#i drag half a can of coke to try make my head sit straight for responding here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

koutarouthighs · 4 years

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『 champagne bubbles 』

S U M M A R Y ― drunken words expose sober thoughts, and what do these boys have to say when their heart is too soaked in liquor to dull their filter?

post type ➺ headcanons fandom ➺ haikyuu!! characters ➺ tsukishima ⧾ kageyama ⧾ atsumu genre ➺ fluff; slight nsfw (sensual themes) tags ➺ established relationship; alcohol; language; pda; lotsa touchy drunk boys; word count ➺ 2.2k+ request ➺ [YES/NO] ; anonymous requested “could you maybe write drunk!tsukki being really sweet to his gf? like calling her pretty and being super sweet?” ↳ request status: *.·:·.✧ O P E N ✧.·:·.*

✕ tsukki doesn’t really like to get drunk, because he’s more of a spectator. he enjoys watching everyone else lose their wits so he can poke fun at them for it, sarcastically asking them a dozen questions just to video their answers to bring it up when they’re sober. ✕ but, with kuroo betting tsukki that he can drink him under the table, his obstinate personality has no option other than to meet his old friend’s challenge. what he doesn’t know is that kuroo never planned to win, not even from the start. ✕ when you see tsukki later, you’re confused with his wobbling frame and garbled words. his eyes seem to cross behind his glasses, and when he approaches you, he’s got his arm around your shoulders in a flash. you’ve never seen him be so publicly affectionate, especially not in front of a group full of his old friends who knew him once as an antagonistic rival. ✕ tsukishima compliments your appearance, your voice, your dress. he talks about how lucky he is to have you and you swear you see his reddened eyes begin to blear with tears. ✕ his hands cannot find a part of you he does not wish to explore further, always seeking but never finding solace. and finally he cups your cheeks and sloppily kisses your mouth, and you are so frozen in your stead that you do not have half a mind to kiss him back.

more below the cut ↯

⧾

“you’re just so pretty,” his voice drawls, eyes blinking slowly as he uses the arm not slung around your body to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. the slightest of pouts tugs on his lips and you want to push yourself up on your toes to kiss him, but you know how he feels about public affection.

a small laugh makes your chest blossom and tsukishima tugs you closer, your body engulfed by his lanky yet thick arms. his bicep flexes as he runs his index and thumb against either side of your neck, “you are! i know i don’t tell you enough, but you are. you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

“kei,” you murmur as he drops his head to your shoulder, planting a quick kiss to your exposed collarbone. kuroo and akaashi widen their eyes at the sight, and you try to weave your fingers through tsukishima’s hair to get his attention, “kei, are you drunk?”

“yep!” kuroo’s voice is unmistakable, even from where he and akaashi, and now bokuto, are sitting in the kitchen, swiveling in their barstool seats, giggling to themselves. you narrow your eyes and hope that the glare you cut them is enough to not let them sucker him into anything like this again, knowing how much he will hate finding out about this when he’s sober.

“we can go home,” you murmur in promise against his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling back on your heels. tsukishima kisses the top of your head and wraps you back up again, tucking your head beneath his chin. he sighs, and you feel his chest deflate, “no, i like going out with you. i know i say i hate it, but i like that you want the world to know that you’re mine.”

you tilt your head back, raising a brow, “tsukki, i’m not ashamed of you. never have been.”

“no, i know,” he almost sounds stone cold sober for a second, and you blink to try and make sure you can reconcile what you’re hearing with what you’re seeing. “i just hope you know that i’m not ashamed of you. you’re kickass, and i can’t believe you let me call you mine.”

“of course,” and you feel your own voice growing heady without the influence of whiskey, “i love you.”

tsukishima, drunk or not, reaches down to frame your face with his hands and as if in slow motion, purses his mouth until you feel the bow of his lips meet your own. you flex your feet so you’re up on your toes, face heated at the sudden display of affection, disregard to who might see. his palms are expansive and warm, floating from your neck to your shoulders, down your arms until he finds the curve of your hips. his thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt and he sighs, parting his mouth from yours, “tell sober me to appreciate you more. he’s kind of an asshole.”

“yeah,” you lick your lips and read the hunger in his eyes, matching it with a fire in your own, “i’ll make sure to tell him in the morning.”

✕ kageyama believes that alcohol dulls the senses and takes his mind off of what is truly important - the next match. so, it’s kind of difficult to get him to indulge in a drink from time to time. but hinata always manages to spur him on, citing his days in brazil have made him the better consumer, and kageyama just can’t let that redhead best him at anything. ✕ you wish you had the effort to try and deter him from it, but watching kageyama turn loose and enjoy his time with his friends is so elating in it of itself that you don’t have the heart to try and drag him to a glass of water. ✕ your face goes red when kageyama puts down his fourth glass of rum and coke and turns his attention to you. eyes sheathed by half-hooded lids, lower lip consumed in the cage of his canine tooth as he sucks the slow drip of whatever drink did not make it to his tongue. ✕ the praise he dotes on you when he slots himself into the couch next to you is not unwelcome, and yet foreign and uncomfortable all the same. tobio is not unknown to shower you in kindness when you are alone, and when he can gather his words and his spirits, but now, in front of his friends and rivals from high school, it all feels a little out of place. ✕ his hand rests curiously high on your thigh, the other arm around your back to hold you close. he kisses your cheek and then your neck, warm breath smelling of the sweet concoction he’s downed one too many of in your absence.

⧾

“tobi,” you whimper when his thumb drifts against the seam of your jeans, manicured nails digging into the plush of your thigh, “a-are you drunk?”

“so what if i am?” his curt response is quick, just like always. you suppose even when drunk, he’s not completely unlike himself. your gaze meets his darkened irises, pupils dilating as he tries to focus on any one feature of your face. his tone softens as he looks at you a little while longer, “god, you’re beautiful.”

your expression must show how taken aback you are, because tobio’s nose scrunches and he looks like he’s eaten something sour, “have i never told you that before?”

“n-no, you have,” you shake your head to bring your wits about you, “it’s just weird to hear it in front of all your friends.”

kageyama shakes his head and straightens his spine, palm falling down to your shoulders to massage at the blade of your back, “well, it’s the truth. in front of my friends or at home. y-you’re pretty.”

you can’t help but laugh at his wavering voice, another wave of drunkenness bringing out a shy side of him that you’re used to seeing from time to time. you lean across the space between your bodies and press a kiss to his cheek, “you’re adorable, tobi. especially when you’re drunk.”

“d-do you need anything?” he asks, the palm on your thigh finding your hand to squeeze your knuckles between his own, “water? another drink?”

you nod, brushing dark hair back from his face to his ear so you can see his sapphire irises in full, “i could use some water, if you’re getting up. but you don’t have to get me anything, babe.”

tobio is standing to his feet as soon as you finish your sentence, eyes wide and hands still clutching at you, despite the distance, “of course!” and he is gone before you have another moment to draw him back in. biting your lip, you watch as he scrambles about the kitchen, but your attention is drawn away by the other girls sitting on the couch opposite of you.

when kageyama returns, his arms are full, and his mouth is moving as if it were attached to a motor, “i got you two bottles of water and they had a can of that seltzer you like in the fridge so i got that too, and then i know where hinata hides the chocolate so i grabbed you a few pieces and then there’s also an apple in case you get hungry.”

you want to laugh, you desperately want to let your giggles escape, but you tamper them down to take the various items teeming in tobio’s hands. you reach up to cup his cheek, “you really do think of everything, don’t you, kags?”

“for you,” his voice sounds faraway, ethereal, “i’d do anything for you.”

✕ most nights after a long week of training, or a tournament with msby, atsumu spends time with bokuto and hinata and sakusa, and even osamu tags along, and they buy up tumugi, sake, and vodka until they can’t see themselves home. atsumu has the dd or a cab bring him home, and you can always tell by the way his steps stutter over the rug that he’s too far gone to even know you’re home. ✕ atsumu is a clumsy, most of the time loud, drunk. he forgets how lumbering his body is, how much he weighs, and how his head might hit the overhanging light in the living room if he’s not too careful. ✕ as soon as he spots you, curled up on the couch, his whole being softens. he licks his lips and calls your name, eyes shining when you finally make eye contact. he’ll call out for you again, asking for his girl. ✕ atsumu’s hands are insatiable as he fumbles over the top of you from where you lay, tucking his head into your neck and caging you in with his limbs. he likes the reminder of how big he is, how he can encompass your space with minimum effort. he seeks skin on skin contact while he can’t see straight, preferring to close his eyes and just feel you. ✕ he’ll mutter things into your soft skin and slip his hands underneath your shirt, but it’s nothing you haven’t heard already, only accented with giggles and blown raspberries along your body.

⧾

“don’t you have a game tomorrow?”

“so what?!” he nips at your jaw, “what are you, my mother?!”

“that would make this a very strange position, wouldn’t it?” you snort, scratching your nails up the base of his back to his shoulders, his shirt riding up inch by inch. atsumu groans, dropping his head to your chest, circling his arms around your waist until he’s clinging onto you for dear life. he sighs and you try your hardest not to shiver at the feel of his warm breath over your bare skin.

he grunts, shifting his legs to get more comfortable, “osamu bet he could do three shots faster than me, and you know i’m the better twin, and i had to prove it, so i did it. and... and now’m here.”

another laugh makes its way out of your throat and you squeeze his shoulders, “that competition is going to get you in trouble one day. you can’t win everything.”

“i don’t gotta win everything,” atsumu licks his lips and takes a breath, craning his neck so he can look you in the eyes, “i already got you, don’t i?” you’re blushing but that doesn’t stop him, not when he’s on a drunken roll like this, “i mean, that’s about the best thing i ever coulda won.”

you twirl a finger in his hair to keep your hands busy, rolling your lips together as he rambles. atsumu pushes himself up further on your body so you’re eye-to-eye, the tip of his nose brushing up your cheek as he gets situated, “cause even when i lose a match, i still get to come home to you.”

the threatening heat of tears makes your eyes throb and you close them to get some relief. atsumu kisses both of your eyelids and then your nose, and your face scrunches at the overwhelming smell of vodka on his lips, but you don’t care, not when he’s being so kind and genuine. he cups your face with a palm, heady and calloused, and then kisses your cheek until your skin relaxes. he chuckles, “i mean it, sweetheart.”

“i know you do, ‘sumu,” your voice is thick and you clear your throat just after you speak. you finally peek your eyes open to look at him, and you almost wished you hadn’t. his umber irises melt into dark pupils, a warmth there that you cannot place, cannot describe. his skin is rosy, kissed by alcohol and emotion, and you just want to drown in him.

he noses your cheek and then captures your lips, soft kisses volleyed back and forth between the two of you as your hands roam and find supple skin and dense bone. lines blur between evening and morning, and words slur between the both of you.

and every time, as one breath ends and another begins, atsumu makes sure to show you that his words ring true, and his greatest win was always you.

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thetaoofzoe · 4 years

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Fic: Ethan Hunt Must Die 1/1

Pairing: August Walker x YOU

Word Count: 10,420

Summary: You are a medic and a member of what’s left of The Apostles. And it’s not rumour anymore. August Walker is definitely not dead. All you want to do is help him with his cause, kill those responsible for his grave injuries (and foiling his manifesto) and make Ethan Hunt pay. Falling in love with August Walker is just a given ;)

Rating: Mature to Explicit some Violence, sex and fluff and yearning and impetuous kisses, explosions and delicious August Walker. And, this story is not as serious as it may appear, so have fun reading.

Note: If you have been around you’ve seen the original iteration of this story, but maybe not in its entirety. It was originally broken up into 10 parts as A Month of August Walker Challenge. Now, in all of its revamped glory is the complete story all in one place.

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Your contact was a pleasant woman. She’d collected you from the tiny airport in Kashmir and on the way to your destination, she’d offered to buy snack food for you from a nearby shop.

‘The cabin is fully stocked,’ she reasoned pointing to the squat building by the side of the road, ‘but in case you want a Coke or something.’

You did want a Coke in fact and you took her up on the offer. Along with a few cans of cola you grabbed other items – chocolate bars, fishing tackle, and feminine hygiene products. You didn’t know how long you were going to be out there in the middle of nowhere, and you didn’t want to use up the precious bog roll when your cycle eventually came.

The woman was leaning against the side of the battered truck and smoking a cigarette when you stepped out of the shop. Eyeing your purchases, she nodded with approval.

‘Good idea,’ she said, making a vague gesture towards you with her cigarette. ‘We didn’t think about a woman’s needs during such a long excursion. Next time. There are all sorts of painkillers in the stocks though… just so you are aware.’

She put a gloved hand on her lower belly and laughed a little.

‘I know how it can get.’

You smiled, grateful to be sharing this moment with her, woman to woman, and thanked her before getting back into the truck.

‘Is there gonna be a next time?’ you asked, sweeping the seatbelt across your chest and clicking it into place.

She didn’t look at you as she started the truck and set off down the road.

‘I hope this is the last, ‘ she said finally and as it seemed like such a struggle for her to come up with an answer that she seemed satisfied with, you didn’t continue to press the matter.

Settling into the seat, you unwrapped a chocolate bar, and with three large bites, had it stuffed into your mouth. The salty chocolate and nougat were glorious and you moulded the sweet wad into the roof of your mouth so that you could savour it with slow licks. You folded the plastic-coated wrapper into a small square and tucked it in your jacket pocket.

The woman drove along the rough frosty mountain roads as if you two were being chased. She didn’t seem at all phased with how the truck bounced and jumped dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, as if one wrong turn of the wheel wouldn’t send the two of you plunging down into the river below.

That imagery triggered sudden rage in you.

Goddamn you, Ethan Hunt, you thought.

You wanted just two minutes alone with Hunt to make him regret having ever laid eyes on August Walker. Hunt deserved nothing but a long slow torturous death.

Ever since the incident, The Apostles had been split on what to do regarding August Walker. Should he be left out there and forgotten? Or should his remains be recovered and given a proper burial?

The thought that there was nothing left to recover prevailed until reports that August had survived the fall started trickling in. With this new knowledge, it was impossible to prevent the uprising that voted to scour the mountains to find him. This time, your only mission was to man the cabin in the event one of the search teams found him.

‘Not far to the cabin. Ayami is apart of the search team. You know her, yes?’ asked the woman.

‘Yes. I know her.’

‘Good, Ayami planned all of this, coordinated us, and was able to pinpoint a location not far from this cabin.’

Not enough planning for a menstrual cycle, you thought, petulantly.

‘It will work out,’ she continued and nodded. ‘He will be found.’

‘This is the third time someone has,’ you made inverted commas in the air with your fingers, ‘pinpointed his location, only to run into IMF lies. We are wasting precious time. August is alive and we need to find him.’

The woman drove on in silence for a moment.

‘I agree with you, yes. I agree. But what do you suggest that we do? If not this.’

You relented and sighed. You had no idea what to do other than this.

‘If I could snap my fingers…’

You clicked your fingers and she chuckled, clicking hers as well.

‘He would be safe with us,’ she finished for you.

A half hour later, she slowed and finally stopped the truck and pointed through the windscreen at what looked like a stack of fallen trees.

‘Unfortunately, my friend,’ she said. ‘There is a way to drive up to the cabin. However, it is many, many kilometres that way and petrol for me is hard to come by right. It’s easier to drop you here and you take the trail. It’s only a few hours hike.’

You grabbed your rucksack from the foot well, reached over and one-arm hugged the woman and then got out. She did a wide circle turn around and pulled the truck up to where you stood.

‘Good luck, my friend. And take care.’

‘Take care,’ you said. ‘See you soon.’

She gave you a two-fingered salute and drove away.

It was cold that far up in the mountains and the beginning of the trail looked desolate. Securing your rucksack on your back, you began your long trek, and the cabin was a welcome sight after hours of navigating the rocky hard terrain. Inside was small and utilitarian, but it was more than enough for you. You didn’t bother to take off your boots before falling onto the cot and into a deep exhausted sleep.

In the morning, you took stock of your surroundings. The cabin was pretty well-appointed with a wood stove, a table with two chairs, an amazingly comfortable cot and stacks and stacks of supplies. The gold-painted metal ammo closet in the back was comforting to see and you were going to familarise yourself with its contents later. But first, breakfast.

You got up to make coffee and noticed a medium-sized cardboard box sitting on the small dining table by the stove. There was a note.

‘Your name was given to me at the last moment. Here are some things you may need.’

And it was signed, ‘Ayami’.

You slit open the box with your pocket knife and laughed when you saw the contents. Ayami had packaged not only tampons and pads but several different styles of menstrual cups for you and you felt guilty for earlier, being such a brat about the supplies you needed.

‘You planned everything, Ayami,’ you said aloud to the empty room. ‘Thank you.’

You lit the fire in the stove and put a pot on to boil some water. A noise outside pricked your ears. It sounded like the heavy motor of an ATV and out of the noise you picked out the sounds of other engines drawing closer.

Shit! you thought, rushing to the ammo closet at the back of the cabin.

Flinging open the doors, you dragged out a single barrel shotgun, loaded it, and scrambled back to the front cabin door. Peering out through the narrow window you watched as several four-wheelers and one battered Land Rover raced towards the cabin. In a cloud of kicked up dirt and dust, the Rover drove straight up to the door and to your absolute surprise, the passenger door popped open and Ayami jumped out.

You opened the cabin door and came out.

‘Good!’ she shouted over the noise of the engines. ‘You’re here. Get the first aid boxes ready, now!’

You were a medic and understood the urgency in her tone. You ran back to the cabin and were piling bandages, antiseptics, and other items on the table when three men carried in a limp body between them. Ayami strode across the room and captured you in a hug.

‘I am happy to see you,’ she gasped breathlessly and grabbed your hands. ‘We found him!’

With heart crashing against your ribs, you looked to the man being stretched on the cot as Ayami continued.

Oh God… they found him.

‘Somehow some wanderers discovered him months ago and took him in.’

She trailed off and shook her head. She still seemed to be in shock.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ you told her and squeezed her hands. ‘We’re looking after him now. Radio in for helicopter transport. It may take a few days to get someone out here.’

You cleaned your hands and went to assess the situation. August was alive and badly burned, but gladly not beyond your repair. Ayami came back into the cabin after making the call and joined you at the bed.

‘You planned all of this, Ayami,’ you said. ‘You made this happen. What’re our next step?’

Ayami put her hand on your shoulder and smiled viciously.

‘To make Ethan Hunt pay.’

You were wrong.

It didn’t take a few days for the helicopter to arrive. It took two weeks. Although the cabin was well stocked and had nearly everything you needed to tend to August’s wounds, it wasn’t enough.

Ayami wanted to leave and take August the long way through the mountains. They had the power to transport him over land and it was fucking stupid to leave him at the cabin to succumb to something that could be fixed. His body was fighting a raging infection and frankly, he was losing. You explained to her your reasons for why it would be tough on August to try to drive with him through such hard terrain. He was in a fragile state and jostling him all around in an unstable car could exacerbate any internal injuries. A chopper ride would be better.

Ayami understood that, however…

‘We’ve got plenty of antibiotics,’ she said reasonably. ‘Why can’t we give him some?’

‘Because we don’t know what he has. He could have a bacterial or viral infection and just picking something to give him might do more harm than good. I don’t want to take that risk.’

It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to pump him full of all of the pills you had, just to scattershot the infection, but incorrectly dosing him, in his weakened state, might kill him. August Walker was alive and you were going to keep him that way.

So you did your best. With Ayami’s help, you kept him clean and dry and in order to manage his temperature, iced. August, however, foiled your attempts to tend to him effectively. He was delirious and unaware of what was happening to him. More than once you had to extract yourself from his vice-like grip as he held onto you and growled guttural threats of violence to your person. All you could do was try to soothe him and mop his brow and use the aspirin to dull his obvious pain.

During the wait for air transport, you stayed up some nights with August. Sometimes you just sat at his bedside and read by the light of your headlamp. Sometimes you just watched him, held his hand and stroked his hair when nightmares haunted his sleep.

He would heal pretty well, you observed, and, without too much lasting damage to his face. He was fortunate that the hot oil missed his eye, although it ruined his ear. But you knew that too could be reconstructed.

‘We’re gonna get you back on your feet, August,’ you murmured on those nights when he was at his most fitful. ‘And we’re gonna get those people who did this to you.’

Even though you weren’t sure he could even hear you speaking, you continued to encourage and comfort him. It was the least you could do.

‘You met John Lark before?’ Ayami asked over breakfast one morning, using August’s real name for the first time.

‘When he was going by John Lark?’ you asked for clarification and she nodded. ‘No. Not then. He had already assumed the new identity and was in the CIA when I turned up.’

‘He was not always like this,’ she said a bit cryptically.

‘How was he?’

Interest sparked in you.

She shook her head.

‘Just different. Maybe he’ll tell you someday.’

Ayami smiled at you and you turned, alerted by the soft groan coming from the bed.

‘Oh God, he’s waking up again,’ she chuckled and then asked you, ‘Top or bottom.’

You laughed inspite of yourself and gave the choice a moment’s thought. ‘Top’ meant that you got to administer medication, clean up his face and check his bandages, while ‘bottom’ meant that you would have to wrestle with his strong flailing arms and risk getting punched in the face. Ayami looked at you expectantly and you grimaced.

‘I had top last time, so…’

She smiled and got up, patting your arm in passing. ‘Then you get top this time.’

‘Ayami, c’mon,’ you protested rising from the chair. ‘I don’t want to be unfair.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ she said lifting her arms and flexing her biceps. ‘But, I need my workout.’

Ayami needed to stay in Kashmir to tie up some loose ends. So, you said your farewells and parted company when the chopper transport finally arrived.

You, on the other hand, were headed to New Delhi where another contact would meet and relieve you of your August-sitting duties.

Exhausted and battered, it was just after midnight when you finally arrived at the airport. Out through the cloudy bubble heli-window, you saw the second contact rush to the settling helicopter. You unlatched an dragged open the side door.

‘Hello!’ he shouted over the roar of the blades overhead. ‘It’s Janus. You can come with me!’

‘Where am I going?’ you shouted back, not moving from where you were sitting next to August’s prone body.

He was still blissfully unconscious and sleeping quietly.

‘There is a safehouse here. You can rest. We will transport Walker to the small plane over there and continue on to London.’

You shook your head and were able to speak normally when the blades finally shuddered to a stop.

‘I’ll go on,’ you told Janus. ‘I’ll go on, it’s ok. I’ll stay with him.’

Janus looked puzzled.

‘No, you are to go to the safe house. I am to continue on.’

You had come this far. You weren’t going to leave August, so you again declined the offer of a trade.

‘Now. Come on. I’m not going to quibble with you,’ you said, kicking open the other door so that the two men accompanying Janus could wrangle the stretcher out of the chopper.

You watched them carry August off and jumping out of the heli, you turned to Janus.

‘Be well, my friend. But I’ve got it.’

Janus shrugged a little and nodded, seeing that you weren’t going to be swayed.

‘Is it really him?’ he asked and you could hear relief seeping into his voice.

You put your arms around him in a farewell hug.

‘It is,’ you said. ‘You have Ayami to thank for that. Make sure that you do.’

You ran after the two men carrying the stretcher. The men secured the stretcher inside and turned to help you into the back of the plane. You pulled closed the small plane’s door and made sure that August was securely strapped in. It was going to be another long ride to the final safe house.

It was raining in London, and as the small plane approached, the cool precipitation rinsed away grey foggy clouds to reveal the golden city. Through your headset, you listened to the pilot talk to air traffic control and learned that you were headed to Blackbushe Airport.

‘How far is the safe house from the airport?’ you asked the pilot.

‘Not far. Maybe 20 kilometers. Not far.’

You were so ready to put your feet on land that you closed your eyes and envisioned a soft bed, a hot meal, and an even hotter bath. Glancing down at the still sleeping man on the stretcher at your feet, you felt a rise of tender feelings in your heart. Not only had your team recovered August Walker, alive, but you had a personal hand in his convalescence. Reaching down, you touched his face. He felt hot, but not as feverish as before and you were relieved. Elevated fevers for sustained periods of time were dangerous and although he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he was better. You brushed a curl of brown hair off of his forehead and smoothed the edge of your thumb across his eyebrow. Yes, he was going to heal well and regain his strength to be able to fight another day.

Blackbushe Airport was small but efficient and there was a black, solid paneled van waiting for you. You helped the men with the stretcher and once August had been secured, you pulled yourself into the offered front passenger seat. The driver nodded to acknowledge your presence and you put on your seatbelt as the van drove off.

Someone tapping on the window jarred you from the nap you didn’t realise you had fallen into. With a wet grunt, you sat up, reflexively swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, and dried the drool which had pooled in the corner. Hand still to your mouth, you shifted to look through the window. It was the driver and he made a gesture for you to get out.

You nodded to show that you understood and he moved off. Behind you in the cargo part of the van, you could hear men talking and then sounds of strain when they lifted the stretcher. Even unconscious, August wasn’t for the weak or fainthearted. You chuckled at your own analogy, unclipped the seatbelt and opened the door. Your legs wobbled when your feet hit the ground and you pressed back against the closed door until you felt that you could walk without collapsing. It took a while for your legs to finally firm and when they did you followed the men into the medium sized country manor house.

Inside smelt of cedar and pine. Your footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as you walked into the charming front room and looked up at all of the old portraits and paintings and decorative weapons. Twin staircases, one on each side of the front room, dog-legged up to the next level. You approached a tall round table with a large vase of fresh flowers and walked around it. You peeked into dark rooms and soon found yourself in an equally as charming country kitchen. There was a man in there wearing a black jumper and blue jeans, drinking from a white mug.

‘Ah!’ he said when he saw you. ‘Come in, come in. Coffee?’

Aware that you looked particularly filthy and bedraggled, compared to his crispness, you cleaned your hands on your cargo trousers and stepped into the room.

‘Yes, please.’

The man obliged, saying, ‘It’s only instant, I’m afraid.’

Instant was fine and you didn’t protest when he handed you a cup.

‘And it’s terrible,’ he added with a laugh. ‘I’ve only just arrived and haven’t had a chance to flush out all of the pipes. Everything happened so fast.’

You nodded and drank the metallic tasting coffee without complaint.

‘Ayami, then. Right?’

You knew what he was asking. Ayami was the conductor of this orchestra and she deserved all of the credit.

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck… she’s a legend.’

Finishing the cup without much tasting it, you handed it back to him.

‘I’d like to clean up and make sure that he’s… that August is ok for the night.’

He took the cup and was nodding as he put both yours and his into the sink.

‘Sure, sure. I can do that. There is a room ready for the both of you. Come on, I’ll show you.’

You followed him up the stairs and down a quiet, thickly carpeted hallway which was also lined with gaily painted portraits. Upon reaching the room at the end, he stepped aside to let you go in first.

There was a trio of men in there, that you recognised as the medical team and the room had been set up like a well-stocked hospital room. The lemon yellow wallpaper with its sunflower print was a pleasant contrast to the medical equipment and other paraphernalia. The men greeted you and they all shared a happy look. You knew why and yes, you shared it too. You said nothing as you watched them undress and bathe August, glad that he could finally receive more focused treatment.

‘And my room?’ you asked.

August didn’t need you now and you had to look after yourself. Mr instant coffee led you back down the hall and showed you your bedroom and amenities. When he left you, you threw your rucksack on the floor by the bed, stripped out of your filthy clothes, and immediately ran a bath. When you finally emerged, refreshed, and clean down to your toes, you found a sandwich and cola waiting on the table next to the bed. You devoured it in a few bites but drank the cola slowly as you unpacked your rucksack. All the way at the bottom, and rolled around a pair of thick socks was a clean shirt and sweatpants which you quickly pulled on. You sat on the edge of the bed and finished the cola.

Flopping onto your side and closing your eyes, you intended to rest for only a moment. However, sleep had other ideas.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows behind you and you woke suddenly then rolled over. On the wall at the head of the bed, a pleasant-looking woman smiled down at you from a pastoral painting and you were groggy enough to smile back. Rubbing your face you sat up, yawned, and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, staying there a moment to contemplate the night before. You hadn’t slept that well in a very long time and you were grateful to have finally got some rest. That old bed was a godsend.

After washing and dressing in clean clothes, you stood in the corridor outside your room door and looked down the hallway to where August slept. His door was closed. The scent of coffee wafting up the stairs alerted you that someone else was awake and you wondered if it was Mr Instant coffee down there still flushing out the pipes and drinking metallic tasting coffee. You decided to leave him to it and you walked to August’s room.

You tapped on the door but there was no answer, so you turned the doorknob and let yourself in. August was still asleep. The IV drip bag was half empty and the bandages on his face were bright and clean. He looked much better in the warm morning light and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. You smoothed down the patch of IV tape on the back of his hand and August startled a yelp out of you when he moved.

His eyes were open and you found yourself under the clear scrutiny of the infamous August Walker. Before your inglorious meeting at the cabin, you had never been this close to him. The two of you never spoke nor had you even been in the same room.

His eyes moved all over your face as if hunting for something and you stood still letting him complete his inspection. When recognition finally bloomed in his eyes, he relaxed.

You ventured to put your hand over his.

‘Do you remember me?’ you asked.

‘I remember,’ he answered, voice raspy from disuse.

August fell silent and it seemed to take effort for him to speak.

‘I… remember you read to me.’

Your heart skipped with elation.

‘Yes.’

Breathing out a breath, August closed his eyes.

‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll make him pay, August,’ you said when he was quiet. ‘All of them.’

It didn’t matter that he had succumbed to sleep again and probably didn’t hear you. Ethan Hunt was going to pay.

It was fortunate Mr. Instant Coffee, as you dubbed him, was around to cook and clean because you weren’t about to look after Walker and do the domestic duties as well.

As the weeks drifted by and August grew stronger, you turned your interest away from him and to revenge.

Retribution, you liked to say to yourself. It was a much better word and to pull it off, you needed a team.

Ayami, of course, was on board. She was always up for some violence and you loved her for it. She knew exactly who you needed and how to contact them. And, if you were going to go through with it, all the way, you needed a solid plan. Every piece had to be in place for the whole machine to move forward. No stone could remain unturned.

You spent a lot of time in that country kitchen with plans and schematics and blueprints spread out in front of you on the table. The first order of business was to find the persons responsible; Benji, Ilsa, Luther and Hunt.

Find them, and observe.

‘That’s it,’ you’d told Ayami. ‘Find them and observe. Record their patterns, their travel, their habits, their pubs, markets, clothing stores, everything.’

You made sure to have rotating team members on each target so that said target would not recognise any reoccurring faces and become suspicious. IMF was a clever, skittish bunch and the way to lure them into the trap was to be patient and deliberate.

Early one morning, about three months into your stay at the safe house, a heavy thumping down the stairs distracted you from your research.

You got up, refilled your coffee and then poured a second fresh cup. Returning to the table you put the second cup in the space across from where you had been sitting. For two weeks now, August had been testing his newly found strength and had insisted on getting up and moving around own his own. He’d recently been cut out of his arm cast and was able to navigate his way on crutches. And on mornings after breakfast when he could get himself out of bed, he usually banged down the stairs and hobbled into the kitchen.

After a few days of this, you started preparing a cup of coffee for him. Whether he was looking for coffee or not, you always put out a second cup when you heard him coming down. And August was actually polite and thankful for the gesture. It surprised you. You expected him to be this gruff and grumpy take charge team leader who didn’t have time for underlings. When, in fact, August Walker was a very pleasant man.

‘Morning,’ you heard him say from the kitchen’s doorway.

‘Morning,’ you replied, nodding to the coffee cup.

He took up his regular place across from you, and leaned the crutches against the bench seat.

You looked at him finally. The bandages were all off of his face now (except for the one remaining to protect his damaged ear) and the swelling had gone down.

What was at first considered full-thickness burns were actually only partial-thickness and he could heal without skin grafts.

He looked, you decided, pretty normal. Handsome, in fact and you wanted to reach out to touch him.

He saw you examining him and he made an aborted attempt to touch his face.

‘No, it ahh… it’s good. You look much better. Really,’ you said quickly.

He picked up the coffee and drank slowly.

‘Does it still hurt?’

‘No,’ he said into the cup and changed the subject. ‘What have we got?’

Right back to business, you thought. Of course. None of this ‘feelings’ stuff for him.

‘The only one we got consistent eyes on is Luther. I guess they’re not using him these days, so he’s staying put. He’s in the States and looks to have a vacation home in Florida. If he has a third place, we don’t know about it yet.’

August listened and nodded and you swore you could see a little smile starting to play across his mouth. Not wanting it to disappear, you showed him photos of Ilsa.

‘I think, she thinks she’s clever. At first she was darting around, doing the whole ‘spy’ thing. It was cute. Now, not so much. I’d like to take her… if you agree.’

August looked up at you and that little smile was still there. In fact he looked particularly pleased with you.

‘Don’t worry. Hunt’s for last. We’re saving him for you.’

August held your gaze and you felt a thrill race through you.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I want you to do whatever you want to do. I trust you.’

You brightened considerably and resisted the urge to clap your hands with delight. Having August Walker’s trust had made the day golden.

A few days later, the thumping down the stairs distracted you from your work. Smiling a little, you got up and poured a fresh cup of coffee and sat it on the table across from you. Then as an afterthought, you got up again and plated a few chocolate Hobnobs that Mr. Instant Coffee had bought with the weekly grocery. You had barely put the plate down before August appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Seeing the mid-morning snacks waiting for him, he smiled a little and now down to one crutch from two, he hobbled into the kitchen and sat down in his usual spot across from you.

‘Look at you, speedster,’ you teased.

August’s brows rose with pleasure, but he smothered his growing smile by lifting his cup and drinking the coffee.

‘I prefer your coffee to the other one,’ said August, raising his eyes to meet yours.

You hesitated to meet his gaze, and when you did, the praise in his face melted you.

August quickly looked away and down at the plans on the table between the two of you.

‘So, tell me.’

He gestured with the cup to the papers.

You grinned, feeling pleased with your progress.

‘Ilsa. I finally got a bead on her. And I will be travelling to her location today.’

‘Today?’ he asked, sounding surprised and your brows drew together a little.

‘Too soon? I mean.. do you want to come?’

August shook his head and suddenly looked concerned.

‘I don’t want you rushing into something.’

Ah, was that it?

You reached out to tap the back of his hand with your index finger.

‘Whilst I thoroughly enjoy your concern, there’s no need for it. Do you umm, want a trophy? An eyeball? A finger?’

August was clearly surprised, and your offer startled a laugh out of him.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘No, I don’t want any of that. But ah… I appreciate your vigour.’

You smiled at him.

‘You sure?’

He laughed a little, again, and asked, ‘And your flight?’

‘Coupla hours,’ you replied checking your wristwatch.

‘And your plan?’

‘Delicious,’ you promised.

And it was.

Los Angeles was hot and sweltering and you were not prepared for the weather. But you didn’t let that deter you, for you had a mission to accomplish.

You found the target sitting at a table beneath a colourful umbrella at a crowded outdoor cafe.

Carrying several bags emblazoned with names of high-end shops you stopped by her table, made a show of looking into the cafe and then down at the chair across from her.

She looked up at you and you tried a smile.

‘Hi, I am sooo sorry, but do you mind if I just sit here. I am dying in this heat!’

As you were actually dying in the western heat, you knew that you came across sincerely. She took a moment to consider you. Judging you harmless, she nodded to the chair and you collapsed onto it gratefully.

‘Oh, thank you, honey. That’s so good of you. I thought I was going to get all of my shopping over and done with before noon, but you know how it is. Just one more shop, one more try on…. maybe they got those shoes in the back in your size, right? Am I right?

You giggled easily and she nodded, then glanced into the cafe.

‘I gotta wear these gloves to that my hands don’t tan,’ you said watching her. ‘There’s nothing worse than having your arms one colour and your hands 5 shades darker.’

Ignoring you, she raised her hand hoping to alert the waiter standing inside.

He eased up to the table.

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘I ordered my…’

‘Yes, I know ma’am. We are working on it right now, please give us some time. The broiler is currently holding on by a thread. May I offer you a cold drink? On the house?’

You looked at her and she sighed.

‘Sure, go on. You want one?’

Her attention was on you.

You shrugged.

‘Sure! I’ll have what she’s having.’

The two of you chatted amiably for a little while and the waiter returned with your drinks. You immediately sipped at the fizzy fruit drink and put your glass down next to hers.

Several minutes later someone inside shouted, ‘Janie Fellows?’

The woman across from you stirred and then stood up.

‘Finally,’ she said and went inside to pick up her order.

You watched her go and quickly, unobtrusively, dumped the contents of your travel perfume bottle into her glass.

Ilsa returned with a plate brimming with meat and salad and set it on her placemat.

‘Looks good,’ you said admiring the dish. ‘I might get one, but I do need to get on, I think.’

‘You can stay as long as you like,’ she assured you and began her meal.

You sat and chatted whilst she ate and finished her drink.

You were in the middle of a long drawn out story about your imaginary husband when she stopped devouring the rare steak.

Ilsa dropped her fork and you turned towards her.

‘Something wrong?’ you asked, faux concern in your voice as you let your natural accent slip. ‘You’ve gone quite pale… Janie.’

Ilsa’s wide eyes shot up to your face and she spat out her chewed mouthful.

‘I probably overdosed you,’ you said quietly. ‘I mean, you were ten pounds heavier the last time I checked. But you and your hot yoga classes have done wonders. I might take it up myself.’

Eyes bulging as the poison squeezed closed her throat, Ilsa gurgled and staggered upright. The chair screeched on the concrete, fell away and you got up.

‘August Walker says, hello,’ you snarled at her. Then changing your attitude to something more helpless you shouted, ‘Oh My God! I think she’s having a seizure, help, help!’

A crowd began to form allowing you to slip away, but not before giving the thumbs up to Mr. Instant Coffee who had posed as your waiter who had perfectly distracted the mark enough for you to poison her drink.

‘Went well, I take it?’ August asked when you bustled into the kitchen the next morning.

There was coffee waiting for you at your usual spot.

You threw your arms round his neck and gave him a hearty kiss in greeting.

‘Better than you could ever imagine!’ you crowed and left him in stunned silence.

Distracted by the noise coming from the upper floor, you looked up from the laptop. The thumping down the stairs had been sounding a little less clumsy lately, now that August had finally regained control over his healing limbs. You were glad for it, because it meant that the infamous August Walker was out of the woods and on the mend.

You got up, poured a fresh cup of coffee, and was just setting it down when August came into the kitchen.

‘Morning!’ you called brightly, like the little homemaker you fancied yourself to be.

Well, you fancied yourself to be the kind of homemaker who didn’t keep house, but made coffee and assassination plans. You turned the cup so that the handle faced August when he straddled the bench and sat down across from you.

‘Thank you,’ he said picking up the cup and drinking deeply.

Smiling fondly, you considered him a moment and looked at the fresh bandage on his ear.

‘It’s ear day soon, isn’t it?’

Ear day, as you called it, was literally when August got his new outer ear to replace the one that had been damaged. Contacts in one of the world’s leading biotech labs had been cultivating new skin and cartilage from his own cells and were ready for transplantation. August had been putting off the surgery, ever since the fire of killing off the IMF team had been lit. He wanted a clear conscience before proceeding with any additional cosmetic surgery.

August lifted his gaze, but not directly to you. He looked at a spot on the table which was still littered with papers and blueprints and your laptops and a muscle bunched in his jaw, alerting you that he was uncomfortable with this line of discussion. You were never one to back down from a subject you wanted to pursue, so you pressed him gently.

‘I think… well, I think it’s gonna be fine. The surgery will be fine. You’ll have a brand spanking new appendage and everything’s gonna be fine.’

You watched his eyes sweep the length of the table, in an obvious attempt to avoid looking at you.

‘You suffered no hearing loss, on that side, the skin is mending itself nicely and the doctors even said that there was no follicle damage. Those curls will be coming back in no time.’

He scoffed.

‘I don’t care about that.’

‘Yes you do,’ you said with a tiny grin. ‘Yes you do, you care. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t look like this.’

You waved an appraising hand in his direction.

‘August Walker, meet August Walker. He cares about his looks.’

‘I’m not vain,’ August scowled, putting the cup down and finally looking you in the face

You softened your teasing just a little.

‘I didn’t say you were vain. There’s nothing wrong with a man who looks after his appearance. It’s… sexy.’

That stopped him and a spark of pleasure brightened his face.

You continued to lay it on thick.

‘Come now, a good looking guy like you? And you don’t know it? I find that hard to believe.’

He snorted quietly.

‘Do you ever think something that you don’t say?’ he asked, lifting a dark brow.

You leaned in on your elbows.

‘There are loads of things that I think, that I don’t say. That doesn’t mean that I won’t say them eventually.’

August’s lips lengthened into an inquisitive smile.

‘Like?’

‘Like?’ you repeated and decided to come clean. ‘I just said that you were sexy.’

You made an airy, dismissive gesture.

‘That’s not a new thought.’

You felt a chill manifest as a soft, insistent tingling that skittered all along your skin. Everything you’d hidden about your feelings for him was almost all the way out and you couldn’t stop yourself.

‘It’s not new that I’d do anything for the manifesto to be realised,’ you continued.

When August put down the cup, you reached out and clasped both hands over his.

‘That I’d do anything for you, August.’

The passion in your own voice stunned you. Surely, you had once again overstepped his boundaries.

First, it was kissing him without asking, and now this, though August didn’t seem bothered by your audacity. He turned his hands up to enclose yours.

‘And I reward loyalty,’ he answered, voice low and full of promise.

You drew in a long breath through loosely pursed lips, which August seemed to appreciate for his eyes lowered to your wet mouth. His own lips parted in response and you wondered if you climbed across that table and onto his lap, would it have been considered outlandish.

You didn’t think about any of that, as you stood up onto the wooden bench. With his handsome face brimming with delight, August held onto your hands and steadied you as you scrabbled across the table and landed astride his muscular thighs with a satisfied ‘ooof!’

He grimaced from the sudden pressure slamming down on his still tender leg and you were immediately contrite.

‘I’m sorry,’ you murmured, sliding your arms around his neck and curling your fingers into his shaggy curls. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll not play so rough next time.’

‘I like it rough,’ said August, running his hands over your hips to grip you close.

And then you kissed him, softly, fully, feeling his lips come apart beneath yours. Breathing him in, your thoughts ran wild.

I could get used to this. I could indulge in this all day. I could–

Then, ever a man of ill timing, Mr. Instant Coffee bustled into the kitchen, and it took him a moment to realise what he was interrupting.

‘Oh, shite, ok… uhh so that’s happening. Ok, great, but ah, you two… we need to get a move on. The car leaves in ten.’

And then he was gone, leaving you staring at the recently vacated kitchen doorway with your arms dangling over August’s shoulders. Reluctantly, you backed off of August’s lap and smiling, you cupped his cheek, pressed your thumb against the dimple in his chin and walked off to grab your travel bag.

It was back to the States again, the keys of Florida where Luther Stickell was vacationing on a secluded houseboat.

Stickell was not hard to find. His boat was moored in one of the farthest berths and was lit up like Christmas. He was having a party.

So much for keeping a low profile, you thought as you stepped off of the elegant cabin cruiser that had been rented for your mission. Your craft was berthed far enough away from his that no one in Stickell’s party could see August in his scuba gear, stepping off the low deck and into the dark water.

Standing on a nearby wooden piling, a pair of seagulls watched you suspiciously, the way birds do, and you lifted a finger to your lips, shushing them.

Holding a pair of strappy heels in your hand, you walked down the slatted dock between yachts and other smaller boats. You purposefully wore a skimpy sequined dress, in the hopes of talking your way into the party. There were casually dressed men standing on the dock and smoking and they stopped talking as you approached. They didn’t look like bodyguards, but just like regular blokes. Easy to manipulate.

‘Hullo!’ you called happily, flapping your hand at them in greeting, affecting tipsiness. ‘I couldn’t help coming over. I just came from another get-together, but I’m not done partying yet. Ya’ll mind if I… ’

You made a walking motion with your index and middle fingers towards the boat. One of the men smiled and swaggered towards you. He held out a hand which you took and he led you to the edge of the boat, then helped you down the stairs.

Too easy.

There were people milling about on the port deck and some people playing cards inside, but not a lot was going on. It appeared to be at the tail end of the party, where people were trying to drink the last of the booze and eat the last of the food before they were forced to go home. You spotted Luther at the card table. He was laughing around a huge cigar clamped between his front teeth and then he threw the cards down on the table with a triumphant cry. The men sitting there erupted in jeers and hoots as he raked in the pile of money from the centre of the table.

Scanning the area you then went down the stairs to the toilet and stood in the dark narrow corridor thinking about August swimming around beneath your feet as he planted bomb charges against the boat’s hull.

The thought of him down there was strangely arousing.

August was stronger now, strong enough to cause mayhem with his own hands, and it was all you wanted for him. You crouched by the toilet and dug about in your handbag, pulling out one of Ayami’s personal creations – something she’d called her ‘cherry bang bang’. You drew out a black device that was flat on the bottom and round on the top. It looked harmless enough, almost like a little cake, but you knew the massive power packed into that sweetly named bomb. She had given you and August a personal demonstration of the destructive power of her little sweets. You placed a kiss on its glossy surface and adhered it to the underside of the toilet bowl.

‘You are a gem, Ayami,’ you chuckled and pushed upright.

You made your way back to the upper level and moving about unnoticed you planted more cherry bang bangs, even adhering one to each of the fishing chairs bolted to the port side deck.

A chill settled over the harbour. The guests soon drifted inside and eventually left the party altogether.

You walked back to the rented cabin cruiser to find August waiting for you. His hair was curly and damp and there were pressure marks from the dive mask across his brow. You went up on tiptoes to kiss him. August caught you about the waist and wrapped you up in his arms, lifting you to deepen the kiss. Trapped like that against his big, hot body, your heart throbbed excitedly. If he could elicit such wonders from your body with just a kiss and an embrace, you couldn’t imagine what other magic he could work.

‘Ready?’ he asked, bending to put you back on your feet.

You nodded and tossing your shoes aside, went to sprawl on one of the long creme coloured couches. August started the engine and guided the cruiser out of the berth. When you were a safe distance away, he reached for your hand and helped you up to the top deck.

You could see the lights of Stickell’s boat twinkling in the distance. And after about twenty more minutes, once everyone was finally gone, Luther shut off the boat lights. You and August got up from your deck chairs. You held up the binoculars and adjusted them until the houseboat came into sharp focus. All you could see now was the red glow of Luther’s cigar as the man sat out in one of the fishing chairs and enjoyed the rest of his evening.

August put one arm about your waist, big hand splaying across your stomach, and held up the detonator with the other.

‘Two down,’ you said and he depressed the button.

The explosion was brilliant.

Through the binoculars, you watched the boat burn and sink, but August was more interested in kissing the back of your neck and exposed shoulders to pay attention.

‘Mmmm,’ you purred slyly, leaning your head back against his shoulder. ‘Did you like that? Was it good for you?’

‘So good,’ he answered giving you one last kiss before releasing you.

You opened your mouth to say something but the distant sounds of sirens broke the silence.

Time to go, you thought and the both of you disappeared into the night.

You didn’t want to go back to the safehouse right away. As nice as the country house was, being cooped up between those four floral walls drove you crazy. August paid for a few nights at the Shangri-la hotel in London so that you could shower in temperatures above lukewarm, and sleep in a broad bed beneath washing detergent scented sheets.

And when August made love to you on those soft sheets, your earlier conjecture regarding his sexual prowess, did not prepare you for the bliss you experienced with him buried deep inside you.

It was nearly nine in the morning, a few days after your expedition to the Keys, and propped up with a pillow under your armpit, you lay on your side across the hotel bed, a bowl of spag bol, and your open laptop on the white duvet in front of you. You were half under the thick covers and half out of it because the room was warm, but not uncomfortably so. August emerged from the adjoining bathroom, wearing one of the luxurious bathrobes and towelling dry his hair.

He tossed the towel across the footrest by the chair and stretched out on the bed behind you, looking over your shoulder to read the Miami Herald’s bold headline. He slid his hand beneath your tee-shirt and caressed the skin between your shoulder blades. How he figured out that you liked that, still remained a quandary, but you were glad that you didn’t have to ask for it.

‘Oh, dear,’ you said feigning distress. ‘Did you hear about the accident that happened in Florida? Tsk… such a shame.’

‘Is he dead?’ asked August, as he nuzzled your shoulder.

‘Yes, sir,’ you teased, reaching back to playfully push him off. ‘You are not paying attention.’

‘I am. I’m paying attention to what’s important.’

The implication of his statement drifted right over your head as you were too focused on proving him wrong.

He kissed your neck again and grunted when you jabbed him with an elbow.

‘Well, if you were paying attention to what was important, you’d know that…’

‘That Dunn is here in London,’ August finished for you and continued to lazily caress your back.

That shut you right up. How did he know?

‘Of course, you knew,’ you chuckled.

‘I suggest,’ said August, changing the subject and lifting his head to take your earlobe between his lips. ‘We take one more day here and then find him.’

As he spoke, August slid his hands beneath you, turned you away from the laptop and pulled you atop him. You wriggled with delight, and grasping the robe’s belt, you pulled the knot free and let it fall open.

‘Just one day?’ you asked, sliding down the length of his body to ease his cock into your mouth.

‘Anything!’ he gasped, the heat of your mouth robbing him of coherent through. ‘Whatever you want.’

You wanted at least two extra weeks after the mission.

When you woke hours later, August was gone. There was a note left for you on the nightstand and in his neat print he’d written, ‘Supply Run.’

You stretched under the duvet and tapped the stiff cardstock against your lower lip.

Supply Run either mean food, or guns and knowing August, it was probably the latter. You were just raiding the over-stocked minibar refrigerator when he returned to the hotel room, carrying a long black duffel which he dropped onto the chaise at the end of the bed.

‘Guns,’ you said aloud, looking up from the chilled box of chocolate.

‘What?’ he asked, shrugging out of his jacket.

You smiled and shook your head and switched on BBC World Service.

Unzipping the duffel, August asked, ‘what do you know about Sage Software?’

‘Nothing,’ you answered truthfully. ‘Who are they?’

‘They supply small business software. Dunn is working with them and hacking them.’

Taking the chocolates to the bed, you opened your laptop and searched the business. With a laugh, you rolled over onto your back and looked up at August with interest. He was smiling slightly back at you.

‘Well, what do you know?’ you said with amusement. ‘Sage is located in the Shard, which is… ’

August nodded to you and his grin widened.

‘Right downstairs,’ he finished.

‘Did you plan this? Getting a room here because he was downstairs?’ you giggled, when he leaned over to kiss you.

‘Of course. Leave nothing to chance, Princess.’

Well, that nickname was new, you thought, delighted.

‘What’s the plan, then?’

August stretched out on his back next to you and folded his hands on his belly.

‘He’s got an office on the 13th and is there most nights.’

‘Most nights,’ you repeated and waited for him to finish his thought.

‘Tonight.’

Dunn was surprisingly easy to pick off. You had expected for him to have cameras and monitors and other high tech stuff to alert him to the presence of anyone who came unannounced to his office. And, you were surprised that /he/ was surprised when August quietly opened the thin office door and let himself in.

You stayed in the corridor and watched the scene unfold through the narrow decorative glass panel next to the door.

Dunn obviously recognised and remembered August, because he bolted out of his swivel chair and threw himself against the wall behind him.

‘I thought you were dead!’ you heard him shout before the silenced round splattered him across the frog poster that announced ‘work hard, play hard, live hard’.

You clapped lightly as August exited the office.

‘Well done, baby,’ you praised him. ‘But come on. I heard the lift bell. It would be stupid of us to get caught.’

All the little piggies had gone to slaughter. All except one.

Ethan Hunt was not a stupid man.

In fact, he was quite the opposite. He was cunning and clever and suspicious which were characteristics that helped him to remain one of the top Mi6 agents.

He also had a golden streak of very good luck and August Walker was just about to ruin that man’s whole career.

‘He went squirrely, ’ said Ayami who was pawing through a tin of broken Danish butter cookies from where she sat perched on the kitchen counter-top.

Two weeks after you returned from the Dunn business, Ayami just turned up at the country safe-house. Much to your delight, you’d found her one morning sitting at the kitchen table having a bagel and cream tea. And you knew why she was there. Things were winding up to the big payoff and the team needed to be as consolidated as possible.

‘What does that mean?’ you asked her but it was Mr. Instant Coffee who answered.

‘Means that he knew what’s good for him and went underground.’

‘Because all of his peeps were getting murdered,’ Ayami finished cheerfully and you half expected her and Instant Coffee to slap hands in a celebratory high-five.

August sat silently in his usual place, thoughtfully turning the small white coffee cup in a circle on the table.

‘Last time he was seen?’ he asked finally.

‘Park hotel, Berlin,’ Instant Coffee read from the reports supplied by the ‘boots on the ground’ team. ‘Been there for about a week, but he hasn’t really stayed one place for more than that. We should have moved earlier.’

‘No,’ said August, not looking at him, but at the cup. ‘No, we want to give him enough rope to hang himself. Let him get complacent.’

‘Do we have time to let him get complacent?’ Instant Coffee said. ‘I mean, the longer we wait, the more time he’ll have to burrow in like a fucking tick.’

You looked at Instant Coffee for a moment. He did have a point.

‘Okay,’ August replied easily. ‘You’re right.’

At that moment, your respect for August Walker increased ten-fold. That he was able to take in the opinion of the other members of his team was unbearably sexy. He may have earned a little leg over for later that night.

‘I’m going alone,’ August announced finally, drawing the sharp attention of everyone in the room.

You reined your own reaction because an emotional response in that instant would have been inappropriate. You knew exactly why August wanted to hunt down Ethan alone. Hunt had not only gravely wounded August’s body but also his pride. His revenge was personal.

‘That’s probably not a good idea,’ said Instant Coffee, obviously feeling confident that he had scored a few brownie points a few moments earlier.

August scowled and looked to you. Meeting his gaze, you nodded once.

‘August should face Hunt alone,’ you said to the room and then to him, added, ‘but I don’t think you should go alone.’

There was so much gratefulness in his eyes that you felt embarrassed and looked away. You didn’t want August to see the answering distress in your eyes. If the fight on the cliff side had been fair, and luck hadn’t been on Hunt’s side, August wouldn’t have lost. Tossing August over the edge was poor sportsmanship. You were afraid that Hunt would employ other clever tricks and defeat August for the second time. And now that August wanted to take on the IMF leader alone ensured that he would be left vulnerable to losing the upper hand.

You didn’t want to lose him again, but you remained silent. This was ultimately August’s decision and he had made his choice.

The two of you didn’t speak much on the trip to Berlin. There wasn’t much to say. You didn’t dare express to him your fears, because that would only serve to distract him with your possibly misplaced doubt. And distraction was the last thing August needed.

When he pulled up to a local hotel to drop you off, you stayed in the car, sitting quietly for a moment, unsure what to do or say. Sighing, you turned to him and reached to cup his cheek.

‘See you soon,’ you encouraged him. ‘Bring me a trophy.’

August nodded and you got out of the car.

Come back to me, you thought watching the car disappear in the afternoon traffic.

Your room faced the Berliner Fernsehturm and you could hear music from the festival going on in the square below. You took a long hot shower and stretched on the surprisingly comfortable bed. It wasn’t the Shangri-la, but it was charming and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep.

The room door thunking shut as if a heavy weight collapsed against it awoke you hours later. With a gasp, you shot upright and reached for your weapon. You couldn’t remember where the light switch was, so when you scrambled up from the bed, you backed up to the table under the window and jerked open the curtains to let in the artificial outdoor light.

The scent of sulphur and petrol filled the room and as your eyes slowly adjusted to the differences in the light you could just make out the bulky form sitting on the floor against the door. You knew that form as the impression of it was etched on your own flesh.

You put your weapon aside and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor, grabbing a towel and wetting it as you passed the small bathroom alcove. You crouched before the shadowed figure and put your hand beneath his chin. You lifted his face to the light and it was clear that Hunt had given August a run for his money.

You gently cleaned the dried blood from his mouth and chin, carefully working it out of his moustache and scruff.

You wanted to say something reassuring, something positive, but you were too overwhelmed with relief.

‘Well,’ you murmured, stroking his face. ‘I hate to see the other guy.’

August was silent and you hoped you hadn’t over stepped the line.

He then held up a small package wrapped neatly in butcher’s paper and tied with white twine. You took it from him, pulled the string and the paper unfolded to reveal your trophy. Holding it up to the light, it took a moment for you to recognise the carefully extracted evidence of Hunt’s death and you smiled.

‘Come on, you big brute,’ you said fondly, attempting to pull him up from the floor.

When August didn’t budge, you stopped straining against his weight and gasped with exertion.

‘You’re gonna have to help me here, babe!’

Groaning miserably, August managed to get his feet beneath him using the door and you to heave himself from the floor. You struggled to get him out of his clothes and under the soft yellow light above the sink you examined him. Big swollen bruises bloomed across his chest and back accompanied by several shallow scrapes and slashes. You wasted no time washing him up, patching his wounds, and getting him into bed.

Lying on his belly, August was still asleep when you woke the next morning. You went to the minibar refrigerator, withdrew your trophy and admired it in the morning sunlight. Your mobile beeped.

It was a message from Ayami.

‘Tell your boyfriend to be a little less conspicuous next time, ok?’ she’d written.

Curious, and glancing at August’s sleeping form, you rang her.

‘What’s that mean?’ you asked when she answered.

‘I mean that August didn’t need to leave that fucker’s burning corpse in the warehouse. He damn near burned down the place.’

‘He was obviously sending them a message,’ you answered, smiling gleefully, proud of your little murder puppy.

‘I can understand that,’ she shot back sounding uncharacteristically irritable. ‘But that also earned us more attention than we wanted.’

You sobered.

‘Is this something that needs to be taken care of?’

‘It’s already handled,’ she answered and some of her good humour crept back into her voice.

You sighed and relaxed, wrapping an arm about your midsection.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ you said after a moment with no conviction in your voice and she laughed incredulously.

‘When are you coming back?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘I dunno. Depends on what August wants.’

‘Ok, you two lovebirds hash it out and I’ll see you… whenever.’

‘Thanks, Ayami. I love you!’

‘Get something from the Wall museum for me, ok?’

You disconnected the call and tossed aside the mobile.

Feeling a warm sense of well-being, you re-wrapped your trophy and stored it in the refrigerator again. Climbing into bed next to August, you lifted his arm, crawled beneath it, and curled your body against him.

August had exacted his revenge and you felt satisfied for him. But you weren’t sure what was going to happen now. The mission that had consumed so much of your year was over. You felt un-moored and a little panicked, but when August tightened his arm round you, your hamster wheel of thoughts scattered.

There was time to worry later, now in the heat of August’s embrace was peace and with a small smile still on your lips, you put your head against him and slept.

-end

#Henry Cavill #August Walker #August Walker x reader #Henry Cavill smut #ethan hunt must die #napolwon solo #man of steel #clark kent #geralt #the witcher #napoleon solo

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gojos-sidepiece-69 · 4 years

Text

Tokyo Tech Training- Chapter 4

How was it only Tuesday? You groaned and put your hands over your eyes, slowly sitting up in your bed. You had just had a nice, dreamless sleep: no blindfolds, no stupid jokes, no stupidly moisturized lips (that belonged to a certain man whore) anywhere to be seen. You racked your brain trying to figure out how any of this could have possibly happened within the span of your first four days in the Jujutsu world. The whiplash from the most eventful weekend of your life started to kick in, heavily.

Your feet dangled over the edge of your bed, and you sighed deeply, touching at the bruised flesh on your hips. You pulled the band of your pajama pants down slightly, gaping at the state of your thighs. You couldn’t tell whether the crescent-shaped indents and the violent branding of love bites were from Gojo or...Sukuna. You let out a small laugh at the insanity of the situation.

To your luck and great relief, the higher-ups had ordered a restful ��team-bonding” day. From what you had heard, Megumi and Nobara had taken quite the beating as well. Their mission with Nanami to exorcise a certain high-grade curse with patchwork skin proved to be unsuccessful, as the evil thing escaped without a trace into the sewer systems. You pushed your door open and joined your fellow first-years in the hallway. There was a certain comfort in seeing the four of you together, all tired and scarred and bruised, but still smiling nonetheless (except for the ever-deadpanned Megumi). “Hey, I know what we can do today!” Nobara suggested excitedly. “Let’s go movie-hopping!”

Yuji started jumping up and down quickly. “Yes, yes, let’s do it! What movies are they showing today?! Hopefully something with Jennifer Lawrence in it,” he drooled. Megumi rolled his eyes, but nodded. “If I see any curses, though, I’m going to be upset. This was our day to recover.” You agreed with the movie-hopping idea, glad that you could have just one more day to yourselves, doing normal teenager things.

Half an hour later, you met up with your classmates at the front gates of Tokyo Tech, and started on your stroll downtown. “Hey, Y/n, what’s with the limp?” Nobara chuckled as she took in your pathetic attempt to walk straight. “The curse get you that badly?” You nodded at her, sheepishly thinking about how the damage from that curse was the least of your concerns. Yuji immediately patted himself. “Hop on,” he told you, signaling you to jump onto his back. “You want to give me a piggy back ride?” You smiled and teased him; his sincerity and concern was genuine, and it made your heart warmer.

You climbed onto his back and he continued walking as though he was weightless. Damn, you thought enviously. How did he recover so quickly? Yuji animatedly and dramatically described yesterday’s encounter to his friends. He was talking so fast you could barely keep up: “...and there were spikes, and the finger was caged between the teeth, and ... and, then I had to switch with Sukuna or we would’ve died! !! !!! And I can’t remember a thing after that. Oh, did you guys like your Mickey Mouse keychains?” Nobara gushed about how cute the souvenir was, and the two of you discussed how much you loved being in Tokyo. You took in the street vendors around you, the big flashing, neon lights, and the vibrant storefronts. Everything you laid your eyes on was so interesting and new, but couldn’t help but find yourself thinking about the view from above...38 floors above.

You shook your head and tried to forget about him. Why did your mind always have to wander back to him? No, you still didn’t care. “We’re here!!” Yuji shook you out of your intrusive thoughts as he announced your arrival in front of the Toho Cinema. You gaped at the marvelous glass building, serotonin boosting by the minute. “What are we watching?” You asked after you all pushed inside. Of course, it only took a second for the three get into a heated argument about which movie they would see first.

“We’re watching the showing of Back to the Future!” Yuji pouted, and Nobara was quick to yell, “Hell no! The freaky old man scares me!” Then Megumi suggested, “How about Fight Club?” and Nobara stamped her foot. “No violence today. I don’t need to see a skinny Brad Pitt with blood spurting out of his nostrils for two hours straight,” and you nodded in accord. After two more minutes of heated debate, you settled on Fast and Furious, because of its perfect blend of early-2000s tomfoolery, corny dialogue, and sexy (but ridiculous) car chases.

You sat sandwiched between Nobara and Itadori, and made the regrettable decision of holding the food tray in your lap. You could barely hear the furious engines revving over the sound of Yuji and Nobara greedily scooping popcorn and dropping sour gummy worms everywhere. Yuji repeatedly slurped his coke (which he for some reason preferred watered down) at maximum volume. Megumi was intently staring at the screen, and you made eye contact with him a few times and exchanged friendly eye rolls. The four of you exited the theater after the movie, and were about to commence your second round of argument for the next choice when your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Sukuna’s devilish mouth made an appearance on Yuji’s right cheek. This couldn’t be good.

Before Yuji could slap it away, it spoke. “Y/n has a little secret to tell you guys. Go on, tell them,” he provoked you. The three turned to you, looking slightly confused. “Huh? I-I have no idea what he’s talking about,” you rushed. “Come on, you don’t want them to know how much fun we had together yesterday? Oh, maybe your friends don’t know that side of you yet; surprising, because I could tell just from the redness of your cheeks how much you enjoyed being called a slut. Anyways, if you don’t tell them, I will,” Sukuna’s mouth continued in a bored tone. You went to sharply slap your hand right across Yuji’s face, but his reflexes were too fast.

“He’s talking nonsense, guys,” you pleaded with their eyes. Before any of them could speak, Sukuna laughed and yelled, “I fucked her! And she was screaming and arching her back for me like she’d been deprived of dick her whole life! Don’t let her innocence fool you, she’s nothing but a whore!” He laughed once more and retreated back into Yuji’s skin.

You were so shocked that you couldn’t move. “What the fuck,” Megumi said, his usually half-lidded eyes widening. “Is it true?” Nobara asked. “Is that why you could barely walk today? Was it that big?” While those two were quietly asking questions in shock and utter disbelief, your pink-haired companion went completely ballistic. “I CAN’T REMEMBER ANY OF THIS. WHY WOULD HE DO THAT?!!! I DON’T UNDERSTAND...I’M NEVER SWITCHING WITH THAT IDIOT AGAIN!” He continued to have a system malfunction and babble, but your shame and embarrassment grew. You felt a slight pinch of anger forming as you realized that Gojo hadn’t explained anything to Yuji yet, even though he said he would. Yuji didn’t know about Sukuna’s deal yet.

“Was it...did you want to do it? I have to make sure. Because if you didn’t, I’ll kill that bastard right now with my own two hands” Nobara said. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat and nodded shamefully. “I wanted to.” “He’s taken so many innocent lives,” Megumi said quietly, and looked away. “Who’s side are you on?” Your shoes began to look really interesting, and you managed a weak, “I...didn’t want you guys to find out. It’s okay, you don’t have to worry about me. It’s extremely hard to explain, but I-you’re just going to have to trust me when I say I’ll be okay. There’s a...a reason I’m doing it.” Even saying it out loud sounded ridiculous. You had no guarantee that you would leave this arrangement unscathed, no guarantee except for...whatever Gojo’s protection had to offer.

There was no guarantee, either, that keeping up your end of the bargain would even save lives. “DID HE HURT YOU? DID I HURT YOU?” Yuji grabbed your shoulders and forced you to look up. “No, no. I’m good,” you answered. You were glad that your friends had your back, but extremely ashamed that you had let all of them down for your own selfish reasons. To play a game and keep a certain person jealous. What made you feel even worse, though, was the fact that you secretly didn’t want that game to end.

Yuji, sensing the tension, broke the silence. “All right, no more arguing. We’re going to go watch World War Z and forget that ever happened.” You were so grateful when him and Nobara took you by the arms and dragged you into another theater, Megumi following behind. Even if it was a zombie apocalypse movie, you needed the escape. “And more popcorn!” Yuji enthusiastically suggested, bolting to get another large bucket and then coming back within two seconds.

You tried, again, to focus on the movie but this time you weren’t distracted by you’re friends’ prodding elbows and crunching noises. It was the looming fear of what Sukuna was going to do to you day after tomorrow. The thought of his evil grin and sheer strength sent chills down your spine, and you sat up straight. You looked at Yuji for a minute, wondering if the king of curses was watching you writhe with nervousness right now. He was probably enjoying feeding off of your fear, you thought. And you were right. He was.

🌹

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo sensei #jujutsu kaisen #jjk anime #jjk smut #anime #chapter 4 #long fic #fanfic #writing #fancfiction #fushiguro megumi #yuji itadori #kugisaki nobara #sukuna #jjk

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 3 years

Note

Klaine it up! 2, 7, 12, 21, 50

Okay...I got this. PROMPTS FOUND HERE

2 - you accidentally sprayed them with yogurt when you open the lid the wrong way.

This was not Kurt Hummel’s first time opening yogurt but it might’ve well have been. He was sitting at a picnic table in Central Park on his lunch break from Vogue.com having just picked up a BLT, sweeten iced tea, and strawberry yogurt from his newfound favorite sandwich shop. It just happened to be two blocks down from the Vogue offices too.

After eating half a sandwich, he found himself watching three young girls practicing their hula-hooping skills. Of course, while entranced by the colorful swirls of plastic, Kurt grabbed his low-fat yogurt and pulled at the lid, and the minute he did another man was being dragged by his golden retriever over to Kurt’s table.

Before he could stop it, a splash of light pink yogurt was splattered across the front of a bright blue polo.

“Shit, I am so sorry,” they both said.

Kurt had a lap full of puppy and the man covered in yogurt.

“She’s really friendly and has a fondness for bacon,” the man said, gesturing to the sandwich. “And who can blame her.”

With that comment, Kurt pushed his meal away slightly. Out of reach of the dog’s mouth.

“I usually am way more careful with my food,” Kurt said.

The handsome man only laughed, “it’s no big deal, do you happen to have a napkin?”

“Oh yes!” Kurt reached into his bag to grab one.

“Thanks,” he said, “come here, Lacey.”

The puppy sat right at his side and waited. Kurt stood up to wipe the yogurt away while the man kept Lacey still.

“I can...” he started to say but Kurt was already pulling away having cleaned it up the best he could.

“Lacey and I also share a fondness for cute boys but I don’t suppose...” he trailed off, blushing.

Kurt still wasn’t used to being flirted with but this wasn’t small town, Ohio.

“And who can blame you,” Kurt replied, already grabbing a pen and paper from his bag to write on.

THE REST OF THE PROMPTS CAN BE FOUND BELOW THE CUT

7 - you both do the side-to-side dance when you try to pass them in the grocery store aisle

Kurt told his dad to pick up an extra heavy whipping cream three days ago when Burt asked if Kurt needed any other ingredients for Thanksgiving dessert. He told him.

“I only need 3 things: dark chocolate, heavy whipping cream, and almond extract.”

Burt had gotten everything but Kurt needed whipping cream for both the chocolate mousse itself and the whipped topping he planned to make. Now he was at the crowded grocery store one day prior to Thanksgiving. Exactly where he didn’t want to be.

Of course, every grocery store made you walk all the way to the back of the store for dairy products. I’ll just grab milk and eggs real quick, you think, then suddenly you have a cart full of snacks you didn’t need.

Kurt found the red and white carton fairly quick. He backed up and started to make his way to the self-checkout. Before he could think about the temptation of potato chips, he was stopped by another body.

They both stopped and shifted their feet to make way for the other. From right to left and back again for several seconds before both falling into pits of laughter. Kurt looked into deep hazel eyes that twinkled at him. He wondered how long he could do this dance just to stare at them some more.

“That’s my fault, I came around the corner too quick,” he said.

Not quick enough, Kurt thought, we could’ve fallen to the floor. You on top of me would be quite nice.

“No, it’s all me,” Kurt replied, “I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

He fumbles into his pocket for a business card. Isabel’s one-month anniversary gift.

“If you’re in town longer than tomorrow, I’d love to buy you some coffee as an apology,” Kurt said, handing the card over.

“Oh.” Kurt watched him scan the card, flipping it over in his hands. “I’d love to, Kurt.”

A shiver ran down his spine. Maybe he should thank his dad for forgetting the cream.

12 - you kick a ball and your shoe flies off, hitting them in the back of your head

Blaine used to hate having an older brother. Growing up, he felt constantly in competition with Cooper’s larger-than-life personality. Now that Cooper had settled down in LA with Lisa, his wife, and had two wonderful kids, having an older sibling didn’t seem too bad.

It was summer break, Blaine was free to leave the confines of his NYU dorm room. He was trying to get lost in the sunshine of California to forget he was about to start his final year of college. Time with his niece and nephew was sure to put any nervousness out of his head.

They were playing soccer in the park when it happened. It was bound to. Everyone in LA was hot. It was like the law.

Cute boys and Blaine’s non-existence coordination weren’t a good mix.

Blaine went to kick the ball and caught sight of a bicep. An unusually pale bicep. A rare sight in sunny Los Angles. Arms, Blaine fantasized, he’d love to see wrapped around him or possibly pushing his legs apart.

He was sure he tighten his laces. This is why Blaine Anderson didn’t wear sneakers. Missed the ball by an inch but the force of his kick sent something flying through the air directly towards the cute guy: a sneaker.

It happened so fast, Blaine heard the yell of surprise before realizing his sock was exposed. Once he realized what happened, he rushed over to the man.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” Blaine said. “Can I do anything?”

“Well, an aspirin would be great,” the man teased.

Blaine sat in the grass and chuckled. Still extremely embarrassed.

“Not exactly the fairytale I always dreamed of.”

“Fairytale?” Blaine asked, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

“Cinderella,” he said, like it was obvious, “a lost shoe as it were.”

“I’m not Cinderella,” Blaine told him, “sorry to say. I’m more of a Blaine.”

“Kurt.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I do believe this is yours,” Kurt said, handing over the shoe.

21 - Almost spilling a drink because you met their eyes and got distracted thinking how cute they are.

His dad always said pour your drinks yourself. Blaine became that friend who grabbed drinks for everyone for this reason exactly. He wasn’t sure what the occasion was exactly but his study buddy from his songwriting workshop invited him. It was at some loft in Bushwick but Blaine didn’t mind the adventure.

Until tonight he had no reason to venture to this part of the city.

“Blaine!” Elliott exclaimed, pushing a solo cup into his hand, “Drink up, karaoke at eleven!”

Then he disappeared into the crowd. Blaine headed straight for the kitchen and poured the toxic mixture down the sink. He found a new cup and started reading the labels of the bottles spread out across the counter. Mixers and any alcohol of your choice seemed to be available.

Rum and coke sounded good. He went into the fridge for a cold soda first. Blaine was happy the kitchen was empty he wasn’t quite ready to start making friends. As far as he knew, Elliott was the only friendly face here tonight.

He poured the rum in for some semblance of tracking his alcohol intake. The last time he got drunk, he dialed the professor he TA-ed for, who thankfully overlooked that incident. Blaine cracked open the coke and while he poured surveying the living room.

People were dancing to an upbeat pop song that Blaine strangely didn’t recognize and others were mingling in doorways or sat on scattered sofas and chairs chatting. He caught a pair of blue eyes in the crowd.

The man they were attached to was stunning. If he hadn’t blinked, Blaine could’ve mistaken him for a marble statue carved by the gods. They didn’t lose eye contact as he walked towards the kitchen. It wasn’t until the man stood on the other side of the counter that Blaine noticed his hand was covered in soda.

“Papers towels are behind you,” the man offers.

Blaine set the now empty can down and spun around for paper towels to clean up his mess.

Just great, he thought, make a fool out of yourself. That’ll score you some points.

He cleans up his hand before wiping down the puddle of bubbling coke on the counter.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he continues, “and this is my party so I like to know all my guests.”

“Your party?” Blaine stutters.

“It’s my birthday.”

“I’m Blaine,” he introduces. “Elliott invited me. We have a class together.”

“Oh, you’re Blaine. From songwriting workshop.”

“That’s me.”

Elliott’s obviously talked about him before to this man. This gorgeous, completely out of Blaine’s league man.

“God, he’s relentless,” he says. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Um, might I ask why? I can leave if there’s an issue.” Blaine knows when he isn’t welcome.

“No, no,” he replies, “don’t go. It’s just he’s been trying to set us up for months now.”

It all clicks.

“Oh god, you’re Kurt.”

“That’s me, the birthday boy. and you are Elliott’s idea of the best gift ever.”

Blaine blushes. “I don’t know if I can I've up to that but if I can have the next dance I can try.”

Kurt nods. “I’d like that, Blaine. A lot.”

50 - getting paired up on an amusement park ride that requires even-numbered riders

All of Kurt’s friends hated rollercoasters. Rachel didn’t like heights, Elliott refused to do anything with loops, and Santana, well, she was too caught up in her new girlfriend to be bothered.

“I only wanna hear screaming tonight,” she told him.

So, Kurt waited in line himself. Some fun day at Coney Island this was turning out to be. He was so glad he was spending the day with friends. Kurt rolled his eyes.

The woman directing the ride gave Kurt his row number and moved down the line. Behind him someone tapped on his shoulder, Kurt turned around and found himself looking at a curly-haired man around his age.

“Guess we’re both odd men out then, I’m the single rider in my group today.”

“Oh, um, no, my friends were too chicken to even ride,” Kurt said.

“I’m really surprised Wes and David are good to go. They both hate being upside-down.”

Kurt smiled.

“I'm Blaine, by the way.”

“Kurt.”

The ride emptied out and Kurt crawled over to the far seat. They buckled themselves in and listened to the instructions to keep all body parts inside at all times. Then, the bar came down and the ride launched.

After the ride ended, Blaine and Kurt were chatting all the way down. Wes and David trailing behind them.

“That second loop really threw me,” Blaine was saying.

“I saw,” Kurt exclaimed, “I thought you were going to fall out of your seat.”

“Downfalls of being short and compact.”

When three more people joined their day at the park, no one questioned it.

#this was a lot at once but SO FUN #monica's inbox #my fics #klaine drabbles #meet cutes

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a-bang-for-your-bucky · 4 years

Text

Playin' With Fire: Frankie's Secret

Playin’ With Fire: Frankie’s secret

Summary: Dani and Frankie have been friends for almost two years now. While at a party, Dani learns Frankie’s darkest secret. Will their friendship surpass this hurdle? WIll they finally cross that line they have been teetering on? Or will this be the wedge that drives them apart?

Warnings: DRUG USE (straight up use of cocaine), ANGST (It starts it off), explicit language, a heated make out session, implication of smut (but no details because I suck at writing smut), Hurt!Frankie because it breaks my heart. I hurt my own heart writing this.

Pairings: Dani x Frankie, Frankie x ofc, Dani x Santiago

Word Count: 4,280

A/N: Part 2! Y'all this story is a wild ride. I am not responsible for any tears that are shed while reading this.

Tags: @221bshrlocked @danniburgh (if you want to be tagged, LMK)

It wasn’t often that Dani went to a party that wasn’t being hosted by a Miller brother. Yet, here she was at some random house with a lot of random people. Will said it would be fun, that she needed to relax. Benny said that she wouldn’t be alone because Frankie would be there. So how in the hell did she find herself standing around with none of the guys in sight?

Dani wandered aimlessly through the crowd of people, looking for someone she knew. She came across a door, and it seemed to be quiet on the other end. She quickly turned the knob to see that it was unlocked. Pushing the door open, she revealed her best friend, with a half naked brunette in his lap, snorting what looked like coke.

Her heart shattered into a million pieces. Dani couldn’t tell if it was because of the girl or the drug. “Tequila.” Frankie whimpered, but didn’t move a muscle. The girl in his lap twisted to see who opened the door.

“Either join in or get out.” The girl demanded, and Dani slammed the door shut. She knew she probably looked crazy; Tears running down her face, smearing her makeup, frantically looking for Will or Benny. She found the youngest Miller first, who immediately left the woman he was chatting up upon seeing Dani’s distressed state.

“Tequila, what happened?” He asked, wiping tears from her face. She tried to tell him, but it only came out in broken sobs. Benny was able to pick up “Frankie” and “cocaine”; After that, she was incoherent. Benny wrapped his arms around her, trying to give her some comfort. “Come on, let’s find Will and go.”

It took twenty minutes for Benny to track down Will, who was hooking up with the party host, Sara. Benny explained that Dani came up to him, sobbing and mentioned Frankie and coke. Will rushed to get dressed, apologizing for his hasty exit.

Dani was standing outside by Will’s jeep, eyes swollen and face red. Will rushed over, “Teq, I’m so sorry.” He comforted and placed a kiss to her head before ushering her into the car, just in time for Frankie to come running out the door. Benny took three large strides toward him before throwing a right hook that connected hard with his jaw.

“The fuck were you thinking, Fish? I thought you quit that shit!” Benny yelled at his friend who clutched his face where a red bruise was already starting to form, struggling to get up off the ground.

“Please, Benny.” Frankie started as he stood up, gesturing to the girl crying in the front seat “Let me talk to her.” He begged, trying to move toward the car. Will stepped in.

“You’ve done enough, Catfish. Leave her alone.” Will growled at the man before him. Frankie, exhaled a shaky breath and took a step back from his friends.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I’m so sorry.” He yelled a little louder, hoping Dani could hear him through the window. She turned her head just in time to see the same brunette that was seated on his lap, start dragging him back inside.

Dani didn’t leave her room for three days. She barely touched anything Will or Benny brought her to eat. She barely slept, the image of Frankie doing lines of the white substance haunted her dreams. She tried to focus on the crappy ‘B’ rated horror movie playing on Netflix.

A knock on the door drew her from the screen. “It’s open.” She said numbly. It was Will. He came in carrying a tray of food and a few water bottles. Dani noticed and gave him a quiet ‘thank you’, before turning her attention back to her laptop.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Will asked her just like he had every day before. Today she seemed ready.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” She whispered, still looking at the screen. Will took a seat next to her on the bed.

“It wasn’t our story to tell. As far as we knew, he cleaned up after being discharged. Tequila, I promise you, if any of us knew, we would have told you.” Will tried to explain to her, knowing that his words weren’t going to help much.

Tears slowly started to trickle down her cheeks. She felt so stupid, letting herself get so close to him. Will pulled the computer away from her lap, sitting it on her bedside table. She instantly curled into him as sobs wracked her body. Will felt so helpless. On one hand, he has his best friend who has a drug problem and on the other, his best friend who has a broken heart. He didn’t know where to begin to fix either. Will noticed that the sobs finally stopped and her breathing evened out. She was finally asleep. He could have wiggled out from her hold, but instead, he made himself comfortable and fell asleep, too.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Frankie?” Benny’s voice stirred Will awake. He shot up off the bed and ran to the living room. He found Benny holding Catfish back from entering the doorway.

“I need to talk to her, Benny. I have to- shit, I have to explain myself.” Frankie begged his friend.

Will could see his brother getting angrier by the second, so he intervened. “Go check on her, make sure she’s still sleeping. I’ll handle this.” Will prompted his brother. Benny relaxed, moving away from Frankie. Will slid into his spot, blocking him from coming inside.

“Will, please.” Frankie begged. “I just want to see her. I’m sorry for this. I never wanted to hurt her.” All Frankie wanted was to make sure she was okay. He was about to speak again when Dani’s voice broke through the silence. Frankie took in her state, hair in a bun, eyes rimmed red and puffy.

“It’s okay, Ironhead.” She murmured, arms wrapped around herself in mock comfort. Will turned himself to face her. He brought a hand up to caress her face, erasing stray tears. He gave her his best ‘are you sure?’ look. She nodded, “I’ll be okay, Will. I’ll yell if I need you.” She tried to give him a smile, but she was so damn tired.

Will looked back at Frankie, “I love you, man, but she better not need me." The blonde threatened him and Frankie knew he meant it. He shook his head in agreement; Frankie would gladly let Will hurt him. He just wanted to make this right. Will moved over, letting Frankie pass him into the living room. Frankie looked around. Out of all the times he sat in the room, he never imagined himself sitting here because of this.

Dani moved to take a seat across from him. She gave Will a look to let him know that she was okay, and he left the room. She focused her attention back to the man in front of her. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept either. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had dark circles under them, which didn’t complement the five o’clock shadow that dusted his face. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of her or the drugs.

Frankie noticed Dani looking over his features, and he felt ashamed, like he didn’t deserve to have her look at him. He hung his head low, trying to avoid making eye contact with her. He knew he couldn’t hide his face forever, but for now, the floor was looking pretty good.

Dani shuffled in her seat, trying to get herself comfortable before diving into a conversation she really did not want to have. As she thought of what she was going to say, Frankie started to apologize.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Teq.” He raised his head, tears chasing each other down his face. “I know that sorry doesn’t mean much, but I am.” Frankie wiped his tears away as he finally made eye contact with her.

“Why, Frankie?” Her words were barely detectable, but Frankie heard them. Those two words put a vice grip around his heart and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know why. Why did he let himself fall off the wagon after so long? Why did he let Vanessa back into his life when he could have had Dani? He didn’t have any answers for her.

“Can I start from the beginning?” He asked her, hoping they could talk things out. Dani thought it over. Did she really want to hear this? The choice was obvious. she needed to know and gave Frankie a curt nod.

Frankie moved to the floor in front of her chair, sitting crossed legged, looking up at her. “It started after my first helo crash.” Frankie began.

“This is gonna be a bumpy ride boys,” Frankie yelled through the headset. He was maneuvering the helo through gunfire, trying to find a safe place to land.

“Fish, we got smoke back here!” Pope bellowed, hanging onto the doorway of the cockpit. Frankie looked back at his friend. How was he going to do this? He looked back down to the earth, and all he saw was desert sand. “Fish! We gotta land, man. Or this thing’s gonna blow!” Santiago reiterated.

Frankie found a spot far enough away from the flying bullets, that he could try to land as safely as possible. When he started to bring it down, alarms started blaring, lights flashed. “Fuck! Guys, buckle up. This isn’t going to be good.”

“That crash broke Benny’s arm. Since then, I was a nervous wreck behind the controls. I almost got everyone killed because I couldn’t land the damned helo. My mistake almost killed my friends.” Frankie paused to compose himself. “At first, I only did it to calm my nerves, then I just lost control of it, using whenever I could. I was discharged with my license suspended. I did a rehab program and luckily, I was able to get my license reinstated.”

Dani tried to comprehend what he was telling her. All of her medical training told her that he had a disease, an addiction. She wanted to reach out and console him, but he kept this from her. She had shared all of her secrets with him and he kept this huge one from her. “What about the girl?” She asked, knowing she had no right to be jealous. Frankie wasn’t hers.

“Vanessa was a fling, someone I would get high with. She was just there.” He gulped, “I wasn’t looking to get high. It was a moment of weakness. I hadn’t used it in almost thirteen months.” Since he met her. He was laying everything out for her and he was praying she would still accept him.

Dani sat there, staring at the man in front of her. He was unrecognizable. He looked sad, broken. Nowhere near the happy, flirty, person she met on Benny’s birthday. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted to understand. She wanted to help him past this, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t know if she was strong enough.

“Please say something, hermosa. Lo siento mucho.” Frankie apologized again, reaching to grab her hands. She didn’t pull away like he thought she would. Instead, she moved to kneel on the ground with him.

She released his hands to pull him in for a hug. The gesture was enough to completely destroy Frankie’s resolve. Frankie sobbed into her. “Lo siento mucho. Lo haré mejor, lo prometo.” Dani held him for what felt like forever, stroking his hair.

“I want to help you, Frankie.” She whispered into his hair, still holding him close. “But I need you to want to help yourself.” Frankie’s head bobbed in agreement. He needed this.

The following weeks were hard on Frankie. Detoxing off the drug was a lot harder than he remembered, but Dani was there every step of the way. The exhaustion, shakes, and cravings were tolerable, but when the nightmares started, Frankie didn’t know if he would make it.

Dani let herself into Frankie’s apartment after her shift at the hospital. “Frankie?” She called out but did not get a reply. She moved further inside, making her way to Frankie’s room. She heard the shower running as she walked into his bedroom. “Frankie?” She called out again.

As she got closer to the bathroom, she could hear Frankie’s broken sobs over the shower. She rushed in to see him sitting in the corner of the tub, knees drawn to his chest. He raised his head when the door slammed into the wall.

“Dani?” He choked out, like he was surprised to see her. She rushed over to him. Feeling that the water was freezing, she quickly turned it off. She grabbed a towel, throwing it over him to give him some form of cover.

“Fuck, fish. What’re you doing? Trying to give yourself hypothermia?” Dani moved to grab more towels. She was able to get him to stand up and move into the bedroom. She searched his room for warm clothing. “Here.” She handed him the sweats and hoodie she found. “I’m gonna make you something to eat while you get dressed.” She exited the room and closed the door behind her. She felt her own tears threatening to fall down her face. It was hard to see her friend like this. She wiped away the drops that strayed down, trying to compose herself.

Frankie emerged from his room and followed the savory smell coming from the kitchen. “Hermosa.” His voice cracks a little, but she still hears him. Smiling, she turns to see him, arms wrapped around himself. “Shit, Teq.” He walks over to her, bringing a hand up to caress her face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry again.” He whispers, pulling her in for a hug.

“I’m okay, Fish.” She mumbles into his chest. “I made bacon and eggs.” She wasn’t going to say that was all she could make with the contents in his kitchen because the man was already down.

“Thank you, Dani. For everything. I think the worst has finally passed.” Frankie told her as they sat down at his tiny dining table. She handed him his plate before placing her own in front of her. The two ate in a comfortable silence.

“You wanna talk about it?” Dani asked as Frankie cleared the table. Frankie placed the dishes in the sink and turned back to where she sat at the table.

“I keep having the same nightmare. I’m in a helo and it's going down. It’s just like that first crash, except you’re there. And there’s nothing I can do to save you.” Frankie describes his dream, fighting back the emotion that is pouring through him.

“I’m here, Frankie. I’m here.” She tells him as she walks over. Taking his hand and placing it over her heart. “Feel that? I’m alive.” She moves it over his own, “You are, too. We are going to figure this out together.” The tension between them is palpable. Frankie looks down at Dani, her blue orbs staring back at him and all he can think about his pressing his lips to hers. Instead, he pulls away. She deserves more than a fuck up like me, he thought.

“Thank you. For dinner, fuck, for everything. You should go home and get some rest.” He practically pushed her out the door. “I’ll be okay.” He reassured her one last time before she said good-bye. He watched her walk to her car, climb inside, and drive away.

After the almost kiss, Dani did her best to give Frankie space. She knew he was going through a lot and he was probably having a lot of conflicted emotions. She stayed away from his apartment for about a week, checking in via text. He always responded immediately.

It was Saturday evening, and she had just finished her ER shift. She had sent a text to Frankie earlier in the day and still had not heard from him. Deciding that a trip to his apartment was warranted, Dani made her way over.

She knocked on the door three times before it opened. “Vanessa?” Dani choked out as the brunette stood there, wrapped in a towel. “Where’s Frankie?” She asked, her voice a little shaky.

“He’s busy, sweetie. Go home.” Vanessa snarked with a smirk on her face. Dani rolled her eyes, before storming past her toward Frankie’s room. She all but kicked the door open, sending the handle smashing into the wall.

“What the fuck?!” Frankie yelled, coming out of his bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. The angry look on his face dropped as soon as he saw her. “Fuck.” He whispered, dropping his head. Dani knew immediately what was going on.

“Frankie, tell me this isn’t what it looks like.” She wished, pointing to the powdered substance on his dresser. He didn’t answer. “Frankie, please.” Her voice cracked, “Tell me you aren’t doing fucking coke again.” She pleaded. He raised his head to look at her, but did not answer.

She shook her head in disappointment before walking out of the room. “Dani!” Frankie called as he chased after her. “Dani, please, don’t go.” He begged her. She stopped in her tracks before she reached the door. Vanessa scoffed, muttering under her breath “to let her go”.

She slowly turned around. “Fuck you, Frankie Morales. Fuck you and fuck her.” She spat, pointing to Vanessa who was sitting on Frankie’s couch. Dani focused back on Frankie. “Thank you for wasting my time, my effort, my love. I told you when I started to help you that you had to want to get clean. You’ve made it very clear that you don’t. So, fuck you.” She blubbered, tears of regret and hurt welling in her eyes, spilling over her lashes.

She didn’t wait for a reply as she walked out of the door. It closed behind her with a loud thud. She got to her car and let out the sobs she was holding in. Dani had never felt anything like this. Even when she caught him at the party, it didn’t hurt this bad. She felt like some punched her in the stomach and could hear her heart pounding in her ears. What was she supposed to do now?

Dani pulled into her driveway to find Santiago sitting outside on the porch, like he was waiting on someone to come home. She put her car in park and he’s there to open her door. “¿Estás bien?” He asked as she stepped out.

She didn’t dare to look the brunette in the eyes, because she knew she'd break. “I’m fine.” She replied curtly, looking at the ground, walking toward the house. He followed quickly behind her. Once inside, she threw her bag onto the couch, going straight to the kitchen. She poured a shot of tequila, offering one for Santiago. He shakes his head ‘no’.

“Shit, Teq. What’s wrong?” He asks again, worry laced in his voice. He can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes are red, and her face is blotchy. She downs the alcohol and pours another.

“He’s doing coke again.” She rasped out, throwing back the second drink. Slamming the glass on the counter, she left Santiago and walked to her room.

He ran a hand down his face before tailing her. What the fuck have you done, Catfish. He thought. He found Dani laying face first into her pillow. “What do you mean he’s doing coke again?” He questions, sitting next to her legs.

She rolled over and sat up. “I mean, I hadn’t heard from him all day. I was worried. I got to his apartment and Vanessa was there.” she hiccuped, falling back on the pillow again. “There was coke on his dresser.” Dani sniffled, a sickening feeling growing in her stomach.

“I’m sorry, Dani.” He whispered, not really sure if she heard him. He is sorry. He’s sorry that Frankie is being an idiot. He’s sorry that she’s hurting. And he’s sorry that all he wants to do is make it better.

Dani fought to push her sadness down. She wiped her tears away and moved to sit up again, so that she’s looking at him. “I’m sorry, you looked like you had something you wanted to say.” She apologized and gave him her full attention.

Santiago nodded. “Yeah. I’m um, I’m going to South America. Colombia. I got a contract with the military.” He told her. “I’m supposed to leave in a month.” Her face dropped, and for a second she wonders how much heartbreak a person can take.

“South America? For how long?” She asked in disbelief. How could Santi be going to a different country? She just lost Frankie, she couldn’t lose him, too.

“I’m not sure.” He was being honest. He didn’t know when or if he would be back. It wasn’t going to be the safest contract. Dani sat there staring at him, speechless. “Teq?” He said, and she lifted her sad eyes to his. Almost as if he could read her mind, he promised, “I’ll come back.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t know that, Santi.” She mumbled, “What if you don’t come back?” The brunette shakes his head, telling her that she can’t think like that.

His cedar brown eyes met her blue ones. He reached out for her, pulling her into his embrace. He had an internal debate on whether or not he should say anything. It would be completely selfish of him, especially since he knew how Fish felt about her. That didn’t stop him from saying, "I have a contact down there who can get you certification to practice there. You could come with me, work in a hospital there."

Dani's body stiffened. Go to South America with Santi? She couldn't, could she? Santi could practically see the gears turning in her head. "It's not a marriage proposal, babe." He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Dani let out a breathy laugh, "Yeah, like I would ever assume you are proposing marriage." Santi rolled his eyes, squeezing her tighter.

"I could settle down for the right woman." He rebutted, and they both burst into laughter. They knew Santi wasn’t the ‘settle down’ type. His arms relaxed around her and she wiggled her way out of his hold to sit back down on her bed.

"Seriously though, Tequila. If you want to come, the option is there." He offered her again. She could look into it. She could help so many less fortunate people, the whole reason why she wanted to become a doctor. After tonight, maybe it would be for the best.

"Okay." She says and his eyes go wide, like he didn't hear her correctly. "I want to go." She reiterates. Now he knows he wasn't hearing things. A huge smile crossed his face and he scooped her up into his arms again. Dani sighed in contentment. He smelled like mint and leather, even though he wasn’t wearing any, with a hint of whiskey.

She leaned her head back, so that she could look up at him. She was surprised to find him staring back at her. Her eyes subconsciously flickered to his lips as his tongue swiped out to dampen them. She didn't know if it was the buzz from the alcohol earlier, but she pushed forward to crash her lips into his.

Santi froze at the feeling of her lips on his. It was if he had fallen into one of his dreams, where the blonde woman had been running rampant. His hand found purchase at the back of her head, pulling her closer as their lips moved in tandem.

Dani's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers playing in the curls growing at the base of his head. She felt his tongue dance along her bottom lip, as if to ask for permission to enter. She parted her lips, finally tasting him as their tongues met. He even tasted like mint and whiskey.

Santi nibbled her bottom lip, which drew a low moan from her. He knew right then that he wanted more sounds from her. He tightened the grip on the back of her head, pulling it to the side, so that he could have access to her neck. He broke the kiss unceremoniously, before attacking her neck, finding her sweet spot immediately.

"Santi," Dani whimpered with need. Santi groaned at the sound of his name coming off her lips. She sounded like an angel. He wanted to hear more.

He pulled back to look at her. Her eyes so dark with lust, Santi could barely see the baby blue. Her hair was a mess where he buried his fingers. She looked absolutely beautiful. "Fuck, Tequila." Santi said breathlessly. His hands caressed her face, one thumb swiping over her bottom lip. "Fuck, as much as I want to do this. I can't." He said as his hands dropped and he stepped back. "I'm sorry, Teq. You would hate me in the morning."

Dani, brain still fuzzy with need, nodded, "Yeah, yeah. You're right. It's best that we stop now." She hesitantly agreed, when really what she wanted was for him to make her forget. Make her forget Frankie. Make her forget work. Make her forget her own name.

Santi took a deep breath, running a hand across his face. His eyes met hers once more, trying to find any signs of regret. There were none. "We really shouldn't do this." He said one more time before connecting their lips again.

Translations:

Hermosa- Beautiful

Lo siento mucho- I’m really sorry.

Lo haré mejor, lo prometo- I’ll do better, I promise.

¿estás bien?- Are you okay?

#santiago garcia #frankie morales #will miller #benny miller #santiago garcia x ofc #frankie morales x ofc #frankie catfish morales #santiago pope garcia #will ironhead miller #triple frontier #frankie morales fic #santiago garcia fic #santiago garcia imagine #frankie morales imagine #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier fic #frankie morales angst #angst #kat writes

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queenoftheworldisdead · 4 years

Text

The Cookout

Note: Inspired by art from @nix-akimbo seen here.

Summery: Your friend’s mom invites you over to neighborhood cook out.

Warning: Sex in a shed. Rough sex, cream pie, choking, spanking

Bucky x Reader

As soon as Sam's mom opened the door she lit up like a Christmas tree. You were in town and thought you should swing by, before heading back out of town.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever!" Mrs.Wilson squealed.

"Sorry I'm just so busy at work that I don't have time to come out to these parts often."

Mrs. Wilson released you and shouted out to her son. Moving to the side she walked you through the house where you found your childhood best bud unpacking groceries.

"Well, aren't you the domestic" you kid the goofball.

"Aye!" Sam shouted, arms out stretched, putting down the item in his hand to rush over and hug you. "What are you doing here?"

"Just swinging by. I am heading back to the city tonight."

"Oh no! Stay the night. The neighbors are putting together a big BBQ party tomorrow. I'm making ribs" she nudged you with a wink. Your stomach nearly growled from that alone. Mrs.Wilson's cooking was legendary.

Living in the city you rarely cooked for yourself. Sustaining heavily on a diet of takeout or frozen confections.

"Hmmm" you pondered playfully "What do I need to bring?"

"Nothing but your appetite" Sam chimed in.

"Well OK then, let me see if I can get my room, back and I will come round ar.."

"Girl don't make me spank you! Sam's house is big enough for you too. Sam! Go get her things out the car!" You laughed as she barked orders at her boy.

Back in the day you could not have imagine this super religious woman would ever allow you to sleep under the same roof as her boy, but times seemed to have really changed. But you slightly figured ulterior motives were at play.

The next day you arose to the sound of Marvin Gaye and smokey charcoal from the large barbecue grill outside.

After brushing your teeth, washing your face and slapping on some yoga pants and loose tee you make your way down to the kitchen.

Thankfully a pot was already percolating and of course Mrs. Wilson had set a side a plate of bacon, eggs and toast with a note addressed to you.

Walking over to the cabinet you waved to Sam and his mother, the pair arguing over something on the grill outside. The familiar sight of their banter bringing a smile to your face.

Searching the cabinets you sing to yourself as the Isley Brothers started to play.

"And who are you?" A strange voice startled you from behind.

"Oh shit!" You screeched, dropping the procaine cup in fright.

"Sorry Doll didn't mean to scare you."

His open Hawaiian shirt exposed his tattooed arms and chest. Your eyes scanned his body, your teeth dragging across your bottom lip as he stood before you.

"See something you like Doll?"

"I-i um" you stutter out.

"James!" Mrs.Wilson shouted as she came through the patio door.

"Good morning beautiful!" He smiled turning his attention away from you to her.

She embraced and hugged the stranger. Sam's mother stepped back and introduced you to him. Stretching out a hand he asked that you call him 'Bucky'.

"Nice to meet you."

"She is an old friend of Sam's, just in town for a bit." She explained to him.

"James lives next door and served with Sam, helping to protect my baby." Mrs. Wilson pinched his cheeks adorably making you giggle.

"Hey man!" Sam called from behind you. "Come around to steel our secret recipe huh?"

Bucky held his hands up in surrender, the two men chatted while Mrs. Wilson stayed back with you. You watched the exchange while picking up the pieces of the shattered cup from the floor.

Mrs. Wilson sent you on a quick errand to pick up a few bottles of Hennessy and Crown Royal. As you drove back to the neighborhood the party was already starting to kick off.

Parking in front, you unloaded the car and brought in the bottles. Fumbling with the door as you try and open it a hard body brushed up against you making you gasp.

"You scare easily don't you Doll?"

The smooth sound of Bucky's voice appeared from behind you. You scoffed at his remark. Taking one of the bags from your grasp, he opened the door and pushed past you.

Following behind you both march to the kitchen and through the back door. Placing the booze on a picnic table that was beginning to be stuffed with food and drink.

You looked around for the familiar faces of Sam or his mother, but weren't around. Presumable making their rounds to the other houses.

"You look like a lost puppy Doll." Bucky said as he poured a drink into one of the plastic cups.

"Not really a party person" You shrugged, Bucky passed you a cup and you reluctantly took it. The generous pourer didn't dink mix the hard liquor with soda so the burn was strong.

"Moved on from scaring and now trying to kill me huh?" You popped open a coke to dilute the awful drink.

"Sam never mentioned you were such a light weight." Bucky teased.

“Sam doesn’t mention a lot of things its seems.”

He was handsome and you were sure he knew it. He hovered around you, talking to neighbors that passed by. While you took out your phone a sipped your drink.

"If you are done baby sitting your drink do you think you can help me with something?" Bucky asked.

"What?"

"I need help getting the extra tables out of the shed. Can't find Sam so I figured you would do."

You ignored the way he looked you up and down. "Fine lets go."

Walking behind him to the shed, he opened the door and allowed you to walk in first. The small cramped space held a rusted muscle car that Sam had told you he was going to fix up. The old clunker surrounded by rusty tools and folded tables. Bucky squeezed past you, accidentally knocking you forward onto the hood of the car.

"Hey watch it Bucko." You scolded him as you try and push up.

"Sorry Doll" he paused finally noticing your awkward position. Pulling back from the tables he moved to squeeze behind you again.

When he pressed his cock on your ass you felt instant heat.

"Do you mind? Kinda hard for me to move with you like this." You looked over your shoulder at him.

"I can see why Sam has kept quiet about you now" rubbing his groan on you, standing up straight he didn't allow for any space.

"I think the tables are over there." changing the subject, you point and try to move, but he placed hands on either side of you not allowing you to move.

"Big city girl so up tight" he spoke into the shell of your ear. Bucky's cock felt hard as he pressed on the fat of your ass.

"You know I think they might be looking for us" you try and move again, but Bucky bumped you a harder with his hips.

"Nah they're fine" Bucky hummed as he hooked his thumbs in the waist band of your yoga pants. Your hands move to the top of his and you hesitate to pry him off. The buzz of the booze started to course through your veins. Pulling your pants down past your ass you couldn't find the strength to stop him.

Bucky pushed your shoulder forward and you found yourself on the hood of the car again. A part of you wanted to bring an end to this while the other half blamed it on the alcohol.

"Fuck Doll your already making me pre come." Bucky tapped the head of his cock on your as and growled. You could feel yourself grow wet, thinking about him putting his cock inside you.

With one hand gripping your hip, he guided his tip to your folds. Playing with your wetness, teasing you with gentle pressure at your entrance. "We should probably s-stop" you started to stutter. Thinking of how you didn't want Sam or his mom to find you like this.

Bucky only tsk'd as he pressed in to part your slick lips with his dick. The slow stretching made you moan lowly. A hard smack came across your ass making you hiss in pain.

"Don't be shy on my account Doll" he pushed his weight into your ass, leaning into your ear."I want to hear you scream."

"Mmm" you grit your teeth as you try and adjust to his size.

"So tight Doll, you fit me so good."

Standing up straight, Bucky pulled your hips back with it. Rocking his hips slowly into you, smacking your ass with each odd stroke. Your hands cup the side of the car for support as you threw it back on him. Bucky groaned watching you bounce on his cock, praising your efforts to take him deeper before taking control again.

The music of the party bled through the walls giving you the courage to moan louder as be fucked you. You didn't care that your knees hit hard against the tires of the beat up car. Or that each stroke had you gasping as he hit the inner wall of your mound. Now the idea of being caught made this event all the more exciting.

"Fuck Bucky!" You shouted as your hands move to scrub against the hood of the car.

"That's it Doll, tell me who you belong to." His cocky tone bringing out your bratty side. Looking over your shoulder, Bucky's body glistened in the dimly lit room.

When he locked eyes with you, you shake your head no. His cocky smirk returned with the build between your legs.

He gave a hard thrust and it took every thing just to choke it down. Pushing and holding himself deep inside of you, the fullness almost too much to bare. Your feet dance in place as Bucky's hand snaked up your spine, wrapping around smoothing over your breast until he rested on your neck. His grip tightened on your throat, forcing your back into an uncomfortable angle. Your hands barely able to touch the hood of the car.

"Fuck shit!" You choked out.

"That's not my name Doll" he growled as he made his grip tighter around your neck. His hips slammed into yours with a punishing pace.

"Ahh shit fuck" you moan out as you feel your mound start to throb.

"Still not my name. Say it!" He commanded.

You couldn't take it, you felt so full. Your pussy stuffed with his dick, your eyes start to roll as he grunted your name.

"Bucky! Bucky! Shit!" You mewled out as your cunt worked his dick while you cum.

His victorious chuckles mixed with a primal moan. His pace steady as a warmness filled you, leaking out past him and down your thigh. Bucky's cock twitched as he emptied himself inside of you.

"Shit! Did you cum in me!" you exclaim as he slowly pulled out. His seed dripping slowly down your leg, turning to face him, he only gave a shrug and a smile. Pulling up your pants you fume at his irresponsibility and your own stupidity.

#Bucky x Reader #bucky x black!reader #black writer #didn't proof read this enough #will cringe about it later #lazy writing

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eunchosongkwon · 2 years

Text

SUMMER HEAT - PART 1

Eun Jiwon x You

Rated:M

You don’t like summer at all, you hate the heat and being sweaty. Nothing less than only wearing dress or skirt would be a crime in this 35 degrees summer afternoon. After running your errands, you get home and go straight to the fridge. You need something to cool down your body - “I’m home but don’t mind me, keep playing your game” you see Jiwon is glueing his eyes on the tv screen trying out some new games he got recently. Chugging down half bottle of coke, you turn around and catch his eyes staring at you intensely. “What?!” You asked irritated. “Do you really need to wear a dress that short?” He glares at your outfit. “Dude it’s fucking hot outside, I can’t just wear jeans all day.” You’re heading towards him, putting the controler in his hands away and climbing on his lap. “Are you jealous? that’s very cute” leaving a quick kiss on his cheek. Jiwon moves his hands to your hips gripping tightly as he pushes your body closer to his, “I just don’t want other men staring at what’s mine” giving you a smirk before moving his hands under your dress and grabbing your butt cheeks. You let out a small moan while staring at his face. His hands leave your butt but moving up on your shoulders, removing your light jacket and dragging your straps off your shoulders. Slowly his hands pulls your dress down to your waist leaving your breasts freely to his sight. “No bra?" He furrows his brows at your tits. “I just ran down the street to get some stuff why would I put on a br—“ he doesn’t let you finish, his tongue is already making its way on your nipples. Every inch his tongue passes by, leaving you the wetness and the sensation sending straight down to your dripping pussy. “Aaah—“ you moan into his ears while your hands finding their ways to his hair and gripping it tightly to hold your body together. You can feel his teeth nibbling your sensitive nipples, it gives you goosebumps. “Please stop... I can’t hold myself anymore” you whine into his ears while your hips moving on his lap, feeling the heat in between your thighs. You feel a bit empty and cold as his lips are leaving your breasts, but not for long until he cups your breasts in his hands and squeeze them hard. Your body is shaking from his touch. “Please do something!” You beg him. “Get off my lap and sit on the couch” he demands. You do as what he said, sitting on the couch and spreading your legs wider so he can see your soaking wet panties waiting for him. “You are not very patient I see” he doesn’t forget to tease you while getting down on his knees in front of your aching pussy. He makes his way slowly from your thighs to your wet cave. Your body reacts to every touch from his fingers. His thumb stops on your panties, finding its way to your clit and press lightly on it. Just a little press could send you to your deep burning desire. His thumb keeps pressing and moving around lightly on your clit while he stares at your face desperately begging to be fucked.

#eun jiwon #sechskies #fanfiction

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of Texas relief, @mystifiedgal donated $10, and requested Sam developing mind-reading and learning what Dean wants. Thank you for donating!

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(read on AO3)

It starts as dreams, the night after they lose Ava. They drove straight from Lafayette to Peoria and after Peoria they move one town over so as not to be newcomers in a town that just had a homicide, and they work all through that day, in Bloomington, calling contacts and putting out feelers, trying to see what might've happened to a short sweet dark-haired girl, a secretary, who'd never done a thing to deserve this. Sam couldn't stop thinking that, no matter how stupid it was. How Ava, how all the rest, hadn't done a single thing to merit this kind of punishment.

He falls asleep though he didn't think he would. Dean's reading at the table with the lamp turning the backs of his ears, his neck, pure white, and Sam's looking at him and thinking about Ava's face shocked-white in the neon from the motel, and then he's asleep, and he's dreaming but it doesn't feel like dreaming. It doesn't feel like a vision, either, how that vicious sharp reality climbs down his throat. In the dream he knows he's dreaming, and he isn't really there, and not even the vague protagonist-body that's usually in his dreams, when he dreams he forgot to study for an exam, or is standing in a rotting house with an empty gun and ghosts slipping through the walls, or smiling at a clever girl with her blouse unbuttoned just right. Instead this dream is—feeling. A wash of dark, and water lapping at the edges of a boat he can't seem to see beyond. Dean, sitting in the stern, his head in his hands, and because Sam isn't really here he can't yell or act or splash the dark water into Dean's face, but—as soon as Sam thinks that, about splashing the water, the surge of fear is so overwhelming that the world turns black. Dean's fingers curl against the side of his head, his ring flashing, and his lips are parted and wet and something unknown flashes through Sam's gut and when he wakes up, dragging in air like he's been running a mile, the room is dark and Dean's a curled lump on the other bed and Sam carries that strange, fearful feeling with him all through the next day, like a fresh-broken bone, throbbing.

Dean frowns at him when he's snappish at lunch, but doesn't call him on it. Dean's being careful with him, which Sam—hates, is grateful for. So Sam maybe didn't have the best reaction to finding out their dad's last words, and maybe the thing with Gordon was—a lot. Gordon was a lot. Ava, poor Scott Carey, Andy and Ansem, Max. It's all been a lot. Dean maybe has been struggling with the secret he was carrying but Sam's struggling with how his mouth tastes like metal all the time, thinking of yellow eyes looming up out of the dark, and so he'll take some concessions, maybe even a little pity, if it makes Dean focus on what they really need to focus on. Dean's letting him direct, not looking for other hunts, staying right here in Illinois and keeping his nose to the ground for Ava or for any hint of another 1983 kid with unexplained powers, and Sam doesn't need anything else, beyond that, not right now. They'll work out the rest later.

Trouble is: Sam's focus is split. He spends the day casing details of Ava's life, job and fiancé and family history and any single second where her life might have brushed against the dark, and at night his dreams are a flood. Black water, rising. Dean, terrified, and his skin that kind of white that comes from a flare of too much exposure, and his eyes dark hollows, and the bones standing out in his hands, clutching at his head. On the fourth night of everything the same choking claustrophobia Dean turns his face and Sam sees that he's bleeding, from the ears and from the corner of his mouth, and the blood is so dark it looks black, too, and Dean covers his mouth with one hand and then though the surrounding water is the same endless expanse the boat becomes that cabin where Azazel rode their dad's body, the shift seamless and unexplained in the way of dreams, and Dean's got a hole in his stomach, the blood flooding out onto the dry wood of the boat/cabin floor, and he puts lax fingers against it that don't stop the bleeding at all, and Sam wakes up that time and has to scramble for the bathroom, retching, although when he clutches the sides of the sink nothing comes up and his mouth just tastes like—saltwater.

That day Dean brings him coffee in the morning and tries to be circumspect. He's bad at it. "Starting to smell like a dorm room in here, man," Dean says, mouth quirked. "Laundry stank and BO and, uh, making like the Lone Ranger?" He makes a vague gesture around his lap, but his heart's not in it. "Gotta air it out, dude. See some sunlight for twenty minutes."

"I'm working," Sam says, but to be honest he's not. He's sitting there with Ellen's half-remembered list of demon sightings in the last six months and instead of working the map he's been staring at the closed curtains for the whole time Dean's been gone. He drags his good hand over his face and lets his heavy casted arm thump down over the notebook. Dean raises his eyebrows, letting a glance over the empty map make his point for him, and Sam sighs. "Making like the Lone Ranger?" he says.

Dean's smile gets more real. "Unless you've got a pretty little Tonto around here, somewhere—" he starts, and Sam rolls his eyes and flicks a crumpled ball of wasted notes at Dean's face, and while he's sputtering Sam says, suddenly desperate for it, "Yeah, okay, we could use some air. Laundromat around here?"

"Hey," Dean says, sitting up, "I don't think I heard myself volunteer for laundry duty—" and then, twenty minutes later, they're installed at a laundromat, empty at nine on a Tuesday morning, Dean bitching still about whose turn it is to fold the whites but looking decently happy, stretched out in one of the shitty plastic chairs with coffee resting on his belly and a morning talkshow on the crackling TV mounted in one corner of the ceiling, and Sam feels it.

Sam feels it. There's a chair between him and Dean, piled with a box of donuts and the police folder Dean went out and stole yesterday, and Sam grips the armrest on the side Dean can't see and squeezes so hard the metal edges hurt his hand, and it's welling up in him. A grey clouded day with a shaft of sunlight slipping through and warming a patch of cold dirt—that's what it feels like, Dean's happiness. Sam licks his lips and breathes shallowly, controlled. When he glances over Dean's watching the show—some sponsored segment about a special vacuum for pet hair, in which he seems completed absorbed—and he's relaxed, in that way that Sam's only ever seen Dean relaxed when they're alone. Completely in his body, unselfconscious of how he's taking up space, boots kicked out on the grimy floor, his eyes clear. A fleck of pink donut frosting on his top lip. There are shadows under his eyes because he doesn't sleep enough and there's a bruise at his temple where Gordon hit him, but he's okay, for this moment. Sam can feel it, in a completely distinct way to how he feels his own body, his own aches and tiredness and worry, and he sits there in ringing panic until the washer buzzes. Dean blinks, the spell of the daytime anchors suspended, and frowns at him, and says, "Hey, earth to egghead, I am here in a strictly supervisory capacity," and Sam has to roll his eyes again and stand up and deal with the laundry, and there's Dean, again, the happiness muted and rolled under—a dragging pull at the chest, an ache long-held and familiar. Worry, concern. Annoyance, too, and then as Sam's dumping their load of jeans and jackets into one of the rolling baskets that twinge of annoyance slips away into guilt, and he has to brace his hands on the sides of the basket and breathe again, slowly, trying not to crawl out of his skin with the violation of it.

"What?" Dean says, while Sam's silent over the wet clothes. "Did I leave gum in my pocket or something?"

He knows Dean. He has known Dean, from when he was little and running around after him thinking his big brother was the coolest smartest person in the world to when he was a sad kid thinking his brother didn't actually like him that much to when he was an angry teenager wishing his brother would take his side in anything, ever, for fucking once. Dean was always a known quantity, no matter what. No surprises. Sam knew when he was cheerful and angry and hurt and he knew how to deal with every version. This is—more than that.

No signs, still, of Ava. They move outward. Day trips, stretching out into different towns, different precincts. They split up, Sam renting a car, and on the state highways with the radio silent Sam tries to think, with Dean not around with his thoughts filling up the air between them.

He catches hints, with other people. A sheriff who's not sure why some U.S. Marshal is asking questions, and he's clearly annoyed but there's an undercurrent Sam catches, a sapping weariness and sorrow that Sam blinks over before he excuses himself, wondering. A search: a wife, recently dead at forty. Sam chews the inside of his cheek raw on the drive back to Bloomington, and Dean texts and says dinner? back in thirty and Sam replies I'll pick up pizza and he waits in the lobby of the pizza place with his knee jogging and a waitress smiles at him, professional, and Sam takes a deep breath and looks at her, taking in her sneakers worn around the edges and her muscular legs and the greys pulled back into her ponytail and she says, "Can I get you a Coke or anything while you wait, hon?" and a swirl of heat curls into Sam's stomach, slants down queerly low, and he sits up straight and watches her eyes flick over him, his chest and lower, and he blurts out, "No," and then, too late, "thank you," and she frowns and the heat fizzles out into disappointment and he thinks, fuck. Fuck. What now?

With Dean the feelings bloom raw and real and present. Sam doesn't have to look. A day of frustration and no leads but Dean doesn't actually feel the frustration, not really, because he's humoring Sam's obsession over finding this girl Dean never even met—and there's a little satisfaction there, too, something that makes Sam set his beer down a little too hard on the table when he recognizes it, because they're spinning their wheels here, Dean thinks, and that means that Sam's being kept here, safe, away from demons and whatever plans there might be, so he's getting what he wanted, after all. The second Apes movie is on the motel TV and Dean's watching that, scratching his belly idly after too much pizza, and Sam goes into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet and presses his fingers into his ears so hard he can't hear anything but the beating rush of his own heart, and even through a closed door and quiet and dark behind Sam's eyes he can feel it: his brother, content to be here with Sam, on a night where nothing's yet gone wrong. Little does he know.

Is this some new shift, in Sam's visions? Not only to see the future but to see—what? He doesn't know how to define this. He's seen in movies when people read minds, like that terrible Mel Gibson thing that Dean loved even if he pretended it was shitty—it's always narrated dialogue, someone's thoughts piped directly into the psychic's head. What Sam's getting isn't as useful as that. Emotion, shifting sensation, the ebb and flood and draining drag of how people move through the difficult world. Guilt, misery. Contentment. Fury, brief and shocking, enough to make Sam snap the pencil he's holding, and he looks up to find Dean leafing through Dad's journal, his face a calm mask, and Sam thinks, jesus, he has to tell Dean. He has to, and yet: what can he possibly say?

The dreams are still bad. Sam comes awake like out of a sucking bog and he breathes slow, eyes on the ceiling. Dean's small snores in the next bed. The fear's a pool, lapping against Sam's skin, and he turns his head and says, very quietly, "Dean." There's no answer because of course Dean's deep asleep, of course he's dreaming, and Sam rolls over, watches the slow rise of Dean's chest, concentrates. The dark rises thick, miserable, but Sam already knows that part.

He gets up, keeping quiet, and takes the step between their beds. The room isn't all that dark, the parking lot lights seeping bright behind the curtains, so it's easy to see the gilded line of Dean's cheekbone, his lips parted in sleep, his eyes closed and still. His face tipped toward Sam's bed. Sam wants to touch it so abruptly that his fingers are already reaching out but he stops himself. He leans over, instead, bracing a hand on the headboard, and tries to focus, tries to pin down the amorphous shifting haze of Dean's thrumming head. When he closes his eyes he doesn't see the black lake, the creaking boat, but the fear slips, slides, lapping against him. Against them both. Sam can't grasp it. He's not Andy, to push thoughts into someone else, and he doesn't see how he could get control of this—to ease the fear, or tell Dean somehow that it's going to be okay even if, really, Sam's not sure that's true. He stands up and turns away, goes to the window to look out at the silent parking lot and breathe, waiting it out. The dream swells and subsides, around him, and maybe that's Dean slipping down into a different REM cycle or something but it's a relief. Sam presses his forehead against the cool glass. Visions, and now this. His pointless, stupid powers, that don't let him do anything except see shit he can barely hope to change. Whatever powers the yellow-eyed demon was after them for, Sam hopes he won't be disappointed that Sam's in particular are completely impotent.

By the time two weeks have gone by Sam's—used to it is maybe not the phrase, but he can deal. Still in Bloomington, still searching. Waiting around, now, mostly, for Ellen's contacts to get back to them, for Ash to come up with anything on a scrape of, as far as Dean could relate, the entire internet. If Sam's honest with himself he thinks they're never going to find Ava, and if they do certainly not alive, but they're looking anyway. Dean doesn't suggest they move on, doesn't argue for anything else. He keeps them fed and caffeinated, finds new badly bowdlerized action movies to watch on the room's TV, follows Sam's leads when Sam suggests a new avenue of searching. His dreams are a little calmer, maybe just from the fact that they're stalled in place—a vacation, of a sort, like Dean asked for even if they're doing nothing remotely fun—and during the day Sam sits surrounded by his thoughts and it's… comforting. Sort of.

Happy isn't the word, Sam realizes, for that thin sunlight feeling. Contentment, maybe. Dean has it when they're quiet together, when they're doing stupid chores like laundry or taking a break in research to make some salt rounds, when they're arguing over Stallone versus Van Damme for the tenth time. When they're working Sam's gut tightens without his say-so in random spikes of anxiety, of worry. His heart clenches and he actually puts a hand over it, and he's just reading the police blotter in the paper, so when he looks up and Dean's got his half open to the obits, Sam frowns and says, "What?"

Dean jerks, like he was caught at something. "I didn't say anything," he says, and his face is calm but his hand's spread over some thin column, some family's sadness, and when he gets up to piss Sam pulls the paper around and sees it's an obituary for someone's father, dead a little too early, and Sam sits back and puts his knuckles into his eyes and breathes out, trying to shake the lingering ache of it.

Coming out of the shower that night, Sam wraps a towel around his waist and steps out into the bedroom. "What's for dinner?" he says, thinking he'll argue for Chinese whatever Dean says, and thinking that he might try searching up more information about Ansem's family, in particular, to see if there were any patterns there they could use, and he's in his own head enough that it takes him a minute to feel how the room has shifted around him. He pauses, leaning over his duffle bag, trying to pinpoint.

"There's that cheesesteak place over on 15th," Dean says, easy, but he's not at ease. Sam's feeling that same unexpected swoop in his gut, that low achy pull, and this time it's not from a woman but from a guy and so it's a tightness in his nuts, his blood heating. Sam grips his t-shirt in both hands, tight enough that his broken wrist aches. His cheeks have flooded hot and he stands up, shrugs his shoulders and feels the cold air on the water still on his skin, and the—the lust, because that's what it is, this thick wanting that's pulsing up through his stomach—it swoops low, shifts, and the flooding rise of guilt and fear that follows is so fast that Sam coughs, shocked.

"Yo, Marlee Matlin," Dean says. "Cheesesteak?"

"Yeah," Sam says, not turning around. He doesn't want to see what face goes with this feeling. "No onions on mine."

Dean snorts. "Heathen," he says, and there's a rattle of the keys being dragged off the table and Dean swinging into his leather coat, and he says, "Have clothes on by the time I get back, you exhibitionist," and the tangled mix of wanting and terror and shame is so thick that Sam can still feel it when the door's slammed behind him, when the car's rumbling on, fading only when the sound of the engine does, and Sam turns around then finally and looks at the empty room and thinks—nothing. His brain doesn't know what to do with this.

The cheesesteaks are decent. They watch the local news for any blood-and-guts, and then Frasier reruns. Dean's content has been blasted away by what happened earlier but he's acting fine and Sam's wondering, now, how often he's been fine when something raw and bizarre was rearing up in him. How long it's been in him. "You okay?" Dean asks, at some point, light but careful, really asking, and Sam dredges up a half-smile from somewhere and shrugs, says, "Just thinking," and Dean rolls his eyes and says, "Oh, god help us all," and Sam throws a balled napkin at him, and Dean grins and swings into the bathroom and Sam hears the sink go on but when he closes his eyes his head is full of Dean's head, and he can almost see it: Dean braced over the sink, his head hung between his shoulders, his cheeks hot and his hands clenched and him saying to himself something like stop.

Sam blinks, back in the room. He did hear that. Stop, Dean says, inside his own head, loud and deliberate, but his thoughts swirl somewhere else and he's imagining—there's Sam's back, broad and damp and golden in the light, and the low line of the towel around his waist, and the wet curl of his hair around his ear, and how Dean wanted to put his mouth there, so badly he could almost taste the water—and then the harsh wave of recrimination floods the image out and Dean looks up into the mirror and thinks to himself, in clear words that he doesn't say out loud, you pathetic fucking freak, and Sam has to get up off the bed and slam out of the room and stand in the parking lot with freezing air on his bare arms and he holds his hand over his mouth so he doesn't curse out loud and he thinks jesus, bad enough that one of them is thinking it—the self-hatred that's tightening up his chest is hardly easing, from getting some distance, and soon he'll have to go back into the room because Dean will wonder what the hell he's doing, standing outside in his socks like a weirdo, and Sam has to say—he has to—this isn't fair, to either of them—but how can he say it without Dean knowing exactly what Sam must have overheard—overfelt—and Sam knows his brother, always has, and he knows what'll follow. A freakout, to say the least. Recrimination, reflected blame, anger and then fear—always the fear—that Sam's slipping further away, or worse that Dean will have pushed him further away—and Sam can't do this, he can't live like this, without Dean. He can't handle this stupid, terrible year, not without his brother on his side.

He takes a deep breath, cold in his lungs. Jesus, is that what he's going to do? Just live with it, because—

"Dude, what the hell?" comes Dean's voice, behind him. Sam turns and finds Dean, yes, standing in the open doorway, his hair a little damp at the edges like he splashed his face, his eyebrows high because here's his little brother being a weirdo like always. Except that he's more worried than his face lets on, and there's a rising tide of is something happening, is this something about the demon, the tang of fear that fills every night.

"Thought I heard something," Sam says, trying to interrupt it before it gets too bad. "By the car. I think it was just a dog or something."

He's a better liar than Dean gives him credit for; already it's working, the fear sliding into warm exasperation. That thin, frail beam of sunlight. "Freaking out Fido, now?" Dean says, while Sam walks wincing back across the parking lot, scattered gravel poking through his socks. "New low, bro."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, brushing past where Dean's holding the door open, and there's a thrill—in his chest, in Dean's—that he clamps down on, ignores, but he can't ignore the misery around it. That's a problem.

Sam stays awake that night, waiting for Dean to sleep. The black lake, the blood. Sam turns on his side and watches Dean's face and closes his eyes slowly, thinking of that moment just before the guilt, the shame—the clear, unadulterated want—and when he dreams they're in the cabin, again, and Dean's bleeding with his unconcerned hand holding nothing inside, and the water surges hard against the sides of the boat, floods the floorboards, and Sam opens his eyes and slides off his bed onto the floor and lays his hand onto Dean's stomach where in the dream he's dying, and he presses his forehead against the mattress and shudders, aching with how much it hurts, and the dream—shifts.

He breathes in, still halfway in sleep himself. Dean's hand covered in blood and his shoulders hunched up, but his face turns up and he sees Sam, standing there in the doorway watching him. He says something but Sam, the real Sam, can't hear it; the Sam-of-the-dream comes closer, looms. He looks a foot taller than Dean, broader. Monstrous almost. Sam catches his breath and the dream-Sam puts his hand over Dean's hand, holds it tighter against the wound, and Dean tips his head back and murmurs something and the Sam of the dream presses their hands tighter, hard enough that it should hurt except in the way of dreams there's no real pain but only the knowledge of being torn open—and then the Sam of the dream leans in and presses his mouth to Dean's, a chaste strange kiss, like kissing marble—and their hands sink into Dean's stomach, tearing—and when the kiss ends Sam lifts up and Dean opens his eyes and Sam's eyes are yellow, from edge to edge, and Sam shoves away from the bed, scrambling so fast he slams his shoulder into the frame of his own, and by some fucking miracle Dean doesn't wake up so Sam's left panting, alone on the carpet in the dark, a remembered warmth against his lips and his hand feeling an echoed-ghost slickness of black, dripping blood.

He puts on his sneakers, a hoodie, sticks his phone in his pocket but turns it off. He goes for a run. Three a.m. is silent around here and he needs that, needs no people. He runs hard enough and long enough that it's hard to think beyond the burning in his thighs, his lungs. His hurting shoulder where he's going to have a bruise.

When he gets back Dean comes awake at the door opening. "Where were you?" he says, bleary, and Sam says, "Out for a run, go back to sleep," and Dean's tired enough that he blinks at Sam heavily and mumbles, "Okay, freak," and subsides, turning over and hugging the pillow close. Sam stands with his back to the door, his hands fisted around the knob, watching as Dean slips back down into sleep, and it's deep, dreamless, a relief.

Sam showers and takes his time about it. He's not getting back to bed today. He washes his hair and his face, not bothering to be careful about keeping his cast dry anymore—it's almost time for it to come off, anyway—and his brain won't empty, won't let him forget. He can't get the image of his own eyes out of his head. Glinting gold. The version of him in the dream wasn't cruel, because it wasn't human. Peeling Dean open and giving him what he wanted and killing him, all at once. It's not hard to interpret.

He washes the rest, streaking soap. Takes his limp dick in hand, running his thumb under the foreskin, and then holds himself, his cast braced against the tile wall. He hasn't jerked off in—he can't even remember, the last time. It could clear his head. He squeezes, sliding wet up to the head, but what he imagines is—Dean's mouth, in the dark, barely parted. His own shoulders, gleaming inside Dean's head. He lets go of his dick and wipes his hand over his lips, trying to get the sensation out, and shuts off the water. It can't go on like this. Not like this.

He dries off in a half-assed way and tugs on boxers and nothing else. Out in the room Dean's still asleep and dawn's not yet rising. Sam shuts off the bathroom light and in the mostly-dark goes over to Dean's bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, and puts his hand on the back of Dean's neck. A blurring shift, coming on like a slow dimmer switch, as he rises up out of whatever dreamless space he was in. "Dean," Sam says, very quietly, and Dean's eye slits open, gleaming. He turns his head, rolls back a little, and Sam's hand drags along to his shoulder, fitting there on the smooth warm round of it. Dean blinks and is still almost entirely offline, the fog of his thoughts nothing but grey sleep, and Sam leans down and kisses him, then, catches his mouth a little off-center with his lips dry, his breath sour, his body warm and loose and unable to stop him.

No reaction for a few seconds, either in his body or his head. Sam opens his mouth and presses Dean's lips wider and gets the morning-taste of him, thick and strange, soft. He touches Dean's chin, the damp edge of his cast dragging against his skin, and it's that which seems to wake Dean up—his body going stiff, his mind flooding with—god, Sam can't untangle it all. "What," Dean says, against Sam's mouth, pulling back, but Sam grips his shoulder and presses him flat against the bed, leaning over him, keeping him here. Flicker of his eyelashes in the dark and his mouth's shining now, too, from Sam's mouth. Sam's stomach turns over to see it.

Sam doesn't say anything. Dean's breathing hard, looking up at him. Fear, pooling around the bed, flooding the room like the bed's the boat and the room's the lake, and Sam maybe doesn't get it entirely—he thinks of his eyes, yellow in Dean's mind, and his hand clenches hard enough on Dean's shoulder that Dean cringes away, grips Sam's wrist. "Sam," Dean says, uncertain—wondering if he's still dreaming—and Sam leans down and kisses him again, ignores Dean's stiff scared lips and licks inside, knocking him open, his cast heavy on Dean's chest, his wet hair dripping cold. He feels it, of course, when it starts to wake in Dean—the sensation of his body, his mouth, the warmth rising south, the shock of getting this—the confusion—and he pulls away, enough that he can look into Dean's eyes, says, "Feel this," and breaks Dean's grip on his wrist and slides his hand down under the blanket and past Dean's flinching belly to his dick, heavy in his underwear, swelling. Dean takes a shuddering shocked breath and the rise of want is so thick that it chokes out the fear, the guilt, his mind going full and focused at getting his dick held by someone he wants as badly as he wants Sam. God. To know that.

The want is so intense that Sam knows it won't matter that he's never done this before. A dick is a dick, though, he figures, and he slips his fingers inside the waistband, finds the pole of it—thick, the skin unexpectedly soft—and Dean's body arches under his, his breath hot and fast already. Sam doesn't want this, not in the same way, but it hardly matters when Dean's desire roars high between them. "Touch me," Sam says, and Dean goes for Sam's chest, his shoulders, grasping in fumbled shock, while Sam gets a better grip, pumps, finding a rhythm. Awkward with his left hand but clearly doing the job, from how Dean's already shaking, his thighs spreading for it under the blanket, his fingers tight in Sam's skin. Sam leans down, finds Dean's mouth again, and Dean opens for him easy, letting Sam inside, his hands finding Sam's jaw. His fingers careful, uncertain—sliding up into Sam's damp hair, holding—and his hips jerk—and Sam licks into Dean's mouth and pumps him faster, his shoulder sore and aching, his fingers getting slick—jesus, Sam runs his thumb over the head and feels the wet leaking—and Dean jerks under him like touching a live wire and comes just like that, hips shoving up into Sam's grip, wet heat that spills over Sam's hand and against his wrist. Sam gentles his grip and Dean jerks into his palm, getting the last of it out. His chest is heaving, under Sam's cast. Sam kisses him, again, and Dean's teeth drag against his lip, and Sam slides his hand up out of Dean's shorts and presses his palm firm against his bare belly, heedless of the mess.

When he lifts up Dean's staring at him, fixed. The room's inundated with his thoughts, a whitewater crush. Sam's mouth tastes like metal. Dean's fingers reach up, white, and touch his cheek, and Sam drags in air and lets himself be touched, and Dean doesn't know what to do with this. He wants to tackle Sam back to the bed and he wants to crawl under something and he wants to be not who he is because who he is has ruined—

"Stop," Sam says, pressing his palm harder against Dean's belly. "Stop thinking."

Dean licks his lips, looks back and forth between Sam's eyes. Distracted from the misery but just as bewildered, and worse. "What are you thinking?" he says, after a few seconds. Scrape of voice, thick and unsure.

"I'm thinking I want you," Sam says, and Dean blinks and this terrible curl of hope goes through him, another kind of light like a brush of rose-fingered dawn at the edge of a dark landscape, and Sam hasn't felt that, hasn't come close to that, this whole awful time. Sam bites his lips and hopes Dean doesn't hear the next part as qualification: "I want you here. With me. Not—freaking out. Not worried about—whatever it is you're always worrying about."

Dean swallows. His face turns away a little. "Me, worry," he says, breath of a scoff, and there's that rawness again, the shame pulling at his gut. Afraid of this and afraid of Sam in equal measure.

Sam can't stand it. He won't have it. "Don't," he says, and Dean's eyes flick at him sidelong, his mouth turning to some unhappy shape, and Sam pushes in and spreads out over the top of him and kisses him again, his wet gross hand sliding up Dean's side, his mouth crushed hard against Dean's mouth. Dean kisses back this time, for real, and he's—softer, tenderer, than Sam would have ever imagined Dean would kiss, if he had ever imagined it.

It's Sam who breaks the kiss—every part of Dean, body and mind, is full of the feeling that he would never, ever stop unless the room was on fire, and maybe not even then—and when they're breathing against each other Dean's hand worms up out of the blanket and finds Sam's side, over his ribs. Squeezes there, very lightly, his heart thrilling terrified at the presumption. "Sammy," he says, one word a complicated snarl of a question, and Sam shakes his head, can't answer. He moves his right arm, bracing the cast instead by Dean's head, and Dean's chest rises under the release of the weight. A release, all over, and that dawn keeps rising, though the lake's still black and its depths are impossible to see.

Sam tucks his head down, his face in Dean's throat, like they're hugging, like something familiar at least, and Dean's arm goes around his back, holding him. "Sam," he whispers, against Sam's hair. Sam closes his eyes and feels the surge of it: tender, violent, aching. A glut that presses against the back of his teeth with all he wants to say and won't.

He doesn't know if that feeling is his, or Dean's. Behind his eyes it's black and dawn's still not here. On a lake, in the dark, there's a boat creaking, the water surging high but not yet spilling over the side.

#ffcc #wincest #pining!dean #psychic sam #mildly dubious consent #my writing

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wulfrann · 4 years

Text

A wingman winged (Palmetto by the Sea part 1)

All for the game

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationship: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten & Allison Reynolds, Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (side)

Additional Tags: AU - Modern Setting, AU - No Exy, First Meeting, Eden’s Twilight, Neil ‘Best Wingman’ Josten

[Part 1 of the Palmetto by the Sea series - Chapter 1/1 - 3k words - Published 2020-12-10]

Summary :

It's a Saturday night at Eden's, and Allison needs Neil's help to approach the object of her long-suffering crush - that is to say, she needs him to distract the girl's intimidating friend long enough that she's able to approach in the first place.

(TW: alcohol, sexual harassment (short-lived), brief display of violence, smoking)

[Read on Ao3]

A wingman winged

The music thumps the ground in rhythm, low and deep like a pulse as it throbs through the club and reverberates into the bodies twisting as one on the dance floor. Eden’s Twilight isn’t really Neil’s scene, but the dark aesthetic and ever-shifting neon lighting make it easy to blend in. The shadows bend and stretch over his scars, reducing them to odd tattoos at first glance - and he makes sure he never gets a second. The clothes he’s wearing are nice enough and all black, but neither form-fitting nor revealing. Standing next to Allison’s brand of tastefully flashy clubwear, he’s no more than a foil. Seduction is her domain, and she thrives on it.

Which is what makes the fact that she’s asking him for help absolutely baffling.

“I’ve seen you wrap more than half this crowd around your little finger like it was nothing. Why can’t you just do the same with her?”

“You don’t understand,” Allison repeats for the third time that night. She has her chin in her hand and is leaning over her drink, swirling the expensive cocktail around with her straw. “I’ve tried everything, and the most I’ve gotten is for her to look at me. She hasn’t even tried to buy me a drink.”

“Have you tried talking to her?”

Allison scoffs. “I don’t set myself up for failure. She’s given me no sign that she’s interested. Besides, that little troll of a man she keeps around would probably bite me if I tried.”

Neil snorts at that. He’s seen the man in question glare people away, from both himself and his friend, all evening - on one occasion, he’s almost certain that the man even pulled out a knife. There’s no mistaking the way that the light glinted off of the blade, not even from across a crowded nightclub. Neil would recognise that brief flash anywhere.

His friend though, she looks friendly enough. White hair dyed rainbow at the tips, a silver cross, a few piercings. She’s wearing a black dress that wouldn’t look out of place in daylight and a soft smile that Neil is tempted to believe is fake just because of how earnest it looks. She’s also got the muscle structure of an athlete, a fact which Allison has reminded him of enough times that he’ll probably never be able to forget.

“Couldn’t you just accept your defeat and move on?” Neil tries, but he’s known Allison long enough that his heart isn’t in it. She’s never been one to give up.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen the arms on her? I’m getting her in my bed whether her little bodyguard likes it or not.”

“What if she’s straight?”

Allison shakes her head at him in that way that means he’s failed at some kind of social task and starts to count her points off her fingers. “Neil, the woman is ripped, has an undercut, rainbow hair, and armpit hair.”

“How do you know-”

“I have eyes. Besides, that blond troll she always comes here with is definitely gay, and everyone knows queer people travel in group.”

Neil throws a skeptical glance towards the unlikely duo, but doesn’t argue. None of what Allison listed strikes him as particularly telling, but he’s been told that his ‘gaydar’ is ‘absolutely abysmal’ on numerous occasions by about everyone he knows except Kevin, who's just as bad as him if Allison can be trusted.

Neil might as well accept his fate. “What do you want me to do?”

Allison grins at him. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

Locating the two of them isn’t as easy when he’s not sitting on the upper level but standing right here in the crowd, surrounded by people and blinded by the rapidly changing lights. Years of hyper-vigilance end up paying off once he’s gotten his bearings right, however, and he starts making his roundabout way towards the section of wall they’re leaning on. The man is sipping on some kind of drink and staring blankly into the distance while the woman does most of the talking, though she does glance in Allison’s general direction more than once in the amount of time it takes Neil to reach them. He doesn’t blame her - even he has to admit that Allison’s dancing is a thing of beauty.

Neil, on the other hand, only ever pretends to dance. He’s gone out with his friends often enough that he’s picked up a few generic moves and can blend in, but it just - doesn’t appeal to him. Still, what little grasp he has on it is enough to get to his target unnoticed.

One falsely awkward step later and he’s got a glassful of whiskey and coke soaking into the man’s black tank top and dripping down his pants.

The hand wrapped around his arm, steadying him, is an unexpected addition. Neil’s previous drink messed his balance at the last minute and he’s pretty sure he’d have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t been caught. The man’s grip is undeniable strong, but it’s the eyes that really hold Neil down to his spot. He can’t quite tell the color because of the many strobing lights and colored neons flashing around, but he thinks they might be brown.

“Oops,” Neil says, straightening himself up with exaggerated movements. The man’s eyes flicker down his drenched top before sliding back up to Neil’s eyes without so much as a frown. “Sorry for your muscle shirt,” Neil adds as an after-thought, digging the word out of an afternoon spent (unwillingly) shopping with Allison.

The man arcs a single eyebrow. “You’re drunk,” he says, with one of the flattest voices Neil has ever heard.

Neil smiles widely, swaying a little on his feet. He still has the man’s hand wrapped around his bicep. “No,” he retorts, slurring the words a bit, “I’m Neil.”

The eyebrow arcs up even higher. Neil’s smile widens. He’s about to say something else, whatever sentence he can think of that would maintain the man’s attention on him, when someone else’s voice cuts in.

“Andrew, you’re soaked!”

Neil turns towards the woman, spying Allison making her way over from behind her, and raises his now empty glass. “My fault. I wasn’t looking.”

She smiles. From close up, it looks even softer than Neil thought. “That’s okay, it happens,” she says, then glances down where the man’s hands - Andrew’s? - is still holding on to him. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I just tripped,” Neil reassures her, then looks over at Andrew, whose eyes haven’t left his face. He’s… staring, with an intensity that catches Neil off-guard. And then he’s not, because Allison is coming over and calling his name. The hand drops from his arm like it was burned.

“Neil! There you are.” She puts a hand on his shoulder, then turns, falsely confused, towards Andrew and his friend. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” the woman says, looking a little stunned.

“Your friend spilled his drink on me,” Andrew states, throwing a look at his own friend.

“I was just going to ask the barman for paper towels,” the object of Allison's scheming adds, already half-turning away.

Allison doesn’t hesitate one second before following suit, offering her help. When the woman starts to protest, she takes hold of her arm and all but drags her to the bar. Neil watches the interaction without holding back his smile.

When he turns back towards Andrew, the man is staring at him with a frown.

“Sorry again for your shirt,” Neil offers, though he forgets to make himself sound like he means it. “You should probably take it off.”

The arched eyebrow comes back, and Neil realizes what he just said with a choked laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that. But it would dry faster,” he adds, feeling stupid. Andrew doesn’t look convinced, though, so he feels compelled to add, “I don’t swing.”

“I don’t watch baseball,” Andrew deadpans.

“I’m not talking about baseball,” Neil says, grimacing in disgust. “It’s not even a real sport.”

The look Andrew gives him is the blankest one yet. Neil looks down into his empty glass, then at Andrew’s tank top.

“You really should rinse it down, at least,” he ends up saying. “Otherwise it’s going to stick.”

Andrew stares at him a little longer, then downs his glass and starts to move in the direction of the bathroom. For some reason, Neil follows.

The bathroom is painted mostly black, like just about everything in Eden’s. Only the large sink is white. Neil leans back against it and watches as Andrew grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser and soaks them with water, then starts to wipe at his shirt. He thinks about helping, but remembers the way Andrew avoided touching anyone on his way to the bathroom and figures that there’s not much he could do, anyway.

“You’re not drunk,” Andrew states after a while.

Neil debates lying as Andrew throws the wet ball of paper away and walks to the dispenser to get more, but decides against it. “No, I’m not. I don’t like it.”

Andrew barely glances at him. “You play drunk well for someone who doesn’t like it.”

“S’not hard,” Neil says, shrugging, then figures he might as well come clean and adds: “Allison needed an excuse to talk to your friend.”

Andrew meets his eyes then, eyebrow arched up. “Did she try buying her a drink?”

“That’s what I said.” Neil smiles, then shrugs again. “Apparently she’s been trying to get your friend’s attention for weeks, but nothing’s worked.”

Andrew lets a sharp breath out of his nose, which Neil guesses is the equivalent of a laugh, if the lack of facial expression he's shown so far is anything to go by. “If that’s what she thinks, then your friend’s blind.”

Neil grins. “I’m glad. I thought I’d caught her staring a few times, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Renee likes to think she’s subtle.”

“Well, at least they’re talking now. I don’t think you’re getting those paper towels though,” Neil adds, watching Andrew wash his hands with a distracted kind of fascination. Somehow, the dark armbands encasing both of Andrew’s forearms make his hands stand out. Broad, and worn, with an odd elegance in the way they move. Neil would bet a lot of money on Andrew having some kind of manual career, at the very least a hobby. Something meticulous.

It’s only after Andrew’s wiped his hands and thrown away one last paper towel that Neil realizes he’s been staring, and he moves his eyes to Andrew’s face instead. He finds him with his head tipped slightly to the side, looking at him with the faintest hint of curiosity on his face.

Neil is about to say something - he's not sure what - when some guy he’d barely registered on his radar suddenly steps into his space.

"Hey there, pretty face,” the guy slurs, exhaling cheap booze right into Neil’s face. “Were you waiting for me?"

Neil looks up at the guy's face and begrudgingly resists the urge to bash an elbow into his nose. "Obviously not," he spits.

Hoping that it's enough for the guy to take his hint and leave, Neil starts to turn back towards Andrew. He is immediately jostled back towards the guy as a large hand grabs his chin and twists. "Hey, I was talking to you, Scarface."

"Wow, I've never heard that one before," Neil retorts, rolling his eyes. "You know, you should really make up your mind, asshole. Either I'm pretty or I'm not. Now get lost," Neil says, and is about to jam his knee into the guy's crotch when something tears the asshole away from him. Neil's balance is shaken by the movement, but he manages to stay upright by gripping the sink.

"You don't touch people without their permission. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?" Andrew says, pressing down upon the hold he has on the guy's arm, which he's twisted behind his back with one hand. He has a knife pressed to the guy's throat with the other. His voice is flat enough to cut. "If I see you again, I'll gut you. Understood?"

The guy nods and Andrew sends him sprawling onto the floor. He scrambles quickly to his feet and promptly runs out the door. Light glints off the small knife’s blade, clutched so tightly Andrew’s knuckles look white.

"Thanks," Neil says in the silence. "But I could have handled it."

"I don't care," Andrew snarls back.

Neil looks at the tension oozing out of Andrew's every cell and decides to keep silent. It's the right decision, judging by the way Andrew closes his eyes and starts packing up the tension, folding it back inside little by little. Neil knows the feeling.

The knife vanishes from his hand (and into one of the sheaths Neil suspects are sewn into the armbands), and Neil follows Andrew out of the bathroom. They stand by the door for a bit while Neil watches Andrew scanning the crowd with a clenched jaw. The tension is still there, even packed up, even pressed down tight under the surface of his skin. It needs more space than that to leave.

"Let's get out of here," Neil offers.

Andrew glances at him, then nods. Neil takes a hold of the hem of Andrew's shirt and leads the way out of the club.

The night's chill is a welcome change of pace after the density of the packed club's air. Neil inhales a gallon of it as soon as they've stepped outside, and hears Andrew do the same. It smells of cigarette butts and wet asphalt. He had no idea it'd rained.

A faint click on his right - Andrew lights a cigarette and offers him another one. Neil takes it and watches the smoke spill out of Andrew’s mouth like magic, grabbing hold of the lighter only as an afterthought. The metal is smooth under his touch and slightly warm over the imprint of Andrew’s hand. Neil brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag, closing his eyes to focus on the burning air flow rushing down his windpipe. He blows it out smiling, eyes trailing after the faint grey cloud. Andrew’s eyes are on him.

“Thanks,” he tells him, raising his cigarette in the air.

They smoke in silence. Neil lets the little circle of fire eat away at his cigarette without taking another drag, content just to breathe and to watch as the tension coiled so tight in Andrew’s chest unwinds, seeping out, one exhalation at a time, into the quiet night.

The quiet can’t last forever, however, especially not on a Saturday night at Eden’s doorsteps, and so the peace is brutally broken a few minutes later as a group of inebriated twenty-somethings spill out over the sidewalk laughing loudly and singing songs. Andrew adroitly sidesteps one of them as he staggers to the side before getting dragged back by his friend, brushing shoulders with Neil. They got their stuff back from the cloakroom when they stepped out and Andrew’s wearing a leather jacket over his muscle shirt, black as the rest of his clothes.

Andrew looks at the group staggering its way down the street until they’re far enough they can barely hear them. “Are you hungry?”

Neil shrugs. “Kinda. Why? Are you asking me to dinner?” Neil asks, smile tugging at his lips. “I doubt we’ll find anything open.”

Andrew smothers the butt of his cigarette on the wall and tosses it into the trashcan Eden’s staff left by the door, then gestures at Neil to follow. It goes against about every instinct Neil has cultivated along the years, but he does.

He doesn’t know why. Andrew’s back is broad and he walks at a steady pace, with an assurance that doesn’t look learned and yet still probably is. Neil remembers the way Andrew looked when he bent the asshole’s arm behind his back, like what he really wanted was to break it in half but knew that he had to hold back. His voice hadn’t faltered then, either. Neil wonders if it ever does.

They stop in front of a motor bike parked some way off of the club, street lights glinting off of the metal and black bodywork. Andrew gets a helmet from some kind of locked compartment and hands it over to Neil, who takes it by reflex.

“Where are we going?” he asks, turning the helmet around in his hands. He’s starting to wonder whether Andrew’s even aware that there are other colors outside of black.

Andrew grabs a pair of gloves out of the compartment and slips them on. “A kebab joint,” he says without looking at Neil. “It’s open until 3.”

Neil considers the bike, then the helmet in his hands. “I’ve never ridden on a bike before.”

“Don’t get on before I tell you to. Don’t make me lose my balance. When the bike leans into turns, lean with it,” he drones out. “If you do that and hold on, you’ll be fine.”

Neil considers Andrew. The solid stance of him. Once he climbs on the bike, he’ll have no control until they stop.

“Okay.”

There’s a buzzing beneath his kin.

The kebab joint is a tiny square of neon light squeezed in-between two higher-end shops, and the only open place to sell food for miles around. There are no tables and no interior, just a counter with a window display that reminds Neil of ice-cream shops, filled with meat fillings, some kind of fried rolls, and a handful of sad-looking pastries. The items are listed above and to the sides - hamburgers, kebabs, paninis, all with various meats and side dishes and an array of sauces Neil’s never heard of before. He has no idea where to start, and so asks for the same thing Andrew ordered.

They pack the smell of cheap food and fat in plastic bags and leave the shop front to sit by the pier. The kebab is greasy and would have made Kevin scream, but the meat is tasty and the sauce is good, and it’s somehow the perfect thing to eat right now.

Through the cloud of their food wafts the sharp smell of iodine. They claimed a spot of the pier to sit, legs dangling through the railing, and the wood too smells of salt, is so ingrained with it that it sticks slightly to the skin and leaves imprints of tiny crystals on their clothes.

They eat in silence; the wash and backwash of the sea beneath the pier is a rolling whisper, swishing quietly past the piles and back again, a dark rippling sky in movement. There is no agitation around them, yet still it seems as though the sea swallows all sounds, pillows the silence with its mass, shaping a quietude with depth. It’s a quality of peace Neil has never felt before.

He’s just about finished with his food when his phone buzzes.

[From: Allison] where r u??

Neil snorts. Andrew raises a quizzical eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head.

[To: Allison] I left 30 minutes ago, but thank you for noticing.

[From: Allison] was busy :-*

[From: Allison] u haven’t been kidnapped right? did u go home?

[To: Allison] No and no. I’m at the pier with Andrew.

[From: Allison] ?????

[From: Allison] was that a joke???

Neil huffs out a laugh, enjoying the confusion, and puts his phone on silent as more texts keep coming in. Andrew’s phone buzzes once, but he doesn’t check it - just grabs a cigarette and his lighter, replacing the smell of their meal with another. The smoke drifts up and disperses, yielding to the handful of stars valiantly fighting against the electrical constellations of city lights. The moon is gibbous amongst them and fractal upon the sea; Neil distractedly notices that it’s waning, as the curve makes a d and Jean’s trick somehow never left his mind, despite his lack of interest in the conversation at the time.

It makes Andrew look even paler, this lighting. His hair is made of silver and the volumes of his face either stand out or cave, stark and almost unreal.

Andrew’s eyes flick to his.

“Staring.”

Neil smiles. He takes the cigarette from Andrew’s hand and takes a drag, blowing memories up, up, up until they’re gone.

“What do you do?” he asks when he hands the cigarette back. “For a living, I mean.”

Andrew doesn't answer. He just looks at Neil and pulls on his cigarette. A bit of wind blows the smoke sideways, across his cheek and back to land.

"If you won't tell me, I'll guess," Neil says when it's clear he's not getting an answer, and pretends to study Andrew's appearance for clues. "You could be an artist. You look like one." He grins at the unimpressed look on Andrew's face. "Bit of a cursed poet vibe, with the piercings and all that black. Strong aesthetic. I guess you could be a musician, too."

The corner of Andrew's mouth twitches. "Shallow."

Neil shrugs. Appearances tell a lot more than people think, but he's pretty sure he got it wrong. He doesn't actually know how artists are supposed to look like - that's not really the kind of things he learned to watch out for - but it's as good a guess as anything. "It's either that or undertaker."

Andrew blows smoke out through his nose. "Sorry to disappoint, but I just serve drinks."

Neil hums. "Full time?"

"No. I also cook."

"You're a chef, and you still eat food like this?" Neil asks, waving at the plastic bag sitting between them.

"Aide," Andrew corrects. "Anas' is the only decent place still open. I don't see you complaining."

"It was pretty good," Neil grants, then adds, because it's only fair: "I'm a student."

"Late calling?"

Neil smiles. "Something like it."

An eyebrow shaped like a question. Neil ignores it in favor of the sea, but the weight of Andrew's gaze stays fixed on him like an anchor. He wonders if Andrew's trying to guess what something like it may hide; wonders how far away from reality he's wandering, trying to find something reasonable; wonders, even, how he'd react if Neil told him the truth. Whether he'd balk at the scars that prove it or stare at them the same way he's staring at the ones across his face now, blank and unwavering, on the upside of bored.

Riding on Andrew's bike the second time is just as exhilarating as the first. The city flies by in a blur - the docks, the bars, the empty streets, they blend together and melt together until there's nothing really left but them, passing. Alone. A figment caught between two worlds.

When Andrew drops him off, the ground still moves beneath his feet. Neil shoves his hand into his pockets and grins, feeling absurdly carefree.

"Thank you. For the ride and for the food - it was amazing."

He means it. Andrew is looking at him like he's trying to figure out if he does. He holds out his hand, and Neil frowns.

He looks to the sky and sighs. "Your phone."

"Oh," Neil says. He puts his phone in Andrew's palm.

Andrew takes one glove off and puts his number in quickly. He tosses his phone back to Neil and brings two fingers up to his temple in salute.

The bike roars to life, the noise filling the street until it's gone. Neil looks down at the brand new contact in his phone, carefully prodding at the little bit of warmth beneath his sternum.

Matt, Dan, Wymack, Allison, Abby, Kevin, his therapist, his dentist and his doctor. Andrew's number brings the staggering total amount of contacts into his phone to a very satisfying 10.

#andreil #tfc #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #all for the game #the foxhole court #allison reynolds #renee walker #renison #modern au #palmetto by the sea #a wingman winged #no exy au #fanfiction #wulfrann writes #this has been sitting in my wips for 9 months rip

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sirtadcooper · 3 years

Text

Javier Peña and the Brown-Nosed Bear

Fandom: Narcos Category: Gen, Humour, Crack Relationships: Javier Peña & Steve Murphy Characters: Javier Peña, Steve Murphy Word Count: 1,900+ For: @djarsdin and @javierian.

Warnings: Swearing, drug mentions, crack (as in a silly idea) treated far too seriously, period inaccuracies, food, McDonald’s.

Summary: Javier Peña is not having a good day so Steve Murphy brings him a McDonald’s Happy Meal to cheer him up.

Notes: This makes no sense. The Happy Meal menu is from the UK in 2021, the toys are from 2018 and the boys are in the 1980s. But just go with it, for me, pretty please?

This, all of this, was inspired by @djarsdin’s tag “someone get this man a happy meal” under this already dryly funny post by @javierian. This is for both of you. :)

Any Spanish is from Google Translate so please forgive me if it’s wrong.

(One-shot.)

Javier Peña and the Brown-Nosed Bear

Javier is staring blankly down at a page, cigarette hanging loosely from one hand as he cups his chin with the other. The typewritten words are blurring and he’s read the same paragraph countless times now, in limbo, unable to get any further.

A small red box, having evidently just been thrown in his direction, lands with a soft thud right under his nose. Javi jerks back with a start, blurry black and white suddenly replaced with bright red and… yellow? Javi blinks, his tired eyes finally focus — it’s a McDonald’s Happy Meal.

“There,” says Steve, “now cheer the fuck up.”

He sets two soda cups down safely on the desk and throws himself down onto his chair with enough force to send it rolling backwards a few feet. Identical Happy Meal box cradled lovingly on his lap, he rolls the chair forwards with his feet until he’s close enough to his desk again to put his boots up on it.

Looking over, Steve nods meaningfully at Javi’s paperwork.

Javi follows his gaze. “Shit.”

Javi’s half cigarette has been dropping flakes of ash onto his page. He swipes the tiny flakes away with the side of his hand — when only faint grey stains remain on the crisp white paper, he rests the still lit cigarette on the rim of the ashtray and leaves it sitting there, hazy wisps of smoke rising into the air.

“You look like shit,” Steve comments needlessly around a huge bite of a chicken burger.

Javi grimaces, rubbing at his tired eyes. He feels like shit, he doesn’t need to be told, thank you, he wants to say. Instead, he says aloud, “How’d things go with your C.I.?”

Chewing noisily, Steve shrugs. “No shop talk over dinner. I’ll tell you later. Eat up.”

With a pointed look, Javi sets the paperwork aside. Perhaps he will try to finish it again later, perhaps tomorrow, or even better still it may find itself in Steve’s annoyingly sparse inbox.

Opening the red and yellow box, Javi finds a bag of fries and a box of chicken nuggets. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was — as soon as the scent of fried fast food hits his nostrils his mouth starts to water. He glances at the clock — well after four in the afternoon. Last time he had checked it was just before one.

“Oh — almost forgot.” Steve plunges his hand into his jacket pocket. First he places a tiny tub of ketchup on Javi’s side of their desk, then a wad of napkins an inch thick.

“Your kid joining us?” Javi asks, meaning the excessive collection of napkins, but concentrating on pulling the lid off the ketchup dip.

Steve, halfway through his chicken burger already, adopts an enigmatic expression. “I’ve learned to be prepared.”

Javi is absolutely ravenous — the chicken nuggets and fries after almost a day’s unintended fasting are heavenly.

They both eat in companionable silence until—

Crunch!

Javi looks up from his food, takes a moment to register what’s in front of his eyes. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a carrot stick.”

“What’s it doing in a kid’s meal?” Javi asks, and then, more to himself, “Why am I eating a kid’s meal?”

“One — it’s healthy. Connie and I are watching what we eat right now and trying to keep in shape.” Javi can think of other ways two married people could keep in shape, but hasn’t the chance to voice his opinion as Steve carries on, “Two — shut up, it’s tasty, ain’t it? And three — I thought it might cheer you up, you’ve been a real downer today.” He doesn’t use a finger to emphasise each point, rather a wiggle of a carrot stick with the end bitten off. Javi decides instantly that he doesn’t like that.

“I’m touched,” he says dryly, dipping a fry in his sauce. He really is touched by the kind thought from his partner, but the kind thought is wrapped in so many layers of hillbilly bullshit that it’s hard to find the words to express that. He leaves his gratitude unsaid, veers the conversation away. “How did you order all this, anyways? Your Spanish isn’t that good.”

Steve appears offended, which Javi knows to mean that he isn’t offended at all. “Hey, I know the words for ‘drug dealer’ and ‘cocaine’ and ‘gun’.”

Javi peers into his red and yellow box — only a plastic bag with something black inside remains. “I don’t see any cocaine in here,” Javi mutters under his breath, deliberately loud enough to be heard.

“These carrot sticks are better than coke, believe me,” Steve says, shoving another piece of carrot into his mouth with a triumphant grin as if that proved it.

Javi shakes his head, sips on his soda. “Lying bastard.”

Steve’s expression gives nothing away.

“I just pointed at what I wanted. Took me a few attempts but I got there in the end. How do you say carrot sticks in Spanish? Just, you know, for future reference.”

“Palo de mierda,” Javi tells him with a straight face, without hesitation.

“What?”

“Palo de mierda,” Javi says again, unrepentant — he holds in a breath, hoping that Steve doesn’t catch on. He needn’t have worried.

Steve repeats it a few times, committing the phrase to memory. Javi stuffs a whole chicken nugget in his mouth before he can laugh.

They lapse into silence again — or as silent as it can be when one of them is crunching on raw carrots.

Chicken burger and carrot sticks finished, Steve wipes mayo off of his moustache with a napkin. A few minutes later when Javi reaches for a napkin from the pile as well, Steve looks very pleased with himself.

Javi starts tidying up, collecting the leftover rubbish from his desk and putting it inside his red box. Only his soda remains to be finished.

“Nice,” Steve says and Javi looks up — he’s got a little stuffed penguin toy in a plastic bag. “My little girl’s gonna love this.”

Javi reaches into his box and pulls out a bag too — it’s a black thing with a brown nose and tummy, some kind of stuffed animal he doesn’t recognise. He turns it over — there’s a card inside.

SLOTH BEAR, it reads.

“Here you go,” Javi says, lifting himself out of his chair to reach across their desk made out of two desks. He holds out the sloth bear in its plastic bag for Steve to take — but Steve doesn’t make a move, just stares at Javi like he’s sprouted an extra head that’s just told him the sky isn’t blue. Catching his look, Javi asks, “What? It’s for your kid.”

“No, no, man, that’s yours,” Steve says, shaking his head along with every ‘no’.

Javi doesn't retreat, just shakes his outstretched hand as if to tempt him — the little bear in the bag jumps up and down and the plastic crinkles noisily with the movement. (Javi hasn’t thought of the Serpent tempting Eve in the Garden of Eden for a long time.)

After a few moments of them staring stubbornly at each other, bear in a bag suspended between them, Javi falls back into his chair with a huff. He looks down at the bear in his hands. “What am I going to do with this?”

Steve rolls his eyes and lifts up his hand, fingers wiggling to beckon Javi — or the bear — to him.

He gets the bear — it flies across the desk and slaps him on the cheek with some force, bouncing off of him and to the ground. Steve bends over in his chair and it rolls back slightly as he strains to reach the bear where it has landed. He straightens, the bear clenched securely in his fist, and fixes Javi with an outraged look. “What the hell?”

Javi takes a drag of his half-finished cigarette, blows out the smoke. “It’s a tiny stuffed animal, Steve, it can’t feel a thing.”

“He’s got a brown nose.”

“He?” Javi mutters to himself, but is talked over.

“He’s got a brown nose, d’you know what that means?” Steve points at the bear’s pale brown muzzle, just in case Javi hasn’t noticed — he has noticed, he just doesn’t see why the hell he should care.

Steve’s expecting an answer — Javi rolls his eyes, feebly attempts, “He — it — has been using a sun bed wrong?”

“No, it means he’s your mascot,” Steve declares with childlike glee.

Javi blinks in the face of Steve’s unaccountable delight. “You’re losing it, Murphy.”

“He is. Think about it — how much brown-nosing do you and me have to do on a weekly basis? It’s a fuckton. I can handle it fine because I am calm and collected and an excellent people person — but you? You look like you’re constipated the whole time — quit flipping me the bird, man, I’m serious here — and the big cheeses know it, Javi, they’ll start taking a real dislike to you. But this bear is an expert, look at him, it’s all over his face. You take inspiration from him and he’ll show you how to brown-nose like the best of them.”

Steve holds out the bear in the bag for Javi to take. The three of them stare at each other — Steve with a look of ridiculous seriousness, Javi with straight-up disbelief, and the bear with the blank expression of the fucking inanimate.

“Kiss my ass,” Javi says, and in one swift and graceful movement he’s out of his chair and heading for the restroom. His knees protest after sitting for most of the day but he’s not fucking stopping. He has to get away from this maniac. “I’m going for a piss,” he throws over his shoulder as he disappears into the corridor.

When he returns several minutes later Steve is gone — but the brown-nosed bear is unwrapped from its plastic bag and nestled in between his outbox and his pen pot.

Javi sighs, but the bear stays.

TWO DAYS LATER

“Ambassador Noonan wants to see us about my C.I.,” Steve tells Javi, almost apologetic, as he puts the phone back on the hook.

“Both of us? Great,” Javi says, the final word sounding chipper but dripping with sarcasm.

They both head for their desks, collecting I.D. badges from drawers and putting their coats on. Steve fiddles with his hair — which makes very little difference, Javi thinks — and picks up his car keys. “I’ll drive,” he says, and goes on ahead.

The brown-nosed bear catches Javi’s eye as he turns to leave. He pauses despite himself, mutters, “Fuck it.”

He puts the bear in his pocket and follows Steve out of the building.

In the meeting, every time Noonan says something that will needlessly halt their progress in catching Escobar, Javi squeezes the bear hidden in his pocket and tries to look less ‘constipated’, as Steve succinctly put it.

Steve’s C.I. will get them a small step closer to Escobar but a small step is better than none at all. Noonan is pleased, grants them some extra funds and manpower to follow the C.I.’s lead. In all, the meeting goes much better than usual — they leave with more than they arrived with.

Javi and Steve are descending the stairs to the underground parking lot together when Javi says, “Palo de zanahoria.”

“Huh? What’s that?”

“Palo de zanahoria. Carrot sticks. In Spanish.”

#narcos #javier peña #javier pena #steve murphy #narcos netflix #mcdonalds #djarsdin #userjoanne #javierian #*mine #*fanfic #javierian we have never interacted i don't think but please accept this crackfic for you <3 #i'll hopefully post this to my ao3 too

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spaceskam · 4 years

Text

what's it gonna be? (1/3)

Summary: Max likes Alex, Michael likes Liz, and they are determined to be each other's wingman. Which would be a lot more successful if they didn't fall for their brother's crush.

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ao3

Michael Guerin quite liked everything that was Liz Ortecho.

She was smart, pretty, and nice. Maybe his standards were beyond low, but she still fit them all and really that’s all that mattered. The problem was she really didn't give him the time of day. She didn’t really give him much attention when he tried to speak to her and it left him not knowing how.

His eyes followed her as she held a tray above her head, twisting skillfully as she made her way towards the table of her friends. She sat down with a proud smile as her friends just took their respective meals. When he reluctantly looked away, he found Max staring at the same table. Michael furrowed his eyebrows.

“Were you staring at Liz’s ass?” Michael asked blatantly. Max snapped his eyes to Michael, face flushed a deep red.

“No,” he insisted. Michael was more than a little doubtful. Max sank into the booth. “I wasn’t!”

“Well, don’t say it like that, she’s not ugly,” Michael said. Max looked at him with wide eyes again.

“I didn’t say she was.”

“Okay, shut up, we don’t argue about girls or boys at this table,” Isobel said firmly, a motherly tone in her voice, “We only talk about important things.”

“Like what? The fact that I know you failed your math test and didn’t ask me for help?” Michael asked. Isobel glared at him and he offered a smile. Eventually, though, his eyes drifted back to Liz again.

She was laughing, glowing in the fluorescent lights of the Crashdown. She looked fucking gorgeous. It was completely and utterly unfair.

As she got up to get back to work, his eyes followed her again. He wanted to go up to her, ask her out, get to know her as more than just the girl who could outsmart him during every single test without fail. It was hard to even imagine what he would say to her, though. His mind always went blank. It wasn’t even like he was bad at talking to girls or anything, there was just something about her that made approaching her specifically an extremely difficult operation.

“I’m gonna do it,” he decided, “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

He stood up before Isobel and Max could change his mind or make him nervous, making his way to where she was now back behind the counter.

“Liz?”

When she moved to face him, the world seemed to slow down entirely. Her wavy ponytail swung as she turned her head, her face looking ridiculously picturesque. She was almost too pretty to be real, seeming far more fitting to be the cover of a magazine. Dark hair, big dark eyes, nice lips, nice figure. Her genetics had done wonders and he was always stunned by her, well, everything. She was perfect.

And he was Michael.

“Oh, hey, Michael,” Liz said, smiling wide and inviting. He blinked dumbly. When did she learn his name? “You need anything?”

Just ask her out, he told himself. It wasn’t hard. All he had to do was ask if she wanted to get dinner sometime. That was it. Simple as that. What was the worst that could happen?

“Coke?” he said lamely instead. She gave a little laugh, nodding her head. The antenna on her head bobbed and she grabbed a fresh cup, spinning around to fix him a drink. She handed it over with a pretty smile and he felt like his brain short-circuited all over again.

“It’s on the house,” she said, “Anything else?”

“No,” he said, wanting to hit himself when he realized he’d again ruined his chances, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Michael lamely made his way back to the table, ignoring the expectant eyes of Isobel and Max. He just tried not to seem too annoyed as he took his straw out of his half full drink and put it in the new, completely full one.

“Well, did it work?” Max asked.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Isobel snorted a laugh and Michael just did his best to ignore her as well as keep his eyes to himself. Staring at Liz wasn’t going to do anything. He just needed to do something that made it easier to talk to her.

Back to the drawing board.

Alex Manes was a goddamn gift.

Max bit his bottom lip so hard it nearly bled as he watched Alex in gym class. His gym clothes of choice were black sweats and a black t-shirt, not too unlike his normal clothes, and he was walking around the basketball court with Liz and Maria. He looked gorgeous, eyes lined with makeup and hair long and pulled back into a low, messy bun. Max didn’t have the right words to express how badly he wanted to speak to him.

The problem was that Alex Manes was far too cool to speak to. He’d gotten in two fights so far this year, both of which he’d won, and most guys in school stayed away from him for one reason or another. There were rumors that he was gay and Max had a feeling that was where the fights came from, but it didn’t bother Max if he was. In fact, he hoped that he was. It would take away at least some of his anxieties about it.

“Evans!” Coach called and Max was reluctant to listen. It was hard to watch Alex whenever he had to focus on the ball.

Still, he joined in the game of basketball and tried not to get distracted. It almost worked, actually, but all of his senses failed whenever Alex tilted his head back in a laugh. It was gorgeous and rare and Max was so completely and utterly fond. Why didn’t he do that more often?

Of course, that was when he missed that he was being passed the ball and suddenly he took a ball straight to the stomach.

Max doubled over and then fell to his knees as the wind was knocked out of him, desperately gasping for breath as Coach ran over to make sure he was okay. He did his best to focus on breathing and not checking to see if Alex had seen him make a fool of himself. That was more embarrassment than he could actually handle.

“You alright, Evans?” Coach asked. He nodded, slowly pushing himself up as he caught his breath. His stomach was sore and his lungs ached a little, but he was fine. “Alright, go sit down until you’re good enough to play.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said, nearly wheezing. He winced and Coach fixed him with a look, so he just went and took a seat back on the bleachers.

Alex and his friends passed him at that moment and Max thought about joining them, but that would be too weird.

“Max, you okay?” Maria asked, though. It meant Alex slowed to a stop in front of him as well and he wasn’t about to be embarrassed. Max had seen Alex get his head slammed into a bathroom stall and be completely unfazed, totally fine enough to hit the other guy hard enough that his mouth bled. Max couldn’t seem weak.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. Maria gave a smile and nodded.

“I have an extra water bottle if you need it,” she offered. He shook his head, his eyes not-so-subtly looking at Alex to make sure he didn’t think he was lame. He didn’t seem to have any reaction at all as he stood there, but Alex had a blank face most of the time. Max took it as a good thing.

“No, no, I’m fine, thank you though,” he said. She smiled and they went back to walking around the court.

Max watched them walk away, his eyes on Alex Manes. He was so, so gorgeous and he didn’t even know it. How could he? Everyone was so mean to Alex, Max was sure no one told him how great he was enough. Sure, Max didn’t know much about him other than the fact that he looked great, but still. He was sure he was great.

He wanted to get to know him, to ask him out, to find out what made him Alex. That was just much easier said than done. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Alex was actually gay or if that was just a rumor. Asking him out without knowing for sure might just make him angry. He needed a better way to find out.

He just needed to think.

“Can you believe this is our last Homecoming dance?”

Michael didn’t say that he was glad it was the last. He hated dances and yet he’d let Isobel drag him to every single one since middle school. Every single dance she’d had two dates in Max and Michael no matter how unenthused they were about the whole thing. But they had never been ones to tell Isobel no when what she wanted was so easy to provide.

“I think I’m going to ask someone to be my date this year,” Max said out loud from his place on Isobel’s bed. It got both Isobel and Michael’s attention, both looking over at him with wide eyes. “I don’t want to have every single dance I go to be with my sister.”

“Well, excuse you,” Isobel scoffed.

“Not like that, Iz,” he sighed, sitting up. Michael stayed in his spot on Isobel's beanbag, fiddling with the loose string on his shirt. "There's just someone I really wanna ask."

Michael bit down on his lip and wondered if he should make it worse by saying there was someone he wanted to ask as well. He looked between Isobel and Max and tried to guage the situation.

"Who?" Isobel prodded, "I thought only Michael was being stupid."

"How is liking someone stupid?" Michael asked. She thought about it for a second, clearly trying to come to some conclusion that would be viable. Both Michael and Max waited until she came up with nothing.

"It just is," she said, "It's a waste of time."

"I don't know, I think it'd be nice to have someone," Max said. Michael nodded.

"Yeah," he sighed, trying to rip the string and only pulling it out more, "If I could only figure out how to talk to Liz."

"Same, but Alex," Max groaned, falling back in bed. Michael raised an eyebrow.

"Alex? Really?" Michael asked.

"You like the bad boy type or something and didn't tell us?" Isobel wondered, walking closer and sitting on the edge of the bed. Michael brought the string of his shirt into his mouth to bite it off, trying to see in what world Max would like Alex.

"He's so hot," Max stated, "But I have no idea how to approach him without risking pissing him off."

"Get Michael to approach him to ask if he'd like you, he's kind of a bad boy too," Isobel suggested.

Michael spat out the string, "I am not a bad boy."

"Close enough," Isobel said, "Besides, if you both are going to act like it's hard to talk to people, might as well use a wingman."

"It's not that easy, Izzy," Michael said. She raised an eyebrow.

"Why not? Max gets to know Liz so you know what to say to her when you go up to her, you get to know Alex so he knows what to say when he approaches him. Or do I need to do everything?" Isobel said, sighing dramatically. Michael considered her words and looked to Max who was already looking at him.

"Would you be down to talk to Liz for me?" Michael asked.

"Are you gonna be okay talking to Alex? 'Cause I can understand thinking he's scary," Max said. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Who, Alex? He's not scary, he just wears a lot of black and pouts a lot," Michael insisted, "Besides, he's friends with Liz and Maria. They wouldn't hang out with him if he was scary."

"So we're all set and we don't have to talk about this shit anymore?" Isobel asked hopefully.

"Well, wait, you're not gonna, like, fall for my girl or anything, are you?" Michael checked. Max rolled his eyes.

"I should be the one asking you that," Max said. Michael scrunched up his nose.

"Alex isn't my type."

"And Liz isn't mine."

"So, deal?"

"Deal."

"Fucking finally," Isobel huffed, pushing herself to her feet, "I'll try not to be angry at you both for ditching me in favor of being thankful this conversation is over."

"You're just jealous, Izzy," Max laughed. Isobel scoffed.

"Jealous of what? I could get anyone in that damn school if I wanted," she said, looking at herself in the mirror hung on her closet door, "I'm just too good for all of them."

"Sure," Michael laughed, looking back to Max, "You gonna start talking to her tomorrow?"

"Yeah and you start on Alex tomorrow and we'll fill each other in on what we find out in, like, a week. Sound good?" Max said. Michael nodded, biting down on his lip as he realized he might actually have a date with Liz by next week.

This was going to be perfect.

"Cool."

#malex #malex fic #echo #echo fic #michael guerin #alex manes #max evans #liz ortecho #rnm fic #my fic #whats it gonna be?

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mikeisthricedeceased · 4 years

Text

You’re My Home 4

Catfish x OC

Part 4: Movement

Word Count: ~7.2k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: Smut 18+, oral (f & m receiving), fluff, Nita and Frankie being corny as fuck, hints of a suit kink?

A/N: I’m sorry this took so damn long. My brain has been pretty fried these past few months. Hopefully, this was worth the wait.

Summary: Frankie goes to Nita’s place for the first time. They get interrupted in the middle of something. Frankie learns a few things about himself, and they get to make up for a few things they’ve missed out on since they started dating.

AO3 | Masterlist

~*~*~*~

“You know, I’ve lived here for a while and it still surprises me how fucking big Travis County is,” Frankie said, tapping his fingers as he looked out at the houses they drove past. “Are we still in Austin?”

“Honey, we’ve only been driving for twenty minutes.” She glanced over at him with a smile. “We’re still in Austin.”

He shrugged, unable to prevent a little smile of his own. “I just don’t think I’ve ever really come this way. Nothing looks familiar and it’s throwing me off.”

Nita hummed. “And I thought you drove all over for your supply transports. Figured you’d know the county like the back of your hand.”

“Nah. I go to maybe five different places total,” he said with a chuckle. “They occasionally throw in somewhere new, but I can’t say I’ve had to drive past many mansions.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. Everything’s bigger in Texas,” she said matter-of-factly.

He turned to look at her again, silently raising an eyebrow until she caught his eye and he watched her fight to keep a straight face.

“I can kick you out of this car, Frankie,” she threatened, but he heard the amused note in her voice.

“Nope. You like me too much.”

“Oh?” She glanced his way, eyes narrowed. “Is that right?”

He pursed his lips. “Maybe. Maybe not. This is the first time I’m visiting your place, so…”

“I swear…” She shook her head as she looked ahead at the road, a smile tugging at her lips.

A grin stayed on his face, even as he turned his attention back out the window. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he glanced back over at her. “Where are we heading, anyway?” He gestured to the large houses on either side of them with a smirk. “Is one of these yours?”

“No, we’re heading to Spanish Oaks.”

“Spanish Oaks,” he repeated, frowning in concentration. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“Gated community,” Nita supplied, “right around Barton Creek.”

He gave her a surprised look. “Gated? That sounds pretty fancy.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it is. I think it’s nice. Some of the people in the area are snobs though, which can get frustrating.”

“I can only imagine,” he said, shaking his head.

~*~*~*~

After passing through the main gates into Spanish Oaks, Frankie and Nita got wrapped up in discussing their favorite ABBA songs, which quickly turned into the two of them listing their favorite artists from the 70s, all because they’d caught the tail end of “Dancing Queen” when Nita turned the radio up a bit.

The discussion also distracted Frankie to the point that he hadn’t been paying attention to much outside of the car until Nita parked in her driveway and they were both getting out.

“I’m just saying, I like Billy Joel just as much as the next person, and I will absolutely sing along to “Piano Man” whenever I hear it, but I have to go with Stevie Nicks,” he stated, brows raised. “Fleetwood Mac has been my go-to for pretty much my whole life.”

Nita shut her door behind her and went to open the back. “Alright, I completely understand that. Now, just consider—” she held up a hand as she paused. “Stevie Wonder.”

Frankie pursed his lips thoughtfully, lifting his hat to scratch at his forehead. “Well, shit.”

“Exactly!”

He just snorted and shook his head at her. “Yeah, yeah.”

Nita slung his duffle bag over her shoulder and pushed the door closed with her hip. As she walked back around the car, she looked over to find Frankie staring up at the house.

“What?” she asked.

He blinked incredulously. “This is where you live?”

She frowned. “Yes. Why?”

“Nita, this is a mansion,” he told her, shifting his wide eyes to her.

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “It’s a big house, but I don’t know if it qualifies as a mansion.”

“It’s a mansion.”

With a sigh, she started making her way to the front door. Frankie took another second to gaze at the house before he was following her.

“Are you the only one that lives here?” he asked as she unlocked the door and pushed it open.

“Yep. Just me.” She kicked her shoes off onto a mat just inside the door and he did the same. “I’ll have people over for parties or movie nights sometimes. Anyone too tired or drunk to make it home is free to crash in the bedrooms or on the couches. It’s nice when I have guests, y’know?” She made a face. “Even if the clean-up gets a little iffy.”

“Oh? Are those some potential stories I hear?”

Nita flashed him a grin. “They might be. You’ll just have to stick around for a bit to hear them.”

“I don’t think I’ll have any problems with that,” he said, smiling right back.

“Such a flirt,” she mused. “Let me go drop this off in the bedroom really quick.”

He watched her walk down the hall with his duffle bag, leaving him in what he assumed was the living room.

There was one of those big, L-shaped sectionals and two plush looking chairs facing a TV. It was definitely a big space, but it didn’t quite fit what he would’ve expected the inside of a mansion to be like. It wasn’t minimalistic or particularly grandiose. Apart from the sheer amount of space, it was fairly normal. Neat, but still personal, with pictures on the walls and mismatched knick-knacks almost overcrowding the shelves. A stack of mail on the coffee table, next to a little set of coasters. Instead of a tasteful throw, there were what seemed like three different, brightly colored blankets haphazardly folded over the back of the sofa.

It just felt like Nita’s home.

Frankie turned back toward the hall when he heard her coming. She brushed by him as she made her way into the kitchen.

“Do you want a drink or anything?” she asked, opening up the fridge and grabbing a can of ginger ale. “I have Coke, orange soda, some La Croixs, ginger ale.” She turned to him with raised brows.

“I’m fine for right now,” he said, taking the room in as he walked around the bar. “Thanks, though.”

He glanced over at the table, which sat right between the kitchen and the doors that led out to the backyard. There was a nice looking patio area and—

“Is that a pool?”

“No, it’s a flooded half-pipe.”

Frankie shot her a look that made her laugh as she grabbed a glass from one of the cabinets. “Yes, it’s a pool.”

He just shook his head again, shuffling over to the kitchen table. Pulling out one of the chairs, he eased himself down, trying not to bend forward too much as he did so. “We spent all that time in my shitty apartment while you had a place like this.”

“And who’s the one that kept inviting me over?” she said, giving him a look. “Besides, we’re here now.” She walked over to the table and stood in front of him, setting her glass down. She smirked as she cupped his face and bent to kiss his cheek. “So stop whining.”

“I’m not whining,” he huffed, even as he leaned into her kiss.

“Sure.” She pulled his hat off and set it backwards on her own head, moving to peck his lips.

He reached up for the hand on his face, taking hold of her wrist lightly and trailing a thumb over her skin. “I’m not.”

Smiling against his lips, she slid a hand into his hair. “Right.” She was standing between his legs now, eyes shut as she kissed him.

“Sit?” he offered quietly, breaking away to look at her.

Her fingers trailed along his jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He squeezed her wrist and grinned. “I think I’ll be okay.” His free hand moved up to her hip, pulling her forward.

She scoffed but did nothing to hide the way the corners of her lips rose as she straddled his lap. Both of his hands dropped down to her hips and she scooted closer, not quite pressing flush against his chest.

He rested his forehead against hers, brown eyes warm. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi,” she whispered, fingers combing through his hair before she bit her lip. “Y’know, I feel a little stupid for not really putting it together that Frankie is short for Francisco.”

Shifting in the seat a little, he shrugged a shoulder. “Everyone has always just called me Frankie. Or Catfish, after I joined the army.”

She made a face. “God, why did you guys get such shitty nicknames?”

“Fuck you,” he said, chuckling.

She kissed his lips again as she laughed. “At least Jack isn’t as much of a stretch.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a stretch? Juanita to Juan, Juan to John, John to Jack?”

“It was about the fucking Billy Joel song,” she said with a scoff. “That other shit was just to connect it more to my actual name.” She let her nails drag over his scalp, earning a contented sigh from him. “And I like your name. Francisco sounds nice.”

His face was beginning to feel warm and he had to shift in the chair again.

Nita leaned back, hands leaving his hair and resting on his shoulders as she looked him over, concern in her eyes. “You okay? Was I leaning on your chest too much?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m alright. Just trying to get more comfortable.”

“You sure?” she asked, kneading his shoulders gently.

“Promise,” he said, squeezing her hips. He tilted his head forward, hiding a grin. “I like it when you play with my hair.”

She gave a gruff “necesitado” and moved back into place, running her fingers through his hair once again as they leaned into each other. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty, Francisco.”

Heat spread down his neck and he tightened his hold on her hips to adjust her on his lap, suddenly registering the fact that he was getting hard. He shifted his hands so that his thumbs rested above the waistband of her jeans and brushed her bare skin under her shirt.

She tugged his hair just enough to make him lean back, fixing him with a knowing look. “Now I see why you’re getting restless,” she said with a coy grin. “Don’t get too excited, honey, you’re still healing.”

“My lips aren’t bruised,” he said, pouting slightly for emphasis.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, pecking his lips again as she smiled. “You’ve got me there, Francisco.”

They both felt how his cock twitched that time. He glanced down.

Oh.

He looked up to find Nita’s eyes shining mischievously.

Oh.

“Interesting,” she said lowly as his face flushed. “And I thought it was just the hair.” Her grip on his hair tightened a bit and she leaned in to capture his mouth fully, his hands sliding down to hold her thighs. She didn’t press into his chest, but used her elbows on his shoulders to push him against the back of the chair and to steady herself as she slowly rocked her hips.

He groaned, squeezing her thighs and pushing them wider to get her that little bit closer. His instinctive buck up against her shot pain across his ribs, making him grunt softly before he focused on staying still, savoring the way she ground down on his lap.

“You feel so good, Francisco,” she whispered against his mouth, grinding slowly over the erection in his jeans.

His low moan seemed to fill the kitchen, only ending when she deepened the kiss. She trailed her fingers along his scruffy jawline, her tongue brushing his and coaxing more muffled groans out of him as he moved to cup her ass with both hands.

As much as he enjoyed the moments like this, a part of him was already bracing for the inevitable guilt that always showed up before they could get very far. Tension pulled across his shoulders no matter how much he tried to relax them, even as his mouth and hands moved fluidly with her.

“Of all the times to learn a new turn on,” she said, bringing her lips to a spot under his jaw as she tugged his head back further, “had to be while you’re all banged up.”

He let out a wheeze of laughter, eyelids fluttering when her teeth grazed over his pulse.

She scooted back on his lap a fraction, one hand leaving his hair and he made a disappointed sound in the back of his throat.

It was quickly replaced by a sharp gasp when that hand pressed down on his cock, making him jolt in the chair. He let out a gravelly “fuck” and tightened his grip on her.

Frankie could feel her smiling against his neck. A firm squeeze had him moaning her name and shifting his legs wider. She smoothed her hand over him, slowly stroking him through his jeans as she rolled her hips against one of his thighs.

“Good?” she breathed against his throat.

He squeezed her ass again, groaning “Yes.”

She pulled back slightly, giving a satisfied hum, and looked him over. His eyes were closed, brows raised a bit, lips parted. She could see the slight flush on his face and neck, as well as the spot along the side of his neck that was a shade or two darker, right where she’d been focusing her attention.

One of his eyes peeked open, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Be better if you were kissing me again,” he mused.

“You getting mouthy with me, Francisco?” she teased, pressing her hand down on him a little harder.

His eyes squeezed shut again as he held back another moan, voice coming out strained. “Maybe.”

She leaned in again, gently nipping his lower lip. “It’s probably not a good idea to ride you right now,” she whispered into his mouth.

His responding moan was almost pained.

“But,” her hand slowly trailed up from his crotch to his belt buckle, “I can always suck your cock instead.”

“Fuck, Nita,” he breathed, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair and pull her mouth to his in desperation.

It was her turn to moan softly as she relaxed in his hold, fingers still working at his belt. The warmth of his palm where it cradled the back of her head made everything feel molten and electric. His fingers nudged the hat up a little higher on her head.

She’d just gotten his belt undone when they were suddenly jolting apart at the sound of her phone ringing on the counter.

Nita cursed, throwing a glare toward her phone. She turned her attention back to Frankie even as she moved off of his lap, offering him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for a call about an order that’s supposed to come in today.”

He just gave a dismissive wave, still catching his breath. “It’s fine. I should—” he cleared his throat, running a hand down his face and through his hair, “I should probably take a shower anyway.”

“Okay.” She leaned down to press a softer kiss to his lips. “I am sorry, honey.”

With one last shared look, she turned around and went to snatch up her phone.

Frankie sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to calm his racing heart before standing up to go take that shower.

It was while he was actually in the shower that he realized something. Even though things had ended right around where they usually did, he didn’t feel the lingering cold or heaviness that tended to take up space deep in his chest whenever he and Nita got a little intimate. He’d gotten so used to bracing for that guilt that it took him a while to notice that it hadn’t crept up on him this time.

In that same space, he just felt a warm sort of buzz instead. And it was a very welcome change.

~*~*~*~

After Frankie got out of the shower, Nita gave him a quick tour of the house. He was working very hard to keep his jaw from dropping open, especially when they went upstairs and walked into the movie theater. There was a movie theater in the house!

Around 5 o’clock, Nita started getting ready for work, having decided to get there early to make sure everything was going smoothly with the stuff that she had ordered and to have it at least mostly set up before the club opened.

Frankie spent most of that time making sure he understood how the big flat screen in the living room worked. He could barely figure out how his phone worked a lot of the time, and this TV seemed even more complex than that.

“You have to hold down the button on the bottom left. It just has a line on it,” Nita was instructing him, having to yell from the master bedroom.

He scowled at the remote in frustration. “It’s not working!”

“Hold it longer!”

After holding the button for longer than one second, the menu he was looking for appeared at the top of the screen. “Oh.”

Nita walked out of the bedroom a moment later. “Did you get it?”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly, glancing her way, “thank you.” Then, he was doing a double take, mild embarrassment forgotten as he watched her walk by the back of the couch.

She was wearing a suit. A three-piece, navy suit that fit her very well. There were silver cufflinks that matched the silver tie-clip, which was clipped to the burgundy tie that matched the burgundy pocket square. It all looked very good on her.

“Do you—do you have a business meeting?” There was the faintest waver in his voice.

Shuffling through a small stack of papers on the kitchen counter, Nita didn’t seem to notice the change. “No, this is just what I usually wear to work. I thought I mentioned the suits,” she said.

“You did. I just…” he shook his head, still staring. “You look nice.”

She flashed him a sweet little smile. “Thank you. I feel nice.” Exchanging the papers for her car keys, she made her way over to where he sat on the couch. “You look nice, too,” she told him, leaning down to give him a quick kiss that made his heart skip.

“Yeah, an old t-shirt and jeans are incredibly fashionable,” he said, chuckling.

Rolling her eyes, she let her fingers brush through his hair. “Just because you’re wearing comfortable clothes doesn’t mean you look any less nice.”

He smirked. “You might be a little biased.”

“I thought you said I didn’t like you because it’s the first time you’ve seen my house.”

“Nah, I know you like me. Why else would you put up with my technological struggles?”

She laughed. “You know, it makes me feel a little iffy about the whole army pilot thing,” she teased.

“Helicopters make sense, though.” He gestured toward the TV. “This shit is made to be confusing.”

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “TV add-ons exist to antagonize you, hmm?”

“They do!”

She just shook her head, looking him over with fond amusement. “Just try not to break it, okay?” Her nails gently grazed his scalp and the sensation swept down his spine. “There’s all kinds of stuff in the kitchen whenever you decide to have dinner. I made baked spaghetti the other day and there’s leftovers if you’re interested.” She bent to give him one last kiss. “I need to get going. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

He grinned up at her. “I’ll be fine. What time are you getting back?”

“I usually make it here a little after midnight,” she said with a shrug. “Not exactly a normal workday sort of business.”

“I’ll see you then.”

She gave a small wave as she headed toward the front door. “See you. And make sure you rest!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he called back, sneaking a look at her retreating form when she turned away.

As soon as the front door closed behind her, he groaned, letting his head fall against the back of the couch as he covered his face.

That fucking suit.

~*~*~*~

He spent most of his time wandering around the house or lounging on the couch with a movie. At one point, he thought about trying to play a video game, but given that he hadn’t really touched one since Santi found a copy of Halo to play using a base’s XBox years ago, he wasn’t terribly confident in his ability to set it up.

The pain meds he’d been sent home with were making it easier to get up and move around without much incident, but he wasn’t going to be doing toe touches anytime soon. He also wasn’t able to comfortably pop his back, which was a far more pressing annoyance.

He didn’t realize just how much time had passed until his eyelids were drooping and he couldn’t focus on the movie he’d put on anymore.

Nita would get back soon, so he brought his dinner plate to the sink and threw out his empty can of orange soda. He made sure the few dishes were washed before he shuffled into the bedroom to change and get ready for bed.

It was while he was brushing his teeth that he heard the front door open and the faint jingle of Nita’s keys.

“Honey?” she called.

“Bathroom,” he replied, voice slightly muffled by toothpaste before he spat into the sink.

He didn’t think to brace himself before she walked into the bedroom and stopped in the doorway of the en suite. One glance toward her and his eyes went wide just like they had before she left, heart rate rising.

Jesus Christ, she wore this sort of thing every time she went to work? He was going to lose his mind while he was staying with her.

She seemed amused, brows lifting at his reaction. “What’s that look about?”

He just shook his head, feeling a little warm in the face as his eyes dropped back down to the sink.

She walked into the bathroom and stopped at his side, brushing a hand across his shoulders as she leaned a hip against the counter. “What?” she prodded gently.

He rinsed off his toothbrush, taking a few seconds to respond. “You look nice.”

“You said that before I left, Frankie,” she said, smirking as she played with the curling hair at his nape.

“I know.” He turned to her, jaw rocking as he tried to convey himself. “I really mean it.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay…”

Sighing in frustration, he reached out to draw her closer and rest his hand in the curve of her waist. The corners of her mouth lifted as he gazed down at her. “When you said that you wore suits to work,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t realize just how sexy that would be.”

“So, that’s what the look was about,” she mused.

His eyes drifted down to her lips. “Yeah.”

She rose up just enough to press a warm kiss to his lips, still twirling his hair around her fingers.

When they broke apart, she smiled. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

~*~*~*~

Sleep lingered for a while, leaving him to slowly drift closer to consciousness. He was comfortable, he knew that much. The sheets smelled clean and familiar. The people in the apartment upstairs either weren’t up yet or they had already left, and he considered himself lucky for that. They made so much noise in the mornings and he always felt bad about that when Nita stayed over.

Nita.

As more awareness crept in, he felt the subtle weight pressing against his arm. Opening his eyes felt like a Herculean task, but he squinted over to his left.

She was on her side, facing him, clearly still asleep. Dark hair surrounded her head, a few strands that had fallen in front of her face were now gently disturbed with each breath. One hand was tucked against her chest, the other lay curled against his arm.

He turned his head toward the nightstand to check the time, frowning when his alarm clock wasn’t there. When did he buy a new lamp?

He settled further into consciousness and turned back to Nita. Right. They were at her place now.

Carefully, chest twinging and aching with every move, he rolled onto his side to look at her. The meds he’d taken before falling asleep were clearly wearing off, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much yet.

His hand covered hers, thumb brushing over her knuckles and tracing her fingers. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here. After the big downward spiral that had happened a little over a year ago, he had been existing in anxious monotony, just waiting for the next thing to knock his feet out from under him.

In a way, he was still waiting for that. Getting hit so hard with bad memories that he’d put himself in the hospital wasn’t exactly an improvement. As bad as that had gone, as bad as that could have gone, the brunt of it only took up one morning.

And how many mornings had been like this, these last few weeks? Where he felt reluctant to leave bed, not to avoid the day, but to have just a few more minutes of quiet with her. They could just lay here and enjoy each other’s warmth, stay tucked close until the last possible moment.

Maybe, something that had gone missing from his life wasn’t quite missing anymore.

Nita stirred, her hand twitching under his as she shifted closer. Her eyes barely opened before falling shut again. “Morning,” she mumbled.

He grinned, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. “Good morning.”

Her eyes opened again, staying that way this time, though she was still squinting against the dim light. “I like your morning voice,” she informed him, lips quirking up.

“My morning voice?”

“Mm-hmm.” She gently freed her hand from his hold and trailed her fingertips up his arm. “Soft and raspy and deep. It’s nice.”

He flushed a bit, reaching to brush the hair out of her face and letting his hand settle against her cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “And I like your morning voice too.”

“Sap,” she whispered, smiling against his palm.

“You started it.”

She laughed.

He’d never get enough of her laugh.

“How are you feeling? Do you need to take something yet?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m alright for now. I’ll take something once we make coffee.” His thumb lightly traced her lower lip and he could feel her watching him before he brought his eyes back up to hers.

“Francisco,” she breathed, gently kissing the pad of his thumb.

It warmed him from the inside out and he was leaning in before he knew it.

Her lips were soft and moved with his languidly, setting a slow and leisurely pace. He could feel himself sinking into it when the kiss deepened, unhurried as he explored her mouth, hands roaming down to skim over her bare thigh and grip her hip.

Her hands were in his hair, combing through the stuck up and messy curls. She scooted closer and he wrapped both arms around her, ignoring the burning ache across his ribcage.

She shivered when his hand slid under her shirt, fingers brushing up her spine, a low moan muffled against his mouth.

He was becoming increasingly aware of an entirely different ache, this one making him consider adjusting his boxers, but he decided against it since that would mean letting go of Nita.

His heart skipped when her knee nudged up by his hip, not quite hooking around him, and he swiftly gave in. “I want you,” he groaned, a hand cupping her ass and drawing her closer.

She didn’t miss his slight wince at the move, shaking her head and holding his face in her hands. “We can’t do that, honey.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, leaning his forehead against hers. They were both breathing a little heavily, one of his hands still under her shirt, drawing circles over her back. He let out a long exhale and shifted back enough to meet her eyes, biting his lip thoughtfully. “What if...you sit on the edge of the bed? And I’ll kneel on the floor?”

Her brows shot up. “Oh?” She moved closer again, glancing down at his mouth. “Is that what you want?” she asked.

He nodded, lips parting as she kissed him again.

“I want that, Francisco.”

He peppered kisses across her face, drawing that laugh out of her again, before he slid back and off of the bed, easing down onto the floor with a wide grin.

She shuffled over, sharing his smile as she arranged herself on the edge of the bed. “Do I need to take anything off? Not really wearing much to begin with.” She traced a finger down his nose.

He smoothed his hands down his thighs before he trailed them up her calves. “I’ve got it,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her knee.

She leaned back, holding herself up so she could watch as his lips trailed slowly from her knee and up her inner thigh, his touch featherlight across her skin. As he moved higher, she let her thighs fall open wider, chewing her lip. She sucked in a breath when his teeth grazed her skin, his eyes meeting hers.

Kissing him had already gotten her started, but then having him offer to get on his knees and eat her out had ensured that she was thoroughly turned on. Now, just seeing it, feeling him work his way closer, was only adding to the arousal that was steadily burning through her.

The scruff along his jaw added just enough roughness to set her nerves alight and draw out quiet sighs, making her eyes slip shut.

He was almost where she needed him when he began pressing hot, open kisses to her inner thighs, his tongue a soothing contrast to the faint nips and scratch of facial hair.

“I didn’t realize you were a tease, honey,” she crooned, tangling a hand in his hair.

He chuckled, breath huffing over her skin. “Just want to be sure.”

“I’m very sure.”

“Alright,” he laughed, “point taken.” One more soft kiss and he was leaning back, letting her legs close before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly pulled them down her legs.

He shuffled closer, drawing one of her thighs up over his shoulder and making her flop onto her back with a laugh. “You are so gorgeous, baby,” he said, brushing his cheek against her inner thigh and locking eyes with her as she smiled at him.

“Totally a sap,” she teased, making him roll his eyes and grin as he leaned in.

The first brush of his tongue had her sliding both hands into his hair. He pushed her thighs open wider, delving between her folds with a groan. His mouth was so hot against her, tongue scorching with each lick over her pussy.

The tip of his nose brushed her clit and her hold on his hair tightened in response. He moaned, pressing deeper into her pussy and skimming his hands along her thighs. She tensed and relaxed under his hands, body shifting with every tilt of his head as he worked her over.

Arousal warmed her skin, pleasure tingling through her and slowly coiling tighter and tighter. She leaned her head back into the mattress, lips parting with a faint huff.

He brought his attention to her clit, his mouth going soft, tongue laving gently as her back arched.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Just like that, Francisco.”

Nita tugged on his hair, sending pinpricks of pleasure down his spine. Sucking her clit between his lips, he traced the tip of his tongue over the bundle, her responding moan filling the quiet room and setting off a little spark of pride within him.

The heel of her foot pressed into his back, drew him impossibly closer, and he was happy to give in. He opened his eyes, taking in the sight of her, arched and breathless. Lifting her other thigh up onto his shoulder, the muscles trembling faintly, he slid a hand up her side. He stopped at her breast, tracing her nipple through the thin sleep shirt.

She moaned his name, covering his hand with one of her own and rolling her hips to meet his face. “So fucking good,” she praised. Her grip on his hair tightened further, pulling a moan from him. The vibration made her shiver, adding another level of stimulation right against her clit.

His tongue dipped back down and slid into her pussy as he buried his face between her thighs, mouth fully engulfing her.

“Yes, Francisco,” she breathed. “Close.”

Frankie was already long gone, breathless with the need to tip her over the edge, the way she moaned his name and writhed under his mouth completely fogging his mind with pleasure. He swiped the tip of his tongue across her clit, adding more pressure until the prickle of her hold on his hair turned sharp and her thighs tensed around his head.

The sound she made as she came almost had him following suit. He kept going, bringing the pressure back down slowly, softly kneading her breast. When she was moaning quietly, limbs almost entirely limp, he finally sat back, panting. The burning ache across his ribs was nothing compared to his contented happiness.

He let his gaze trail over her. Skin flushed and warm, her chest still heaving, eyes closed and lips parted as she came back down to Earth. Her thighs still spread open and pussy in full view, shining with her arousal, same as his face.

She pushed herself up slowly, running a hand through her own hair and meeting his eyes with a satisfied smile, which he returned.

“I always like waking up to you, honey, but that was…” Nita sighed, leaning her head back. “Fuck.”

He chuckled under his breath. “That was my application for the boyfriend position. How’d I do?”

“We’ll definitely take you under consideration.” She bit back a grin, lightly knocking her foot against his thigh.

He huffed playfully. “Damn. Really thought I’d get it with that.”

She giggled, reaching out to comb through his hair, which she’d thoroughly ruffled. She leaned down closer to him. “After further consideration, it’s been determined that you don’t need to apply for a position that you already hold.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now, are you gonna kiss me?”

He closed the small gap between them in answer, cupping her face and winding his fingers into her hair.

She groaned softly at the taste of herself on his lips, hands brushing up his arms. She could feel him smile into the kiss just before they broke apart.

“Do you still have that fancy coffee?” he asked.

She almost snorted. “Our minds are in two very different places right now.”

“I can be thinking about more than one thing at a time.”

“Oh, yeah?” She squeezed one of his shoulders.

“I should wipe my face,” he mumbled.

Her hands came up to cup his jaw. “Should you?”

Exhaling slowly through his nose, he touched his forehead to hers. “Honey…”

“Okay, you do things your way,” she said, drawing back. “But if you’d like an idea of what I want to do…” She tilted her head, throwing a very pointed look downward.

He was quick to stand up, grunting in discomfort for more than just his chest, a blush warming his cheeks as he tried to discreetly adjust himself on his way to the bathroom.

Reappearing a moment later with a damp cloth and a clean face, he wiped away the bit of slick he’d gotten on her face when they kissed and then brought the cloth down between her legs. He made quick work of cleaning her up, but suddenly slowed.

She thought he was just being overly gentle until the cloth brushed, rather deliberately, against her sensitive clit.

Nita cursed, slapping his hand away while he laughed. “You’re the one who wanted coffee, payaso.” She swatted at his ass when he turned to drop the rag into the hamper. “Vamos!”

He gave her a pout, saying “I’m not a clown,” as she stood up to pull her underwear back on and follow him out of the bedroom. He reached back to offer his hand, which she took after a moment, rolling her eyes.

“You’re something.”

He grinned, the dimple in his cheek immediately making her own expression soften. “Soy el novio,” he said cheerily.

She squeezed his hand. “Sí lo eres.”

When they got to the kitchen, he stopped and pulled her close. “I don’t know where the coffee is,” he told her.

She pointed. “The cabinet over the coffee maker.”

His gaze fell on the coffee maker and he nodded. “Right.” Shuffling over, he opened the cabinet and started pulling things down to get the coffee ready.

“Frankie.”

He glanced back at her. “Yeah?”

“I can make the coffee,” she said, smirking.

He just shrugged. “I got it.”

She watched him measure out beans and put them in the grinder for a few seconds. Next thing she knew, her gaze had shifted from what he was doing to just admiring him. Unruly hair that was just a little too long and so incredibly soft, broad shoulders under an old t-shirt, toned arms that, based on her own experience, were perfect for falling asleep in, long legs that were just as nice, along with what she considered to be a very cute little butt.

She crossed the short distance to him right as he poured the ground coffee into a filter and set it in the coffee maker. She wrapped her arms around him, mindful of his ribs, and kissed his shoulder. “I have a proposition.”

“Alright.”

“I got that call about the shipment yesterday,” she began slowly.

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Yeah?”

“We got interrupted.” She let her hands move down a few inches. “And I’d really like to pick up where we left off. Do what I was gonna do before the call.”

The warm flush from earlier returned full force as he swallowed hard, trying to wrap the bag of coffee beans back up. “Yeah?” he repeated, voice straining.

She hummed, hands now tracing the waistband of his boxers. “What do you think?” One hand lowered the slightest bit further. “I couldn’t help but notice that you looked a little stiff when we left bed.”

He’d slowly been bringing himself down, cock starting to soften as he ignored it to keep her from feeling like she had to return the favor. He’d been wanting to make her feel good since that first night at his apartment, and he got a lot out of knowing he’d done just that before they’d gotten out of bed.

But now he was aching all over again. “I think—I think you’re the tease now.”

“Let’s fix that,” she said softly. She reached further and cupped him through his boxers, giving him a firm squeeze.

His mouth fell open and he gripped the edge of the countertop, a rough moan rising up from deep in his chest, his eyes falling shut. She carefully turned him around so he could lean back against the counter, readjusting her hold on his cock as she pressed her lips to his throat. He opened his eyes, lids feeling heavy with lust as he blinked down at her.

She seemed very pleased with his reaction. “You are very good with that mouth, honey.” She rose up higher, kissing the corner of his mouth before lowering her voice. “And the fact that eating me out made you this hard is so fucking sexy.”

He rested a hand at her hip. “Jesus, baby…”

Her lips brushed along his jaw as she traced her thumb over his clothed length. “I want to suck your cock, Francisco,” she whispered near his ear.

“Please,” he ground out.

Nita pulled back with a coy grin. Without wasting another second, she tugged his boxers down and slid down onto her knees. Her nails lightly dragged up along the outsides of his thighs as she kissed from his hip bones inward. She took hold of him, steadying his heavy cock and running the flat of her tongue over the head, glancing up into his eyes.

Two dark, lust blown gazes met and Nita closed her lips around the head of him, sucking gently. He could feel himself throb, his grip on the counter tightening as arousal burned through his veins.

It had been a while for him. He already felt so close to the edge.

The tip of her tongue pressed into the underside of his cock, just under the crown, and he cursed, a hand reaching to slip into her hair. Her pleased hum sent jolts of electricity across his nerves. She bobbed steadily, taking a bit more of him into her mouth each time. He was almost dizzy when he reached the back of her throat, biting his lip hard.

She looked up at him again, watching the tendons in his neck stand out as he strained to keep himself from losing it. His eyes were closed and he was trying not to breathe too hard. As she drew back, she couldn’t help but smirk a bit.

She worked her way back down his shaft until he was at the back of her throat again. Then, she kept going forward, taking him deeper until her lips were wrapped around the base, nose pressing into the coarse hair just above it.

Her jaw ached and her eyes were watering, drool sliding down her chin. But it was beyond worth it when she swallowed around his cock and he made the most breathtakingly broken sound she’d ever heard.

His whole body trembled at the feeling, brow furrowed and mouth dropping open.

She drew back far enough to breathe, pressing her tongue up against the vein that ran along the underside of his shaft, and cupped his balls in one hand.

On instinct, his fingers tangled further in her hair and he gave a slight, jerky thrust of his hips. He gritted his teeth. “Shit, baby, I’m so—“

She took him down her throat again, gently massaging his balls, and his voice died. His whole body buzzed with pleasure and he couldn’t hold back when she swallowed this time. He came undone with a low moan of her name, knuckles white where he gripped the counter.

She drew off of him slowly, taking everything he gave until his shoulders sagged in blissful relief and his knees were close to giving out beneath him.

They were both panting, her sitting back, teary eyed with spit around her lips and chin, him leaning heavily against the counter, head tilted back. Nita got to her feet after a moment and grabbed a napkin to dab at her eyes and wipe her mouth. She also took the liberty of pulling Frankie’s boxers back up his legs, patting his hip as she smiled up at him.

“So. Coffee?” she asked, voice a little rough.

Frankie huffed a laugh, pulling her into a lazy kiss.

~*~*~*~

Taglist

@zeldasayer @beskars @winters-buck @the-feckless-wonder @yodaswrinkles @wickedfrsgrl @roxypeanut @mrsparknuts @spacegayofficial @i-hide-inside-my-head @lestrange2703 @tintinwrites @shadow-assassin-blix @flightlessangelwings @agentpike @woakiees @darksideofclarke @velvetmel0n @damerondjarin @poeticandors @thirsty-flygirl @perropascal @writefightandflightclub @yougottakeeponkeepinon @huliabitch @hopelikethesun @maxlordd @absurdthirst @pablopascal @ezrasarm @storiesofthefandomlovers @catfishingmorales @cinewhore

~ Mike

#catfish x oc #catfish x ofc #Frankie Morales #francisco morales #catfish fanfic #fucken triple frontier #you're my home fanfic #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x oc

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blvejeanbaby · 4 years

Text

The Beach | Kang Yeosang

Pairing: Yeosang x Y/N Word count: 3.5k Warning: smutty/suggestive, teasing, curse words, no actual sex though

“Okay, so we need teams-“ Hongjoong started, but before he was finished, you wrapped your arms around the waist of the boy next to you. Despite the minuscule height difference, it was enough to comfortably allow you to rest your head on his shoulder for maximum effect. You were well aware of the tensing of his entire body. “I want to go with Yeosang,” you said, sounding proud of it too. You refused to look at Yeosang, knowing he would be beet red by now, highly flustered from your sudden boldness. Instead, you stared at Hongjoong, who was regarding you with his mouth agape. You had obviously surprised him as well. He shook out of it however, allowing you to actually team up with Yeosang on the game of beach volleyball. You sucked and so did Yeosang, but luckily Jongho had a lot of strength but very little aim. It was easy to win against him and Mingi, who just stood giggling at how bad the three of you were, and easy to lose against Wooyoung and Seonghwa, who were playing together as if this was the Olympics. You were glad to not advance to the finale, opting to accompany Yeosang on his beach towel though. You watched as he helped himself to more sunscreen. “Do you need some help with that?” you asked, gesturing toward the bottle of sunscreen. “For your back, maybe?” Yeosang nodded and handed you the bottle wordlessly, laying down on his stomach. You applied the sunscreen to your hands before rubbing them together and putting them on Yeosang’s back. You actually wanted to do a good job, making sure that all of the sunscreen was rubbed in well. You may have also added a little bit of extra pressure just to feel his muscles beneath your fingers. “All finished,” you said, causing Yeosang to sit up on his knees. Whereas you had expected some redness on his cheeks, there was just a hint of a flush on his cheekbones and a mischievous smirk playing along his lips. Suddenly feeling less bold underneath his intense gaze, you felt yourself shrink a little. “What?” “Let me return the favour.” You looked at him suspiciously for a second before handing him the bottle of sunscreen and laying down on your stomach. You placed your head to the side so you wouldn’t smash your face into the ground, eyes gazing at Jongho, Yunho and Hongjoong next to you as they waited on Wooyoung, Seonghwa, San and Mingi (who played twice as you were just one short of an even number). You had caught Yunho stealing a curious glance at the two of you and you were hyperaware of the fact that there were onlookers. Yeosang actually went as far as to swing his one leg over your body, so he was straddling your upper thighs. You bit your lip to refrain a gasp from escaping, having not expected such an act from him. You heard him squirt some of the sunscreen onto his hands and waited to feel the cold of it on your back, but the furthest thing from that happened. Warm hands, a hot touch, dragging up your spine until it reached the strap of your bikini top. With a quick move, the clasp was undone. Instead of leaving it at that, Yeosang’s hand travelled further up to your neck and you had an inkling of what he was going to do now. Still biting your lip furiously, Yeosang moved your hair to the side before softly pulling apart the knot that kept your top from spilling out your boobs. “Good, now I can begin,” Yeosang said softly, mouth close enough to your ear for his words to be drowned out to others’ ears by excited screams and seagull and ocean sounds. Yeosang warmed up the sunscreen by rubbing his palms together before placing them on your back. You prayed to God he wouldn’t try to be bold and reveal all of what you were doing to the others, if they hadn’t noticed yet. God, this could be embarrassing. After he finished rubbing the sunscreen into your back, not really taking the massage approach like you had, he clasped your bra back and tied the knot at your neck again. You thanked the heavens for it as you felt him move off of you. You sat up, sending him a look that you were sure said everything. He just smirked at you. “Drink?” “Sure.” You started applying sunscreen to the rest of your body, ignoring the curious look Yunho was throwing your way. Of course he had noticed, you thought to yourself. Lord, you were going to absolutely strangle Yeosang! As you were overthinking all of the creative ways you could do so, he returned with the drinks from the cool box he had been off to get. Two cans, both the same. But from the glint in his eyes you knew this was not just your regular “there you go, your can of coke”. Yeosang sat down in front of you on the towel, a safe distance away from the sand. Because of your position on the towel, this meant he was sitting knee to knee with you, both of your legs folded up beneath yourselves. “Here’s your drink.” Perhaps you were wrong, you thought as you reached for the can. Perhaps what you had thought to see in his eyes was just him being proud of getting you half-naked in public. But no – as your hand closed around the can, he pulled, causing you to nearly topple over onto him. “I want some payment though.” “What now?” you said, but the tone at which you had meant to say it – playful, taunting? – was wholly different from the way you actually did. You sounded breathless and way too much as though this was all having a bigger effect on you than you wanted to let him think it had. “A kiss.” “Yeo, you’re ridiculous.” “And you’re thirsty.” The obvious double layer in his words made you want to hit him, but you didn’t. Instead you accepted defeat, quickly pressing your lips against his. The kiss may have lasted a total of one second, but Yeosang accepted it as payment, finally handing you the can. You were not surprised to find the two of you had missed San and Mingi winning and going up against Hongjoong and Yunho in the finals. Wooyoung and Seonghwa sat down on the towels Hongjoong and Yunho had vacated. Seonghwa reached over to grab a can of soda himself as Wooyoung leaned over to be more closer to you and Yeosang. “I think I saw a hotel on the way here from the parking lot. Perhaps you could get a room there.” The look you shot him as an answer was downright poisonous. Yeosang, instead, smiled at his best friend sweetly. “Just say you’re jealous and go.” He turned slightly, reaching out to run his thumb along your bottom lip. “Because I have the prettiest girl on the beach all to myself.” You felt your cheeks heat up. Fuck, the things this guy did to you… The soft touch to your lip shot straight to your core, the way his previous ministrations with your bikini top hadn’t. Triumphantly, Yeosang turned back to watch the volleyball game in front of you. Wooyoung looked at you. “Do you need to cool off a little?” “Please.” You stood up, letting your ice cold can of soda rub against Yeosang’s heated skin – a shiver was the result – before thrusting the can into his hand. “Can you hold onto this while I’m gone, baby?” He looked up, his blond hair falling away from his face so you could see the hint of red on his cheeks. Good to see pet names still worked to fluster him. Wooyoung grinned all the way to the shoreline and started actually laughing, out loud, as he got into the water. You followed him into the water, letting it cool you off literally and metaphorically. Just the thought of Yeosang right now was enough to get you going – you couldn’t return to that beach and act teasingly around him when you were in a state like this. “You know you two aren’t being shy about it and everyone totally knows what’s happening, right?” Wooyoung said when his laughter died down. “Ugh, I saw Yunho staring at us,” you said, floating on your back in the water, the only thing making sure you weren’t floating off with the current was your hand on Wooyoung’s elbow. “It’s just unfair! I’m supposed to make him flustered, not the other way around! Yeosang, I mean,” you added unnecessarily. Wooyoung chuckled. “You know, I was thinking about that. Role reversal and stuff.” He looked at you then. “When me and my girlfriend try it, she usually acts like she doesn’t want it. She says it’s the way I act-“ “We all know that’s not true,” you chuckled. “Right?” He didn’t even care to disagree. “Anyway, it gets her exactly what she wants because then I’m all riled up and she’s just acting like nothing happened. It’s really frustrating and has a really happy ending.” You stood up, feeling the wet sand slip between your toes as your feet hit the bottom of the ocean. “You know, if I weren’t absolutely infatuated with Yeosang, I would’ve kissed you right now. You just gave me the best idea!” You let go of Wooyoung’s elbow in order to start swimming back to shore. “Come on, let’s go.” “Why are you swimming when you can just walk?” Wooyoung complained. “I need to make it look convincing!” When you got back on the sand, you turned back around at Wooyoung, making a show of raising your arms high above your head, as if you were celebrating. “Race you back!” you said and before waiting on an answer from Wooyoung, you started running back up the sand to the place you and the boys set up. With the head start you had on him, it was a given you won from Wooyoung, still celebrating as he came back. “Who’s a sucker now, huh?” “You’re normally all talk and no bite,” Wooyoung said, seemingly getting what you were playing at and helping you out. He sat down on the towel to dry off and you plopped down next to Yeosang. His hand was already making its way up your leg, up to your thigh, leaving behind a trail of sticky sand, but your attention was not on him. Instead, you looked at Mingi. He was a big teddy bear and before this thing with Yeosang happened, you were very physically close with Mingi. There was never any actual attraction between you two, but you liked cuddling him and holding his hand. Once it had been second nature to distribute that behaviour toward Mingi, now it was to distribute that toward Yeosang. But for the purpose of today’s little game, you gravitated back towards Mingi. “So who won the finale?” “San and I did, of course,” Mingi said, with the air of someone who was used to winning all games. “I expected nothing else.” You stuck out your tongue at Yunho, who immediately turned around from talking to his hyungs to complain. He also immediately, upon seeing your hand on Mingi’s upper thigh and your chin rested on his shoulder, raised his eyebrows at you. You just snuggled closer to Mingi, feeling Yeosang’s hand slide off of your thigh. Yunho’s eyes shot toward the boy but raised his hands in defeat and turned around to rejoin the conversation between Hongjoong and Seonghwa again. Mingi easily slipped back into your usual routine and soon enough his arm was slung around your shoulders. You knew that from an outsiders’ perspective, you probably looked like Mingi’s girlfriend right now. You didn’t bother looking at Yeosang, knowing it would rile him up even more. This was a little ways outside of the games you usually played with him, but you were sure it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Until perhaps it was. You turned in Mingi’s hold to grab the sunscreen again – after your swim, you needed another coating of it – and saw Yeosang’s hand shooting out to grab the bottle before you could. “Y/N, do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked, his voice loud and very sharp, the look in his eyes even more dangerous than before. “Uh-“ you were at a loss for words for a split second, contemplating what to do. Your eyes shot around your friend group; they were all staring at you, awaiting your answer. You looked at Wooyoung for help, who just shrugged, but with a knowing smile on his face, as if to say: task completed. You turned back to Yeosang. Upon looking into his eyes, you managed to make a sound that vaguely resembled the word “Yeah.” You excused yourself from Mingi and stood up, following Yeosang to the boulevard. The beach only had so many places to go to the bathroom at. As you were walking, you wondered if Yeosang really was taking Wooyoung’s advice to get a room at the seaside hotel. But he walked past it. Only when you were on the parking lot, luckily wearing flip flops to protect your feet from the scorching hot asphalt, you realised he was taking you to the car. “Yeo?” He didn’t respond. “Sangie?” you said, louder now. “Sangie, baby?” He stopped dead in his tracks, causing you to bump into him. He spun around slowly. “Hm?” “Are we going anywhere? Is there a reason you have the car keys with you?” You gestured to the strangely shaped object in the pocket of his swimming shorts. Obviously car keys now that you thought about it. “Is there a reason you were all over Mingi?” Yeosang’s hand shot out to grab your wrist. He draped your arm over his shoulder, his hand moving tantalizingly slow down your arm to grab at your waist. He pulled you in closer. “Did you want him to hold you like this?” “Are you jealous?” You brought up your other arm to wrap around his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. You knew it tickled him, you also knew it was a touch that sent straight down to his dick. When Yeosang didn’t immediately respond to your question, you said: “You know I wouldn’t really want anyone but you, right? Would I really be all over Mingi in this parking lot right now? Of course not.” You brought your lips to his and kissed him softly. “You’re the only man I kiss.” You kissed a line from his jaw to just beneath his ear. “The only man I want to kiss,” you said, dropping your voice to a whisper. When you pulled back, you saw Yeosang’s face was on fire. Satisfied, you said: “So, about that car… Were you planning on taking me anywhere? Or just taking me in general?” He was trying to form words, which admittedly wasn’t really working. You waited patiently, all the while slipping your hand into the pocket of his trunks to take the keys out. “I know a spot.” You slipped out of Yeosang’s grip and now, instead, it was you holding onto him, pulling him with you toward the car. Because you were with such a big group, you had gone to the beach in two separate cars. It was Mingi’s car that Yeosang had taken the keys to. You guessed it was for obvious reasons he didn’t take Hongjoong’s keys. You climbed into the drivers’ seat while Yeosang got into the passengers’ seat. It didn’t matter to you what the boys were thinking you were doing right now. All that mattered was Yeosang’s obvious excitement – you could tell from both his face and his dick – and the fact that you had him right where you wanted him. You were also increasingly getting turned on yourself. You drove the car up, further onto the parking lot. You knew there were two entrances, knew that the other one, the one you were stirring the car toward, was rarely used. The reason for that was that the road meandered through the dunes, all the way up to the lighthouse. From the lighthouse, there was another winding road to the next beach town, but cars rarely arrived from there. The lighthouse was in disuse, and that was all the better for what you had planned. The lighthouse was a bit off the main road, deeper into the dune landscape and higher up. It was probably not the best place to be at if you didn’t want to get caught, but on the other hand, it was a lot more private than the parking lot had been. You drove the car onto the tiny strip of land surrounding the lighthouse, parking it to the side a little bit. As soon as you had turned off the engine, Yeosang spoke, for what seemed like the first time since you left the beach: “You think you won, don’t you?” “I did, didn’t I?” You unbelted yourself and turned in the seat to face him. You were startled to find him close to you, closer than you had expected. He had already taken off his belt and was leaning over the stick shift between you. “No. Our game only just begun.” He used his pointer finger to lift your chin up to meet his gaze, his lips ghosting over yours. It was just a hint of a kiss, the slightest touch, and it made you want more of him. You liked teasing, you liked the chase, but now you were here, all by yourselves at a more or less abandoned place and you were ready to either fuck Yeosang’s brains out or get your own brains fucked out. You weren’t ready for another game of cat and mouse, another fight to see who the more sexually dominant person was between you two. When Yeosang pulled away, leaving you completely untouched, you weren’t even surprised to find you were whining. “Sangie,” you said, dragging out the e-sound. “What does my baby girl want?” It was hard to believe he could be blushing and whiny and in all sorts of states with the way he was looking at you now. So predatory and possessive it made you shiver. “I want you.” You tried to widen your eyes in innocence. You knew it would get Yeosang going simply because it reminded him of the hentai he watched. And it worked its magic immediately. His lips were on yours almost instantly and you sighed into his mouth in satisfaction. This was all you had been wanting for the past day. With the both of you and the car seats cleaned up enough, you settled into Yeosang’s arms. You were nearly the same height and he had a slender build, but it didn’t matter to you what his physique looked like. You felt safe in his arms anyway. The way the car was parked allowed for a spectacular view of the sun sinking in the sea in the distance. You sighed happily. With one of your hands’ fingers intertwined with Yeosang’s, you let the other bring his hand up to your mouth. He watched as you pressed kisses to his fingers, lingering on the place his rings would normally be. Your sign of affection didn’t startle Yeosang as it may have had the couple of times before that this had happened between you two. Even without saying it out loud, you both knew this was different from your skinship with Mingi, from the way Yeosang sometimes met up for late nights with other girls. It was time for both of those to end officially and for something else to blossom, you both knew it. You also both knew it was probably time to return to the other boys. As the sun had set completely, disappearing beyond the horizon, you tried to wiggle out of Yeosang’s grasp. He whined, the way you liked to hear him whine. “Baby, we need to go. The boys-“ “Can wait. I want to cuddle you more.” Gone was the dominant persona he had taken on during sex. “We can cuddle in the back of the car on the way home?” You leaned over and pressed your lips to his, his lips as soft as feathers. “I don’t want to think about how long we were gone for.” You started climbing to the front of the car, plopping down in the drivers’ seat. Yeosang climbed to the front as well, offering an estimate of an hour and a half you had spent away from the beach, which caused you to speed back to the parking lot. With the sun having set now, there were only so many cars left in the lot. The headlights of Mingi’s car swooped over a group of boys standing leaned against a truck – Hongjoong’s truck. “I think we’re in trouble,” you said, upon seeing Mingi getting ready to square up. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Yeosang smiled at you. “We should’ve went with the hotel room.”

a/n: I’m sorry if you wanted an actual sex scene but I left it out because I couldn’t get it right (I’ve been working on this thing for months now lol, hence the summer theme). But I like how the rest turned out :) Also, I’m so so sorry that it took me literal months to post something new. I’ve been on writers block, especially when it comes to kpop. I might post some of the Draco Malfoy & Harry Styles stuff I wrote though sometime soon

#kang yeosang x reader #yeosang smut #kpop smut #kpop x reader #kpop fluff #yeosang fluff #ateez x reader #ateez smt #ateez fluff #my writing #yeosang #kang yeosang #ateez #kpop

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thebrotherssalvatore321 · 4 years

Text

Keeping Secrets Ch. 12

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

Pairing: DamonxOc, TylerxOc, ElijahxOc, KlausxOc endgame. Warnings: None for this chapter.

Over the next three weeks Katie kept her head down and focused on work and school. To keep her hands even more occupied she bought a guitar and started teaching herself how to play. She didn’t get to spend much time with her friends because Bonnie was still at her aunt’s house, Elena was wrapped up in Stefan and Caroline was wrapped up in Matt.

She was working after school and was picking up the tip that Tyler had left behind on her table when Matt walked up to clear it. "Is it just me or has he been coming here a lot more than usual?" she asked him.

"Yeah and he's tipping you more than the other girls." Matt said as she split the money then handed him his half. "I think someone has a crush."

"Is Tyler Lockwood even capable of crushing on someone?" Katie asked with an eye roll.

"I don't know, but he’s only human so...maybe." he said with a shrug then started clearing the table.

Katie brushed the conversation off and got back to work.

The next day Katie was working after school when Tyler came in and sat down in her section. So she grabbed her notepad and pen and walked over. Seeing Damon sitting at the bar Katie made her voice sound more cheerful. "Hey, Tyler, what can I get you?" She asked with a smile.

"A coke and some curly fries." He told her with a smile back.

"Alright. I'll put that order in and be right back with your drink." She told him then walked to the bar finding the ice scoop and coke sprayer to be faster than the soda machine in the back.

"You're not seriously flirting with the dimwit football player are you?" Damon asked, clearly having been listening.

"Screw you, Damon." She told him then turned to see the order of curly fries be slid into the order window. She carried them and the drink over to Tyler and set them down in front of him. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Your phone number." He said with his jockish smirk.

Katie gave him a questioning side eye. "Did you seriously just ask for my number?"

"Yes. I seriously just asked for your number."

She pursed her lips to the side as she thought about it. "Okay." She bit her lip and smiled at him as she pulled her note pad out of her apron pocket and wrote her number down. She tore the paper out, put it on the table then slid it to him.

"I'm kind of surprised that worked." He told her with a suspicious smile. "You gave me a fake number didn't you?"

"There's only one way to find out." She told him with a playful smile then got back to work.

That night she got a text from an unknown number. "I swear if this is a fake number..."

"Hi, Tyler." she texted back.

"Well what do you know. Katie Finnegan actually gave me her number." After she got the text her phone started ringing so she answered it.

"Hi."

"Hey." He answered back a little awkwardly.

"Why wouldn't I give you my number?" She asked as she walked over to her bed and sat down on it cross legged.

"I don’t know. You've been kind of…off, here lately." he answered. "You don’t smile anymore."

Kate made sure her hair looked okay and her glasses were straight then snapped a pic of herself with a too big, cheesy smile on her face. She typed "I do too." then hit send.

She heard a noise on the other end of the line as Tyler opened the message then laughed. "I've known you long enough to know that smile is fake." He replied.

"Eh, well, I tried." Katie replied.

"So I heard you and Damon broke up."

"Yep." She answered.

"I also heard you're living with him and Stefan."

"My grandpa kicked me out. I had no where else to go." She replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Must be a pain in the ass living with your ex." He commented.

"Pain in the ass isn't a strong enough expression." She replied as she fell back putting her head on her pillow.

"What would you say if I asked you out?" He asked making Katie's heart jump up into her throat.

"Um that depends, are you asking me out?" She asked avoiding his question.

"Yes." He answered not missing a beat.

"How's your mom going to feel about you goin' out a piece of trash like me?" She asked remembering what his mother had said when she had given him a ride home.

"You heard that huh?" He asked and she could hear a hint of how bad he felt about it in his voice.

"Yeah she wasn't exactly quiet about it." Katie answered trying to keep how much she hated his parents out of her voice.

"Sorry." He told her sounding like he didn't say the word much to other people who weren't his dad.

"You don’t have to apologize. You didn't say it." She told him.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He told her and things got quiet for a few seconds so to break the silence he asked, "So what are you wearing?"

Katie actually laughed. "You did not just ask me that."

"I did." She could hear a smile in his voice. "Am I gonna get an answer?"

"Only if you answer first." She told him with a smile still in her voice.

"Just some grey lounge pants." He answered and Katie instantly pictured him shirtless. It wasn't like she hadn't seen him shirtless before. Tyler was proud of his body and had no problem showing it off. But it was the first time she gave how hot he was more than a fleeting thought and actually found herself attracted to him. "You're picturing me shirtless aren't you?" He asked when she didn't say anything.

"No." Katie drawled sounding a little embarrassed. "Why would I do that? You're repulsive." She joked to smooth over how obvious she had been.

"Uh huh, sure." She could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "So..." he drawled, "What are you wearing?"

Katie looked down at her maroon, Timber wolf cheer sweat pants and overly worn t shirt with a faded ‘Three Days Grace’ logo on the front. "My red cheer shorts and a black spaghetti strap tanktop." She lied but used clothes from her wardrobe to do so.

"The ones you wear to practice all the time?" He asked and Katie blushed as she hummed a positive answer. "Nice."

"I wasn't aware you even noticed me at practice." She replied without thinking.

"You really don’t see it do you?" He asked.

"See what?" She asked completely oblivious.

"Practically the whole football team has had the hots for you since you joined the cheer squad." He explained and Katie felt like her head was going to explode. "I mean we've all whistled at you."

"I always thought y'all were whistling at the squad as a whole." She replied as she rolled over and sat up.

"If you paid attention you would've realized that we were looking at you." He answered.

Katie's stomach growled making her realize that she hadn't had dinner. "Okay if that's true then why are you the only one that's asked me out?" She asked as she headed down stairs to the kitchen.

"We all assumed you were a lesbian." He answered.

"Seriously? A girl doesn't flirt back so guys automatically think she's just not into them?" She asked as she walked into the kitchen and saw Damon getting a bag of blood out of the fridge.

She hadn't been shopping and knew that there wouldn't be anything in the icebox for her. So she grabbed a cup of noodles out of the cabinet next to the fridge. "Yeah." He answered as if it were the obvious one. "But then you showed up at my house with that Damon guy and proved us wrong."

"That Damon guy, seriously?" Damon asked loud enough for Tyler to hear.

"Is he there right now?" Tyler asked.

"I had to leave the solitude of my room to find food." She answered as she put a pot of water on the stove to boil.

"Do you have me on speaker?" He asked curious as to how Damon could hear him.

"No. He just has really good hearing." She said then pulled herself up to sit on the kitchen counter. She glared at Damon as she kept talking to Tyler. "So I'll ask again. Why are you the only one that's asked me out?"

"I think I'm the only one who noticed you and Damon broke up." He answered.

"I broke up with her." Damon chimed in.

"Don’t you have somewhere to be?" she popped off at Damon not caring if Tyler heard. "Or sorority girls to exploit?"

"Nope." He answered with a smart ass smile.

She shot him the finger. "Do I need to call you back later?" Tyler asked as the water in the pot started boiling.

"Nope." Katie answered as she peeled back the seal on the cup and poured the water in to the fill line. "I'm going to eat in my bedroom." She grabbed a fork out of the drawer and closed it with her hip as she held the phone with her shoulder and the cup in both hands to keep from spilling hot water on herself. "Okay I'm back in my room. No more interruptions." She sighed as she kicked the door closed behind her and set the cup of noodles on top of her dresser.

"Right, so are you going anywhere for Christmas break?" He asked knowing that tomorrow was the last day of school before the two week break.

"Nope. My schedule is wide open other than the winter festival that the gang usually drags me to." She told him as she waited for her noodles to be ready.

"You wanna get some dinner and catch a movie this weekend?" He asked making Katie realize that she'd never been on an actual date before.

"Sounds fun." She told him feeling nervous.

"Alright, cool." She smiled at the smile she could hear in Tyler's voice. "Well it's getting late. I'll see you tomorrow?" She hummed a positive answer. "G'night."

"Night." She replied then hung up.

She was in the kitchen when Stefan walked in wearing a pair of black pajama pants. "Hey." He greeted her where she stood with her back turned to him washing her dishes.

"Oh, hey." She replied with a look over her shoulder at him.

"Did I hear you talking to Tyler Lockwood earlier?" He asked as he grabbed a glass out of the cabinet.

"Is privacy not a thing when you live with vampires?" She asked as she put the pot and fork in the draining board and turned to see him making a glass of ice water.

"Sorry." He said with a tight lipped smile even though he wasn't really sorry. "Isn’t he kind of a hot head?"

"Yeah." Katie answered as she leaned her hips against the cabinet. "But I broke my grandfather’s nose and stabbed Damon in the hand. So who am I to judge?"

"Point taken." He replied then took a drink of his water. "I just don’t want you to rush into anything just because you want to get over Damon."

"I appreciate your concern, but if I'm being honest I've kind of had a small crush on Tyler since, like, junior high. So I kind of feel like it'd be a missed opportunity if I turn him down." She admitted as she walked over to the island that he was standing on the other side of. "Is that stupid?" She asked sheepishly.

"Nope. It makes total sense." He told her with a shake of his head then finished off his water and set the glass in the sink. "Goodnight." Katie hummed back at him.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie and Tyler were standing at her locker after school when Caroline and Bonnie came over. "Hey, are you going to help us set up for the festival?" Caroline asked Katie with a smile.

"Hey, you're back." She greeted Bonnie with a hug.

"Just for the winter festival then it's back to my aunts." She said as Katie let her go.

"Well, I'm glad your here. Christmas would suck if we weren't all together." She told Bonnie then looked at Caroline. "Yes, I will help with the festival." She then looked at Tyler.

His eyes got big and he held up his hands. "No. You're not roping me into helping."

"Awe come on you don't want to string up popcorn with me?" Katie asked with a laugh. "I usually end up eating half of it anyway."

"No eating the popcorn." Caroline scolded pointing at both of them.

"Yeah I'm gonna pass." Tyler told her with a no nonsense face. "I will see you later though." He gave her a quick smile then left the group of girls.

"So what's up with you two?" Caroline asked.

"We’re… going out." Katie answered watching him walk out the double doors at the end of the hallway as they followed slower behind him.

"What?" Bonnie asked. "When did that happen and why didn't you tell us?"

"When did you and Damon break up?" Caroline asked looking at her across Bonnie.

"Damon dumped me two weeks ago. I assumed Elena or Bonnie told you." Katie answered Caroline first. "Tyler called last night and asked me out. So I haven't had a chance to tell you guys."

"How'd he even get your number?" Bonnie asked curiously.

"He asked me for it." She answered with a shrug.

"Is Tyler even your type?" Caroline asked as they pushed the doors open and headed out into the cool air.

"I don't think I really have a type." Katie answered.

"So are you guys going on a date or something?" Bonnie asked as they walked up to the table that held two bowls of popcorn, string and needles.

"Yeah. Dinner and a movie this weekend." Katie answered.

"That's predictable." Caroline laughed.

"After being with Damon, predictable sounds nice." Katie argued and Bonnie made a face that said she understood.

Hours later after the festival started Elena, Stefan, Caroline, Matt, Katie and Bonnie all gathered around one of the picnic tables. "Nobody open their gift until every one has exchanged. Okay first off who picked who?" Caroline, who had arranged everything, ran the show.

"I got Stefan." Elena started and handed him his gift.

"I got Caroline." Stefan said as he handed Caroline her gift.

"And I got Bonnie." Caroline said with a cheery smile. "That means Matt and Katie got each other." Caroline finished and Matte and Katie switched gifts. "Okay open."

Katie was surprised when she unwrapped a silver jewelry box and opened it to find a black leather wrap bracelet with silver letters on it that spelled out her name. "Thanks, Matt, I really like it."

"Thank Caroline. I had no clue what to get you." He told her with an ashamed look then started un-wrapping his gift.

"I kind of had no clue what to get you either." Katie said as he tore the paper off of the Nerf football. "Figured I couldn’t go wrong with a football."

"You figured right." He said with a laugh then tore the cardboard packaging off of it and started tossing it in the air.

"Boys are so easily amused." Caroline said with an eye roll as she walked up.

"Thank you for the bracelet." Katie told her with a hug.

"He wasn't supposed to tell you." Caroline complained. Katie just laughed and shook her head. "He wanted to buy you a cheap bath set."

"I would've been fine with that." Katie shrugged.

"Even if it smelled like old feet and flowers?" Caroline asked with a grossed out look.

"Ew, no. Thank you for saving me from that disaster." Katie thanked her again. "What did you get from Stefan?"

Caroline pouted and held up her hand and the mini snow glob of Mystic Falls that dangled off the key ring on her finger. "We're not including the boys in secret Santa next year."

Katie just laughed at the pathetic excuse of a Christmas gift. "Hey, Tyler, catch!" She heard Matt say and she looked up in time to see Tyler catch the ball.

"You're man is here." Caroline smiled and bumped Katie's shoulder with hers then walked over to Matt.

"What is she talking about?" Elena asked with a look between the blushing Katie and Caroline.

"Katie and Tyler are going out now." Stefan answered for her.

"You knew?" Elena asked with a look up at Stefan who was hugging her from behind.

"We live in the same house and I have good hearing." Stefan pointed out.

"Wait you live with the Salvatore’s now?" Caroline asked turning away from Matt who took the football from Tyler. Katie just nodded. "Why?"

"My grandpa kicked me out." Katie answered with a shrug as she took the jewelry box out of her pocket and opened it.

"Why?" Caroline asked not letting the subject drop.

Katie didn't look at her and instead focused on putting on her new bracelet. "Can we talk about this later?"

"No, why do I feel like I missing something?" She asked getting mad as she looked around at her friends who were giving her warning looks.

Katie looked around at all the people. "Okay," she sighed and walked over to Caroline and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of earshot of her friends. "I've been trying to find the right time to tell you this, but you're always so cheerful I didn't want to bring you down with sad stuff."

"What are you talking about?" Caroline asked quietly, her super sweet voice making it harder on Katie. They came to a stop on the sidewalk.

"For the last seven years, up until I started dating Damon, my grandfather abused me. Physically and emotionally." Katie put it all out on the table.

"You're not really clumsy are you?" She asked, the light bulb going off in her head. Katie shook her head. "Oh my god, I should've realized..."

"I was really good at hiding it." Katie shrugged. "Damon caught Grandpa in the middle of beating me and stood up to him. He stopped physically hurting me, but not emotionally." Katie explained while Caroline stared at her with a furrowed brow. "I spent the night at the boarding house for a couple of nights and when I came home and told Grandpa where I had been he accused me of sleeping with both of the Salvatore brothers. I saw red and broke his nose. He kicked me out and Damon and Stefan offered me a room at the boarding house."

"I am so sorry." Caroline said with a shake of her head.

"No I'm sorry. I should've told you about all this sooner." Katie argued. "Are you mad at me?"

"No." Caroline said with a shake of her head.

"Hey," Tyler called as he ran over to them. "I hate to interrupt, but they're about to light the tree."

"Oh, we can't miss it." Caroline perked up and headed over to the big tree that was set up in the middle of the decorated parking lot.

"You okay?" Tyler asked with a curious head tilt.

"Yeah I'm good." Katie answered.

"I got you hot coco." He said as he held up a to-go coffee cup.

Katie tried not to cringe at the thought of drinking hot chocolate, but she managed a small smile as she took the cup from him. "Thanks."

They all stood amongst the crowd as Sheriff Forbs gave a speech. Katie noticed Elena standing next to Stefan, leaning into his side while he had his arm wrapped around her side and Matt hugging Caroline from behind. When she looked across her shoulder at Tyler he rolled his eyes with a smile and put his arm around her shoulders.

"You don't have to just because they are." Katie told him considering she had never seen Tyler be lovey dovey with Vicki. He was handsy, but he never came off as the type to hold hands.

"I want to." He told her with a look that suggested she was being ridicules.

"Okay." Katie answered skeptically.

"You don’t believe me?" He asked with raise brows.

"You never really came off as the romantic, hand holding type." Katie shrugged.

"I'm not." He shrugged. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to be."

"Okay." She told him with a small smile.

The tree being lit caught their attention so they both watched as the lights came on going up the tall decorated tree. When it was completely lit everyone started cheering and clapping. Katie just smiled.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie kept her outfit for her date with Tyler simple and wore a plain white t-shirt, dark wash skinny jeans, black wedge heeled ankle boots and her black leather jacket. She was sitting on her bed putting on her boots when Damon walked up and leaned against her door frame with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. "Your boyfriend’s here."

She looked at her watch to see that it was twenty till five. "He's early."

"I was talking about me." He told her with a smirk. Katie rolled here eyes and went to her bathroom to put the finishing touches on her eye makeup. "You're seriously going on a date with that guy?" He asked as he stumbled into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"That guy has a name and yes I am." She answered as she finished lining her eyes.

"He’s a stupid jock." He told her with scoff.

She turned around in his arms and took them off of her. "I'll take a hot jock over a murderous ass hole any day." She walked around him to her room.w

"A murderous asshole that you love." He pointed out and she turned to see him standing in the middle of her room.

"Yeah and what did you do with my love Damon?" Katie asked as she walked over and grabbed the bottle out of his hand. "You flushed it down the toilet like you do everything else good in your life." She took a swig of whatever dark liquid was in the bottle.

"I miss you Katie." He said giving her his sad eyes. A big part of her wanted to give in to them, but another part of her just as big, and more logical, told her that she couldn’t stay on the emotional rollercoaster that was Damon Salvatore.

"You miss me?" She asked with pissed off wide eyes. "That's why you keep dragging whole sorority houses of girls here and partying all night?" She asked and he just blinked at her. "I told you if you pushed me away I wouldn’t come back and you pushed anyway." She told him with an exhausted shake of her head. "You know, Elena once told me I was like a fish on a hook that you kept throwing out then reeling back in..." she took another drink of the alcohol then slammed the bottle into his chest. "I'm cutting the line."

"It’s that simple for you to give up on us?" He asked and she was pretty sure she saw tears welling in his eyes.

"Simple?" She scoffed with a sarcastic laugh. "There is nothing simple about this. A part of me will always love you, but I can't keep letting you push me away then pull me back in. It's not right and it’s eventually going to rip me apart. It's not fair for you to expect me to be happy with only half your heart." She watched him take a drink from the bottle. "So I'm going out with Tyler and if, slash when, he kisses me I won't feel guilty. Hell, I might even sleep with him on the first date, who knows."

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard glass shattering. She flinched as she stopped and looked back, fighting the urge to go to him. "Katie." She looked to the bottom of the stairs to see Stefan looking at her with sympathetic eyes. "Tyler's waiting for you in the living room."

"Did I just make a big mistake, not going back to him?" Katie whispered as quietly as she could.

"No." Stefan told her with pursed lips and a shake of his head. "I don’t think so."

Katie walked down the stairs and stopped in front of Stefan. "How am I supposed to get through tonight after that?" Katie asked.

"Easy." He said as he grabbed her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Take a deep breath." She did as she was told. "Let it out." When she did Stefan made a face. "Now just remember to relax and smile, but first go brush your teeth." He let go of her shoulders. "You reek of alcohol and no one wants to kiss that on their first date."

Katie let out a tense laugh. "Will you let Tyler know I'll be down in a few?" She asked and he nodded so she turned around and went back to her room. Damon was still standing where she had left him. They ignored each other as she went to her bathroom, brushed her teeth then headed out of her room, but she stopped when she saw the broken glass and alcohol all over the floor. "Please clean that up before I get back." She said not looking at Damon then walked out.

When she got to the living room she saw Tyler talking to Stefan and when Tyler saw her he gave her smile. She smiled back at him where he stood with his hands in his pockets. "You ready?" He asked as she walked over to him.

"Yeah." She answered then turned her eyes to Stefan who gave her a nod of encouragement. "Let's go."

They made small talk on the way to the movie discovering that they had similar taste in music and movies. After calling to see what was playing they decided on Avatar.

Thirty minutes into the movie and halfway through a large container of popcorn Tyler took his eyes off the movie to look at Katie. One of her legs was crossed over the other and one hand was tucked in the bend of her knee while the other rested on the arm rest that she shared with him.

Katie, feeling like she was being watched, glanced over at Tyler to see him looking at her hand. So she turned her eyes back to the screen and flipped her hand over. A few minutes later he placed his hand over it, slipping his fingers between hers. She looked at him and smiled. She was almost positive that there was a bit of a blush on his cheeks as he gave her a closed lipped smile back, but it was hard to be sure in the dim lighting.

They held hands for the rest of the movie and until they walked to his car and he opened her door for her. "So what do you feel like eating?" He asked as he started the car.

"Umm, you chose. I'm not picky." She told him with a shrug.

"Is this one of those trick questions where you tell me to choose just to see if I get it right?" He asked with a playful glare making Katie laugh.

"No, I promise, I really don't care. You could bring me to McDonald's and I'd be happy."

"Ew, really?" He asked and she nodded. "Well, we're not going to McDonald's." He put the car into drive.

"So where are we going?" Katie asked curiously.

"You'll see." He told her as he pulled out onto the highway. "And if you complain when we get there I'm throwing you out of the car." he told her making her smile.

A few minutes later he pulled up in front of the Mystic Grill. "You brought me to the place I work?"

"I brought you to where we both were when I decided I was finally going to ask you out." Katie felt her cheeks warm as she gave him an almost bashful smile. "I was aiming for romantic. Did I completely miss and land in cheesy?"

"No." Katie laughed out the word and shook her head.

Her heart dropped when they walked in and her eyes landed on Damon sitting at the bar. "Do you wanna go somewhere else?" Tyler asked when he saw him too.

"Nope." She told him as she forced a smile onto her face.

"Okay." Tyler guided her to the table he had been sitting at when he asked her for her number and they sat down. "So, what do you do for fun?" Tyler asked trying to get to know her better.

"No one knows this, but I actually write poetry." She answered. "I kinda think some of my poems could be songs, but I have zero knowledge of music so..." she shrugged. "What about you?"

"I draw." He answered while playing with the square cardboard coaster in his hands.

"Are you any good?" She asked as their food was sat down in front of them.

"The art teacher thinks so." He answered with a shrug. "If you want to go to my place when were done here I'll show you some of my sketches."

Katie grabbed his left hand and looked at the watch on his wrist. "Won't your parents be mad if you bring me to your place this late?" She let go of his wrist.

"They're gone for the weekend." He answered.

"Then sure." She answered then they started eating.

Somewhere in the middle of their dinner Damon left and Katie didn't notice. When they were done Tyler paid the bill then drove to his house.

"So was it just me or were there big brother vibes coming off of Stefan when I picked you up?" Tyler asked as he unlocked his front door the walked inside.

"It wasn't just you." She answered as she followed him inside and he turned on the lights.

"Every girl in school went gaga over that guy when he showed up." He said as she followed him up the stairs then stopped and looked at her when they got to his bedroom door. "And you live in the same house as him."

"Are you afraid you might have competition?" She asked challengingly.

He rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. "No."

"Good, because you don't." She replied with a smile and he opened his bedroom door. "I'm one of the few who didn't take one look at him and instantly want to jump into his pants." She didn't know what she thought his room would look like, but it definitely wasn't what she expected.

She always thought most teen aged guys would have messy, cluttered rooms, but Tyler's was neat and clean. Just like her room in the Salvatore house his had a fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in years. Sports trophies and a signed baseball sat along its white mantel. White nightstands with lamps on them sat on each side of his queen sized bed that was made with a simple thin white bedspread and goldish yellow pillow cases.

Tyler pulled a drawing pad off of the book shelf in the room and walked over to her as he flipped through a couple pages. He flipped the pad around and handed it to her. "Whoa." She commented when her eyes landed on a drawing of a guy crouched down in what she thought of as superhero landing. "I'm no artist, but this is really good." She said as she flipped to the next page revealing a sketch of a woman in short shorts and a tank top with gun holsters on each thigh and a gun in each hand.

"Oh that’s-"

"Lara Croft." Katie finished for him. "The video game one, not the Angelina Jolie one."

"You play video games?" He asked with raised brows.

"Nope, but Jeremy does. I've picked up on a few things over the years." She shrugged and handed him the pad. "You plan on doing anything with your art or is it just something you do for fun?" She asked.

"It's just for fun." He answered as he put the book away then walked over to his bed and sat down. He looked at her like he wanted her to sit down next to him.

She just walked over and leaned on the post of his four poster bed and turned her eyes to the floor with a frown. She hadn't thought things through and didn't even think about what was going to happen after he showed her his drawings. "Can I ask you something without you possibly getting offended?" She asked looking up from the floor to him.

"Sure." He answered giving her a curious look.

"Did you bring me here just to see if I would sleep with you?" She asked already kicking herself for being so blunt.

"No?" He asked more than answered.

"Because I'm not one of those girls that's going to go further than first base on the first date and I don't want you to get pissed when I don't put out. I know that I'm a cheerleader and cheerleaders are supposedly easy and-"

Tyler stood up and put his hand over her mouth. "I never thought I would say this to you because you're so quiet at school, but shut up." Katie rolled her eyes at him. "If I move my hand are you going to keep freaking out on me?" He asked looking at her with a playful smile on his face as he looked at her through his lashes. As she looked down at his hand over her mouth she decided to be mean. She nodded her head yes. “Then I guess my hands going to stay here all night.” As soon as he finished talking Katie licked his palm making him pull it back with a disgusted face and she started laughing. “Oh, you are so going to pay for that.” He told her as he tried to wipe her spit on her face. She laughed and tried to dodge him, but he managed to wipe it on her neck instead.

She yelped when he tackled her to his bed and started trying to lick her face. “No.” she laughed and attempted hold him back, but failed miserably. He managed to grab her hands and pin them to the bed then licked her from chin to cheekbone. “Okay. Okay we’re even.” She laughed as he pulled back and they both realized the position their wrestling had put them in. He still had her hands pinned down and was straddling one of her legs, both of them breathing a little harder than normal after their playful tiff. “Can I have one of my hands please?” she asked and he let go of her hand.

She wiped his spit off of her face then smiled deviously as she wiped it on his cheek. He closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. “Really?” he opened his eyes when Katie laughed.

“Mhmm.” Katie hummed then hooked her pointer finger into the collar of his button up shirt. She was thankful he couldn’t hear the rapid beating of her heart as she looked up into his milk chocolate brown eyes. She let her eyes slip down to his naturally pouty lips then back to his eyes. He took the hint and leaned down, pressing his lips gently to hers. Katie always thought a kiss was a kiss, they’d all feel the same, but that wasn’t the case. Kissing Tyler felt nothing like kissing Damon, but she found that she liked it all the same.

He kept the first kiss short and simple and pulled back after a few seconds. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit it as she gave him a closed lipped smile. “You are so not a lesbian.” He said with a goofy smile.

“Shut up.” She laughed. “I can’t believe you guys thought I was a lesbian.” She said with a shake of her head.

“I never really believed it.” he told her with a tilt of his head.

“So should I keep proving to you how straight I am?” she asked.

“Hey I won’t stop you.” he said making her smile as she started unbuttoning his shirt. Once she had all the buttons undone he took it off then rolled them over so that she was on top and both sat up so that she was in his lap. He cupped her face in his hand as he kissed her and started pushing her jacket off of her shoulders. She took it off and let it fall to the floor behind her then pulled back from him long enough to grab the hem of her shirt, take it off and toss it to the side.

His eyes glazed over when they landed on her cleavage, pushed up by her white bra with black pinstripes and black lace trim. She was going to take it off, but the hardness she could feel against her butt told her he liked it, a lot. So she kept in on and slid her hands up his chest to cross her wrists behind his neck. When he still didn’t look up from her chest she smiled. “Tyler.” she sing songed his name. When he still didn't take his eyes off her chest she grabbed his hand off her hip and brought it to her lips. He watched with lustful eyes as she kissed the tips of his fingers starting with his pinky. When she got to his pointer finger she swirled her tongue around the tip then sucked it into her mouth. Her teeth grazed it as she pulled her head back then let go of his hand.

A quiet laugh left her lips as his other hand flew to the side of her neck and pulled her into him. Any restraint either of them had left was thrown out the window as he moved them around to be on top of her. Her legs wrapped around his hips as his lips attacked hers and their hands roamed each other.

After thirty minutes of making out things started to cool off. He was leaning back against his headboard with Katie straddling his lap, his hands gripping her jean covered thighs while she kissed his neck when she pulled back and grabbed his wrist to look at his watch. "Whoa, it's late." She showed him his watch.

"Time flies when you're having fun." He commented. "We should probably get you home huh?"

"Unfortunately." she answered as she moved off of him and slid to the edge of the bed. "Have you seen my shirt?" She asked as she scooped her jacket up off the floor.

"I think you threw it over there." He pointed to the foot of the bed. She stood up and walked around the bed to see her shirt on the floor. "You know my parents won't be home until tomorrow night. If you don’t want to go to the boarding house you can stay here." Katie pulled her shirt over her head and bit her lip thinking about it. "You can use the guest bedroom if you want." He added thinking it might help convince her to stay with him instead of going back to the house with Damon.

"I'll stay.” She answered as she put her jacket on the back of the chair that sat in front of his tv then crawled onto the bed and laid down next to him where he still sat leaning against the head board, “but not in the guest room.” he slid down to lay next to her and she rolled onto her side, putting her head on his shoulder as she placed her hand on his chest.

As much as she liked Tyler and how much he made her laugh, in that moment all she could think about was how she should be lying like this with Damon in his bed. Then she remembered all the crap he’d put her through and looked up at Tyler who was looking up at the ceiling. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked looking into her eyes.

“Everything. Asking me out, taking me on a classic date, making me laugh, giving me a place to stay for the night where I don’t feel like murdering anyone.” She said with all seriousness.

“You’re welcome.” He cupped her face in his hand and slid his thumb over her bottom lip. She smiled and bit it. “Damn woman.” He smiled and rolled over pinning her hands to the bed beside her head.

“What?” she smiled at him innocently.

“You know what.” He told her with lust back in his eyes.

“Tell me anyway.” She said then bit her lip.

“You’re a tease.” He told her then started kissing her neck.

“Yeah, but you like it.” she sighed tilting her head to the side as she slid her hands over his still nude back.

They messed around until neither of them could keep their eyes open. She fell asleep on top of the blankets while Tyler slept under them. He asked her to get under the covers with him but she lied and said that she doesn’t sleep covered up.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie thought she heard someone clearing their throat, but being half asleep she didn’t pay it much attention and just snuggled into Tyler’s side. That was until some one clapped their hands and yelled “Tyler!”

They both shot straight up in bed and looked at his open bedroom door to see his mom. “Crap.” Katie sighed and felt herself wanting to sink into the mattress and disappear.

“Yeah, crap.” Mrs. Lockwood snapped as she crossed her arms over her chest then looked at her son. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing, were weren’t doing anything I swear.” He answered as he got out of bed showing his mom that he still had his pants on.

Katie stood up and grabbed her jacket. “Mrs. Lockwood, I-”

“You, don’t get to talk.” She pointed at finger at Katie who closed her mouth and held her jacket in her hands in front of herself. “You, explain yourself.” She said with a point at Tyler where he stood on his side of the bed while Katie stood at the foot of it.

“We went on a date then came back here to hang out. We watched tv and ended up falling asleep.” He lied, but it didn’t really matter because his parents wouldn’t believe them anyway.

Mrs. Lockwood stared at him looking like she was considering believing what he was telling her, but then she looked at Katie and said, “Leave.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Katie answered quietly then headed for the door with her eyes down cast. When she was out of the door she turned back to Tyler and said, “Thanks, again.” then headed downstairs.

She ran into the mayor on the way to the front door. “Katie, what are you doing here?” he asked looking confused.

“Tyler and I fell asleep watching tv last night.” She answered making the mayor frown. “Your wife wouldn’t let me talk, but maybe you will?” she asked and he nodded and motioned for her to speak. “I know coming home and finding your son with a girl in his bed doesn’t look good, but I promise we didn’t do anything last night.”

“Okay, time for you to go.” He told her and put his hand on her shoulder to push her toward the door.

“Please let me finish?” she asked as he opened the front door. He gave her a tight lipped nod and she saw Mrs. Lockwood walk down the stairs and look at her husband talking to Katie. “Tyler knows my home life sucks, as I’m sure you well know, and I didn’t want to go home. He’s a good guy, please don’t punish him for my mistake.”

“Have a good day Katie.” He told her then shut the door in her face.

“Way to get on the parent’s good side Katie.” She scoffed and looked around as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and started walking. She knew she should call someone, her ankle boots weren’t made for walking, but she didn’t know who to call. If she called Caroline or Elena she’d get a judgmental lecture on how she shouldn’t have stayed the night with Tyler. So she called the one person she knew might possibly understand, Stefan.

He picked up after a few rings. “Hello?” he asked sounding sleepy.

“I am so sorry if I woke you up or if you’re with Elena,” She started and she heard him grunt as he sat up. “and I don’t mean to bother you-”

“No, no, it’s fine. Elena’s not staying at the boarding house until Damon calms down.” He explained. “Are you okay? You didn’t come home last night.” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I fell asleep at Tyler’s.” she said then tripped when her heel landed on a rock and she twisted her ankle. “His parents came home early and found us asleep in his bed.”

“Oh, that sucks.” He said and she could hear humor in his voice.

“I know, way to make a good impression on the boyfriend’s parent’s huh?” she asked then tripped over another rock. Stefan laughed. “So I hate to ask, but do you think you could come pick me up? Because I’m currently doing the walk of shame down a rock road in heels when I don’t even really have anything to be ashamed of.”

“Okay, stop walking before you twist and ankle. I’ve heard you trip twice already.” He said and she could hear the rustle of him putting on clothes.

“You could hear that?” she asked a little surprised that he could figure that out over the phone.

“Super hearing applies to phones too.” He answered. “I’ll steal Damon’s key’s and come get you.”

“Thank you, Stefan.”

“Hang tight.” He answered back then hung up. Despite what he told her Katie kept walking, kicking rocks as she did so that she wouldn’t trip over them. Soon she saw Damon’s car headed her way so she stopped walking and uncrossed her arms from her chest. He stopped and rolled down the window even though the top was down. “Hey stranger need a ride?” he asked jokingly and Katie just rolled her eyes with a small smile and walked around the car as he rolled the window up.

“Why don’t you have your own car?” Katie asked as she climbed inside.

“I do, I just don’t drive it.” he answered.

“Why not?” she asked tying to keep the conversation off of her and her recent mistakes.

“It’s too showy, draws too much attention.” He answered and the conversation fell for a few minutes. “Why did you call me instead of one of your friends?” he asked with a look at her across his shoulder.

“Because I knew that if I called them I would get all kinds of questions and judgmental comments and possibly a lecture. I didn’t feel like hearing that today.” She said with a shrug.

“How do you know I’m not going to lecture you or judge you?” he asked and she looked at him to see his eyes on the road.

“I don’t know. I guess because you don’t seem the type.” She shrugged. “And out of all of my friends I figured you would understand why I didn’t want to come home.” She admitted.

“You just celled me your friend.” He pointed out.

“That’s because you are.” She pointed out. “I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.” The conversation fell again and after a few more minutes he pulled into the boarding house driveway.

They headed into the house without another word to each other and when Katie got to her room the first thing she noticed was her journal sitting on her bed and not where she had left it on her desk. Cautiously she walked over to it and picked it up and opened it. Damon’s handwriting in red ink marred every page with notes in the margins. She didn’t even read what he had written all she cared about was the fact that he had read her whole journal. With shaking hands Katie sat down at her desk and took all of her poems out of the back pocket of the spiral book to see that he had written and doodled on those too. She sighed and placed her head in her hands, willing herself not to cry. It worked, but sadness turned to anger.

She got up and locked her bedroom door to keep anyone from coming in. Then went to her bathroom and showered. After she got dressed she grabbed her keys and purse and left her room. She was halfway down the stairs when Damon zipped in front of her. "Where are you going?" He asked with a smirk.

"If you must know I'm going to by a new journal since you vandalized mine." She answered flatly.

"Why didn't you tell me you wrote poetry and songs?" He asked tilting his head to the side.

"Because you never asked what I did for fun." She told him already tired of the conversation. "Just like you never took me on a date." He opened his mouth to argue but she didn't give him the chance. "Founder's parties and school dances don't count as dates." He closed his mouth and frowned. "Now will you please get out of my way?" She asked and it surprised her when he stepped aside and let her pass.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie sat down and put her new, green faux leather journal with a combination lock on the desk and opened it. She knew the lock wouldn’t stand a chance if Damon really wanted to read her journal again, but it gave her a feeling of security anyway. After writing her old poems in the back she turned to fresh back page and started writing a song when it was done, she titled it, “Kissing Other People.”

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