, there’d been a knock--10 minutes worth, actually--delivered by a no-nonsense woman bearing Army boots and flak jacket.

“Put these on,” Captain Carter had said brusquely. “We’re crossing the channel in five hours. Tell me, do you have your own gun?”

“Do I--?” He’d blinked in the dusty sunlight she’d brought into his flat. “No.”

She crossed her arms and pointed at his pants, waited until he’d picked them up. “Well. You do know how to shoot at least, surely.”

“Not really.”

“Christ on a cracker. A word of advice, Mr. Stark: don’t repeat that to anyone. If asked, you’re a crack shot with your daddy’s pistol, which I shall provide, and you shall carry as if you know what the business end is for, hmm?”

It’d taken almost a full day to get from London to the middle of some fairytale forest in France where Steve Rogers, that bastard, was trying his damnedest to die. He was gray when Tony bent over him, gray and without that sharp, fuck you light in his eyes.

“Docs can’t do anything for him,” a dark-haired guy crouched by Steve’s head said. “They got the bullets out ok, but the wounds won’t close, even with real tight stitches.”

“Bucky threatened to nail ‘em shut,” Steve croaked.

“And I would have, too, if somebody hadn’t stolen my hammer.”

“Boys,” Tony’d said, easing back the blood-stained dressings. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Steve thought it might have something to do with the serum,” Captain Carter had said on the way over as the boat skipped silently through the waves. “He’s never been cut so deeply before, so he wasn’t sure if there’d been changes to his blood chemistry that might be interfering with the healing process.”

“Shouldn’t be,” he’d told her, repeated to himself again and again. “Not by design, anyway. But intent only gets you so far, huh?”

Now, staring down at the putrid mess that was Steve Rogers’ chest, all he could think of were the hours he’d spent with his head there after they’d worn each other out, after Steve’s steam had blown off and his own fuzzy, righteous anger at the universe had been temporarily pummeled away. For all the rough of their fucks, what followed was sweeter, more goddamn gentle, than Tony’d ever been with another man. Girls, they liked that sort of thing sometimes, to be coddled and cooed at before you booted them out, but the men in Tony’s life had always been of the fuck-and-run variety, and he’d been just peachy with that.

But Steve was a cuddler, a warm, overheated blanket once his balls were empty that wanted nothing more than for Tony to be tucked up in the lea of his arm, their mouths close. Sometimes, that kind of shit led to more sex, but a lot of times, it didn’t; there was just skin against skin and breath over breath and the soft slide of Tony’s fingers up and down the pretty valleys of Steve’s chest.

None of that was left; it’d all been blown to shit.

“Two bullets,” Barnes told him when they stepped away, leaving Captain Carter and the Commandos behind. “Point blank. Stevie never had a chance.”

“How the fuck did this happen?”

Bucky just blinked at him. “It’s war, Stark. Shit like this happens all the time. He turned his back, he got jumped, and now--”

“Now,” Tony said softly. “He’s dying.”

In the end, he figured it wasn’t the serum that was killing Steve, it was the only thing keeping him from dying, and wasn’t that the cruelest irony of them all, huh? The thing that’d made Steve a weapon in the first place had made him its last victim. It’d have been better if he was just a man, a mortal, whose heart wasn’t fueled to fight, whose body would have reached for peace and just let him die.

“It was a longshot, bringing you out here, Tone.” Steve’s fingers had been stiff and frozen in his. “I’m sorry you risked your life for nothing.”

“Pffft, nothing,” Tony said. He didn’t try to hide that he was crying. They all were. “Got to see your mug again, didn’t I?”

Steve had smiled at him, dry lips stretched. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone, won’t you?”

Tony kissed his forehead. “I have already, asshole. This whole fucking time.”

They’d buried him behind the barn where they’d been hiding. Barnes wouldn’t let them leave a cross, so Dugan and Happy built a bairn.

And then there was nothing left of Steve Rogers, of the Super Soldier Project, and the war was getting closer. Tony could hear the German firing line.

“Well, gentlemen,” Captain Carter had said. “That’s it then, eh? Good luck to you.”

“Yeah,” Falsworth said, repositioning his cap. “Godspeed and all that.”

“Hey,” Barnes had said at Tony’s elbow, his eyes dark and his mouth set. “You’re with me.”

Tony startled. “Why?”

A shrug. “Because. Steve would’ve wanted it that way.”

*****

Two weeks of running later and they're in fascist Italy, of all fucking places. It wasn’t much, but it was damn sure a step up from a country crawling with Nazis. Here, there was only an infestation and these were fat and happy, living it up on Il Duce’s hospitality.

“This is better,” Bucky had muttered as they crept through the night streets. “Believe me.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me sleep? for more than two hours at a stretch?"

Bucky’d chuckled and swept an arm around Tony’s waist, a counterweight to keep him upright. “We find an inn that’ll let us in, Joseph, and sure. Knock yourself out.”

But he isn’t sleeping, is he. He’s lying on a bed for the first time in what feels like a lifetime and he’s not asleep. No, he’s listening to the water run down the hall, the pipes creaking and banging, and imagining what Sergeant Barnes looks like with his clothes all stripped off.

He’s grieving and he’s exhausted and somehow, beyond all that, he can feel himself getting stiff.

He’s feeling too much, that’s all. The world is turning upside down and a man he might have loved, whose life he might have ruined, died right in front of him and there are flames flickering at the foundation of the person he was before and the promise of ashes doesn’t frighten him as much as it should. His body and his brain are just overwhelmed and they’re taking it out on his dick. If he just lies here still for a minute, just lies here and breathes, he won’t think about the fact that Steve’s eyes wouldn’t close or that he was still bleeding even after he stop bleeding or that no one beyond the circle who dug it will ever know the location of his grave. He won’t think about the fact that there’s only one bed in this hotbox, one bed and two bodies and how lovely Sergeant Barnes is, the way his voice sometimes hits the same notes as Steve’s. He won’t think about spreading his fingers over clean skin or about Bucky’s back bowing. He won’t think about how much he needs to be kissed. He won’t--

“Stark.” Bucky’s in the doorway down to his shorts. “Taps are free. You should use them.”

“Yeah?” Tony sits up. Too fast, it turns out. “Do I smell that bad?”

That almost-smile again. “Hell yes.”

He leaves his boots by the bed and strips fast in the bathroom. Bucky’s rinsed out his shirt and pants and hung them crooked on the towel bar. When Tony’s done, shivering in the draining tub, he drapes his over the side. There aren’t any towels. It doesn’t matter. They’re the only ones on the whole top floor.

Which means, he figure as he pads soggy down the hall, that if he can jimmy the lock, there’s no reason for them to share a room. No reason except, when he steps over the door jam, Bucky’s thrown back the sheets and opened the windows and is framed in one by the stars and flickering streetlights.

“Tony,” he says. “You should see this. C’mere.”

Outside, the streets are quiet. A few cars, a couple of horses, but if he looks out beyond, towards the horizon, Rome herself is dressed for high times. Victory. Il Duce can probably smell it. God knows Hitler can. Captain America’s disappeared from the scene and the jackboots are marching, marching, and soon, Britain will be in the Axis’s grip. As for the US, South America, the rest: it’s only a matter of time.

Bucky’s shoulder brushes his. “You think we can still pull this out?”

“No.” Tony tips his body until their skin touches again. “Fuck, no, kid. It’s all over now but the shouting.”

“That’s what I figured. I could see it Captain Carter’s face, you know? She never would have split us up otherwise.”

“You didn’t have to drag me along, you know. I’d, uh--I'd understand if you wanted to go your own way now that we’re out of France.”

Bucky turns his head. “Why would I do that?”

“Come on, Barnes. I have to be slowing you down.”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

A hand on his face, worn and gentle. “Steve’s gone. I got no place in the world left to go.”

It’s only when Bucky’s lips meet his that Tony understands, like a kick to the gut: You, he thinks as Bucky’s thumb traces his jaw. You loved him, too.

In bed, Bucky’s slow, the kind of slow that makes Tony want to break apart, the kind that turns his body to sugar melted under the heat of Bucky’s mouth and his hands.

“Wish I could be inside you,” he mumbles as he straddles Tony’s hips and leans down to nuzzle his neck. “Wish I had some slick to get you stretched so I could feel you all around me, huh? I bet you get so tight when you come.”

Bucky's hair isn’t as long as Steve’s was back then. He's a lot skinnier--the war diet; his cock’s fatter and he moans so much sofer when he comes. But in the dark, in the growing chill of the coming dawn, it’s close enough that Tony’s heart blurs and then he opens his eyes and sees Bucky's grin, watches Bucky's eyes flutter when Tony's back arches and he gives it up and up and up and then Bucky's saying his name and kissing his face and it isn't ok that Steve's dead, fuck no, it isn't, but right then, as he kisses Bucky back, for the first time in a long time, it feels ok that he's alive.

“We’ll need to leave in the morning,” Bucky says. He’s strumming the lines of Tony’s ribs. “Not at first light or anything, but one night here is enough.”

Tony kisses the dip in Bucky’s chest. “Where we going? Got some place in mind?”

Dry lips on his cheek, the promise of something--what? “Nah. Some place different, hmm? That’s enough.”

#stony #stucky #winteriron #major character death #wwII AU

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