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madaqueue · 1 month

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Practice Makes Perfect | Chapter 4

synopsis: you and yuji have been best friends basically as long as you can remember, and you made a promise to each other to stay friends and help each other be the best versions of yourselves for your future partners. but will things change when yuji finally starts looking for a relationship?

pairing: yuji itadori (18+) x f!reader

themes/content: modern college au (characters aged up to 18+). language, fluff, angst. some suggestive language at the end. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.0k

a/n: RAAAAAA it’s getting real lmao

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Sitting towards the back of the room, you take note of the messy black hair and all black clothes. You walk over to him with a smile on your face. “Megumi?” you question.

The boy looks up from his notes and meets your eyes. “Oh, hey, Yuji’s friend. I didn’t know you were in this class,” he says, gesturing at the seat next to him and inviting you to sit.

“I could say the same to you,” you respond, setting down your backpack and getting settled next to him. You have never been this close to Megumi before, and notice his very subtle cologne that leaves a warm and almost smokey scent hanging in the air around him.

“I’m a biology major, so it kinda makes sense I’d have to be here,” he says, turning back towards his notes. You notice a small smirk forming on one side of his mouth as he does so.

As soon as you open your mouth to reply, your professor waltzes in at the front of the lecture hall, her heels softly clacking against the wood floor and the room falls quiet except for her voice. You and Megumi sit in silence for the rest of the class as you furiously scribble in your notes, trying to keep up with what Dr. Ieiri is lecturing on. Halfway into the class you glance over at Megumi’s notes and see he’s just…doodling? His page is full of drawings, from dogs to birds and frogs, covering the lined paper in front of him. He notices you staring and glances up at you out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the paper. His drawing style suddenly shifts as he sketches a new shape. You watch him, mesmerized, as you realize he’s drawing…you?

Dr. Ieiri seems to end abruptly as she dismisses everyone, but you stay seated, waiting for Megumi to finish up his work. He tears the page out of his notebook and hands it to you without a word before putting everything on his desk into his backpack. You begin to pack up, unsure of what to say. After all, nobody has ever drawn you before - are you supposed to thank him? Should you give it back? In a panic, you stutter, “U-um, I’m going to go study at the library, if you want to come with me?”

Megumi glances up at you and softly responds, “Sure,” before tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

–

The two of you find a quiet table in the back corner of the library, dimly lit from the overhead lights and warm afternoon sun pooling in from a nearby window. You get started on your work quietly until Megumi clears his throat. “So, you never answered why you’re in Dr. Ieiri’s class,” he invites.

“Well, I’m an engineering major, but I’m still not sure what kind I want to be yet, so I have to take all these classes that are supposed to help me figure it out, and biology is one of them,” you explain. Megumi nods in response, before you continue, “I know I like to work with my hands, but I also like to think about problems before I have to solve them, which makes it hard to decide on a path. I know I don’t like computers, but I do love math. And I really didn’t expect to like Dr. Ieiri’s class as much as I do, so now I’m not sure,” you trail off. You pause for a moment, hoping you weren’t rambling. “You said you’re a bio major, right? Why’d you choose that? Also, I didn’t see you in her class last week, but we had definitely already met at Yuji’s, and you weren’t really paying attention today-” you stop yourself, realizing you were definitely rambling this time.

Megumi looks down. “Yeah I’m um…I’m actually retaking this class, so I kind of know it already.” You wait for him to continue. “Last fall my sister got really sick. Well, she got more sick, I guess. I had to take some time off to take care of her, so I ended up failing Dr. Ieiri’s class the first time I took it. I was gone last week because my sister was supposed to have this really big surgery and I wanted to be there for her, but they ended up postponing it, so I just stayed at the hospital with her for the rest of the week. She’s actually the reason I’m a bio major - I want to be a doctor so I can help people like her. It’s not fair what happened, and I want to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.” He stops, realizing his hands had formed into fists as he was talking. His body relaxes and he shrugs, trying to ease some of the weight from the information he had just shared with you.

“I think it’s really sweet that you care about your sister so much,” you say. “It sounds like she is really important to you.” Megumi nods, still not looking up from the table. Unsure what else to say, you reach a hand out to touch his shoulder, hoping it provides some comfort. He leans into your touch, resting his cheek on the top of your hand. The feeling of his hair brushing against your arm gives you the ever-familiar butterflies and you try not to visibly blush. The two of you stay like that for a moment, comfortable in the silence, before you hear your phone buzz in your pocket. Megumi lifts his head up so you can use your hand to answer it, and he slowly gets back to work as you pull your phone out and look at it.

Incoming call: “YuYu”

You smile at the nickname he put in your phone for you when he first gave you his number back in highschool. You answer it and hold the phone up to your ear.

“Hey! Sorry I keep calling you randomly, but I have a bit of an emergency. But, this time it’s a good emergency, I promise. Remember that date I was supposed to have tonight? Turns out she can’t go anymore, but I already have a reservation at this new sushi place I have been dying to try, and I knowwwww you love sushi,” he says, and you can practically hear his smile through the phone. “I already know you’re going to say yes, so I’ll meet you at your place at 6:00 and we can walk over together. Oh, and it’s kind of fancy but not too fancy, but don’t worry about it too much! Okay great, I’ll see you then!” he finishes before hanging up.

You didn’t even get a word in for that entire conversation, but it looks like you now have plans tonight. Glancing at your now unlocked phone screen, you realize it’s already almost 5:00. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath. “I’m sorry Megumi, but I have to go,” you say, turning your attention back to the boy across from you.

“No worries,” he says with a soft smile. “This was really nice, we should study again sometime. Here, let me give you my number.” He holds his hand out for your phone and you give it to him, watching him put in his contact information before handing it back to you. You collect your study materials and wave at him as you walk out of the library.

–

When you arrive at the restaurant, you are shocked by Yuji’s definition of “kind of fancy.” The place is absolutely gorgeous, with natural wood and stone forming high ceilings, small fountains and mini waterfalls creating a soothing ambiance as the water collects in a river that winds throughout the restaurant. You walk over small bridges that decorate the interior to reach your table, surrounded by plants that provide some natural privacy. You felt slightly out of place despite wearing your nicest dress and heels, especially compared to Yuji in his black slacks and sport coat. You have to admit, though, the boy does clean up nicely.

Without getting a chance to even look at the menu, Yuji orders for both of you when the server returns. You gently smack his arm from across the table. “Hey, why did you do that? How could you assume what I wanted?” you ask playfully.

“I told you, I know you,” he shrugs. “Besides, dinner is on me since I dragged you out here last-minute. There’s some stuff I’ve been wanting to try ever since this place opened, and I got some things you’ll like, too,” he explains through a toothy grin.

“How generous, getting me things I’ll actually like,” you smirk, rolling your eyes. “Speaking of ‘dragging me here,’ what happened with your date?” you ask, trying to hide any remnants of jealousy.

“Oh, she just had something come up with a friend, but we rescheduled for next week. Plus, after the last practice date kind of went to shit, I figured it would be nice to actually get used to this place before the real-deal,” he says nonchalantly.

For some reason, his words sting more than you expect. Referring to this girl as the real-deal means that he must think you’re less than her, less deserving of his time or energy or-

Your thoughts cut off as an enormous pile of food gets set down on your table. There seems to be everything from nigiri to sashimi and tempura, all of it looking mouth-wateringly good. Yuji thanks the server and immediately starts digging in. Your stomach growls involuntarily and you’re forced to push your thoughts aside as you take a bite.

“Oh, my god,” you practically groan through the rice. “This is insane.”

“Right?” Yuji agrees, his cheeks puffed out from being so full of food.

The two of you eat in silence, savoring the combination of flavors in front of you, until Yuji pulls his phone out of his pocket. He smiles down at it and starts typing a message, and you can almost feel your blood boil. In an attempt to defuse your emotions you glance down at your phone, which unlocks to the recent contact page with Megumi’s information open on it. What the hell you think, typing out a message to send to him.

You: “hey Megumi, thanks for hanging out today, it was really nice”

Your phone buzzes almost immediately.

Megumi: “If this is who I think it is, I agree. Are you free tomorrow? There’s a new cafe off campus that’s really cozy, and I have some exams next week I need to study for. I’d love to see you”

The message makes you feel warm inside - he would love to see you? Of course you have to say yes.

You: “i’m free, how’s 11:00 sound? meet at your place?”

He ‘love’ reacts your message, which you take as affirmation of your plans. You put your phone back into your purse and look back up to see Yuji still smiling down at his phone. “Hey, it’s rude to be on your phone at the table,” you tease, but it comes out more irritated than you intended.

“Sorry, Nobara just said something funny and-” he cuts off, looking up at you realizing he had never told you the name of the girl he actually had feelings for, even though you already knew from seeing her name on his phone this morning.

“Oh, so is this ‘Nobara’ the one you were supposed to take out tonight?” you ask slyly. Yuji just nods blankly, trying to read your facial expressions. “Well, she must be quite special then,” you respond, desperately attempting to shove down any lingering jealousy as you maintain eye contact. “I actually have a date tomorrow, too,” you continue, not looking away from him. He cocks his head to the side, waiting for you to continue and taking another huge bite from the dwindling pile of food between you. “Speaking of which, I actually was hoping to get some practice too…” you trail off. “I want to suck your cock.”

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nordschleifes · 7 months

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chapter two — moscow mule

➝ after two intense days, fernando decides to take his racing team to a tapas bar. charlie considers staying at the hotel, but something tells her that if she doesn't go, she might seem unfriendly. little does she know that that night will show her a completely different side of fernando.

➝ word count: 5,9k

➝ warnings: mentions of sexual harrassment, therapy session

➝ author's note: yeah, it will be a chapter a day around here. tagging @christianpulisic10 and @alonsogirlie as requested. enjoy!

Charlie felt a little uncomfortable as she followed after her colleagues down the cobbled street. It wasn't that she was the only woman in the group, or that they were going out drinking on a Tuesday; it was because of who made the plans to go out to a bar in Jerez de la Frontera.

Fernando's invitation didn't surprise Charlie, given his attitude lately. Fernando, even beyond treating her with more respect than in their McLaren-Honda days, seemed interested in developing some kind of friendship with her. At first, she thought he was teasing her, the way he asked her so many questions. That is, until the previous Thursday.

She was in her office at the factory, sitting at her workstation, drinking a cup of lemon ginger tea, and watching an onboard video of Fernando in Bahrain when she heard Fernando’s voice down the hallway. Charlie knew that he was coming over to the factory almost every day at that point for video and photo shoots for the marketing department, and for simulator sessions.

Turning her eyes back to the screen, which showed Fernando making a wide line to avoid the raised curb at the apex of turn eight, Charlie took another sip of tea as she tried to ignore his approach.

— Hi, Charlie — he greeted her, leaning against the wall of her cubicle. His hair looked damp and was sticking up at strange angles. “He must have been in the simulator”, Charlie thought.

— Hi — she murmured, pulling her headphones down to hang around her neck.

— What are you watching there?

— Your race in Bahrain last year — Charlie said, setting her teacup down on the desk. He crouched down beside her, one arm resting on her desk.

— Cute cat — Fernando said. It took her by surprise, and she glanced over to him. His eyes were fixed on the photo of Ron that was pinned just below her race season calendar — I had one, once.

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

— You did?

— Yes, her name was Cleo. Linda liked cats and wanted one to keep her company.

— What happened? Did she die?

— Linda?

— Of course not, I'm talking about the cat.

— No, no, she's doing very well. She’s with Linda in — he paused for a few seconds — Argentina, I guess. Linda took her after we broke up.

There was a moment of awkward silence between them.

— Do you miss her?

— Linda?

Charlie shot a sidelong glance at Fernando, making it obvious she didn’t care about his ex-girlfriend.

— Oh, Cleo. Well, a little, but deep down, I've always preferred dogs. More active, you know.

— Yeah.

There was another moment of awkward silence as Fernando continued gazing at the photo of the orange cat. Through Charlie’s headphones, the sound of the Renault engine drowned out the other conversations across the office.

— What's its name? — Fernando finally broke the silence.

— Its name?

— Your cat. What's its name?

Charlie pursed her lips, realizing what he was trying to do. He was trying to get close to her, create some camaraderie, or worse, strike up some sort of friendship. “This is just a dirty trick”, she thought, shifting in her chair.

— It doesn’t matter — she replied, dryly.

— But I told you about my cat.

— You mean your ex-girlfriend's cat, right?

— We adopted her together, so she was my cat too.

Charlie sighed, running a hand over her face before looking up at him again.

— Look, I was over here preparing your first race of the season, and you came over here bothering me about my cat. If you don't have any input on racing in Bahrain, I strongly recommend you go find someone else to bother.

— I just asked you your cat's name...

— And I can only imagine what you want with that, so please go bother the IT guys and let me get back to work.

Fernando sighed and stood up. He was staring at the cubicle wall again, but at a different point than before.

— Will you at least tell me your father's name? — he asked, pointing to the photo of her next to a man tinkering with a dismantled engine sitting on a table

— His name is Jamie. And he is not my father.

— No?

— He’s my grandfather. Now, go away.

Fernando pursed his lips and turned around, mumbling “have a nice day” as he left. Charlie put her headphones back on and tried to concentrate on the video she’d been watching again. However, her coldness did not cause Fernando to give up, quite the contrary. It seemed that Charlie's reluctance to interact with him made him try even harder to get closer to her, to breach the walls she’d put up for him. Little did Charlie know that he would eventually succeed.

It happened on a two-day trip to Jerez, Spain, for annual tyre testing for Pirelli. Fernando had taken the entirety of the first day of testing, while Lance would take the second. It was tiring to spend a whole day at the circuit, but Charlie thought it was better than alternating half-days like Mercedes had planned to.

— Fernando — Charlie called, waving him over to the pit wall. He was talking to Edoardo, one of his physiotherapists, and made a gesture with his hand that looked like a phone back to him as he walked over the pit lane. He tied the sleeves of his green race overalls around his waist, leaving his white fireproof undershirt visible. Charlie couldn’t help but notice the way it was sticking to his skin.

— Yeah? — he asked, causing Charlie to notice where her eyes were. She swallowed hard and scrambled to remember what she wanted to talk to him about, blurting out a question instead.

— Are there any problems?

He smiled.

— Well, my sister said she would be here to watch testing, but she missed her flight, so we were trying to get her re-booked to try and get her here this afternoon.

Charlie nodded, looking again at the computer screen in front of her, trying to find the telemetry that she remembered that she wanted to discuss with him. However, Fernando had other ideas.

— Do you have siblings?

— In theory — she muttered.

— What do you mean, ‘in theory’?

Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes.

— I have two younger brothers, but I think I've seen them two or three times in my entire life, so…

— You were raised by your grandparents.

Charlie glanced at him, a bit startled by how he’d deduced that.

— How did you know that? — she asked quietly.

— It was more of a guess, since you have a picture with your grandfather in the office — he said, leaning his elbow on the pit wall’s rail — What about your father?

— I don’t know who he is — Charlie replied.

— But, how? — he asked. He sounded almost indignant at the idea — Your mother…

— My mother never told me who my father is, as she said that she doesn't like to “remember the mistakes of her youth” — she said, trying to tamp down the irritation in her voice — Now we can concentrate on your telemetry and not about who fucked my mother?

Fernando smiled like he was trying to stifle a giggle.

— As you wish — he said, resting his hand on his hip and turning his attention to the screen.

The day of testing seemed endless, with Pirelli technicians insisting that they test all available compounds and asking for feedback on their performance. The fact that Fernando was also in the process of adapting to the car didn't make Charlie's task any easier, because he also wanted feedback on the times he was doing and where he could improve his lap times.

However, after 130 laps and a rather uncomfortable journey back to the hotel, she was excited to have a shower, lie in bed, and read the book she had brought with her — an autobiography of an actress who discussed the relationship with her mother. It had been a suggestion from Hannah, her therapist, as a way for them to begin exploring issues surrounding Charlie's upbringing, and from what she'd read on the flight to Jerez, it was a very good place to start.

However, Fernando thought it would be a good idea to take the team to an authentic Spanish bar as a way for him to get to know everyone better. And, if she knew her colleagues, they would never turn down a chance to relax and drink, especially with a two-time Formula 1 world champion picking up the tab.

— And you, Charlie? — the driver asked, smiling — Are you coming with us?

— No, thank you.

— Why not?

— I just think there are better ways to enjoy my night than watching you get drunk with your mechanics and having to drag you back to your hotel at the end of the night.

He laughed.

— First, it's Checo who likes to get drunk, not me. But I understand the confusion, since we both speak Spanish and for you Brits, we are all the same.

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but Fernando continued.

— Second, I'm pretty sure I don't need anyone to drag me back to the hotel unless they have a very good reason to. And finally, it seems like you need to relax. This is your chance.

— I'm fine, thanks — she murmured, looking out the window of the briefing room, crossing her arms.

— I can see that — he said. He clearly wasn’t convinced — We’ll meet in the lobby at eight.

As the group walked through the streets, following Fernando, Charlie ruminated on the fact that the driver seemed to know that she would change her mind and join the group in the hotel lobby. She’d prepared a lame excuse, and could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but to Fernando’s credit, he didn’t rub it in her face. All he said was that he was grateful that he had his entire team there.

The procession squeezed its way down narrow streets, everyone chatting and laughing as they walked. Charlie condemned herself for not bringing a jacket or jumper, feeling chilled in the late February air. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Fernando led the group to a dark wooden door, opening it to let everyone else in ahead of him. Charlie glanced at the sign affixed to the wood as she stepped inside.

— Tabanco La Pandilla — she said softly. The scent of sweet wine and something that reminded her of the ocean filled her nostrils, and the interior of the bar reminded Charlie strongly of typical English pubs, though with undoubtedly Spanish features in the architecture and the decor. The walls were covered in vintage posters for bullfights and black and white photos from around Jerez, elegant handwriting in the corners of them indicating the place and date they were taken.

— Charlie — someone called out. She looked away from the photo she was poring over and she saw Raúl sitting in a corner — Come sit here.

As she approached the table, she realized that there weren’t many vacant chairs to choose from, since Mikey and the mechanics were already occupying most of them. Almost all of them, apparently, as she had chosen the one that Jimmy, the team’s social media admin, had already claimed.

— That one is free — the mechanic said, pointing to the sole remaining empty chair.

It was the one right next to Fernando.

Heaving a sigh, she made her way over to the chair, settling down silently with a serious expression on her face. Charlie could feel Fernando’s eyes on her, which made her feel unsettled. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and looked at it in an effort to distract herself.

— You know it's not very polite to be on your cell phone when you're out with friends, right? — a male voice murmured beside her. When he looked up, he found Fernando with a small smile on his face.

— I was checking the time.

— Do you have other plans later on?

— What if I do? — Charlie asked.

— I'm happy to keep an eye on the time so you can enjoy your evening — he replied, holding up his left wrist. He showed her the royal blue watch he was wearing, with a large square face, outlined in yellow. Inside, there were three bands in red, yellow and blue, which were the base of the hands, while all the black and silver internal gears were visible behind the face.

— A Richard Mille? — she asked. She would recognize his watches anywhere. When she was with McLaren, the brand signed a sponsorship deal with the team. It obliged all of the trackside staff to wear the watches given by them, a special model with the orange strap and black dial.

— Yes, RM 67-02 — Fernando said with a smile — Richard designed it exclusively for me, based on the colors of my helmet. We even partnered up last year and developed one based on the armor worn by the Samurai…

— It's awful — Charlie said, dryly, cutting him off.

— What? — he said, shocked.

— Let's face it, Richard Milles are terrible watches. They’re over-the-top, you can hardly read the dials, they’re huge and heavy on your wrist, and a lot of them look like children’s toys anyway, which, considering how expensive they are... They’re all flash and no substance.

— I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to disagree with you...

— As always — she murmured.

— Richard's designs are well thought out and not at all cluttered, plus the colors are really nice and the size seems ideal to me.

— You never had to wear that awful watch he made for McLaren — Charlie replied.

— Of course I did. We all got one of those in 2017, don't you remember?

She was about to respond when one of the owners of the place approached the table. He was a middle-aged man with graying hair and a wide, excited smile on his face.

— ¡Bienvenidos a nuestro tabanco! ¡Es un honor recibirlos aquí! — the man said. Fernando smiled at him politely.

�� Les agradecemos por estar disponibles para recibirnos hoy — Fernando said — Tenemos muchas ganas de experimentar lo que tienes para nosotros hoy.

— Oh, estoy seguro de que les gustará lo que tenemos para esta noche. ¿Podemos empezar con las bebidas?

Raúl translated for the man — the owner, apparently — and everyone started to place their orders. After taking orders for a variety of beers and a shot or two of the famous Andalusian sherry, the man glanced at her.

— Y la señorita, ¿qué desea?

— He wants to know what you want — Fernando said.

Looking up at the man with the notebook in his hand, Charlie smiled.

— A Moscow mule would be excellent.

Suddenly, she heard laughter next to her.

— A Moscow mule? Charlie, you know you're in a tabanco, don't you? — Fernando said.

— Of course I do, I saw the sign.

— Then… You should know they don't have those kinds of drinks.

— What kind?

— You know, girly drinks.

Charlie clenched her jaw and pursed her lips, feeling rage creep up the back of her neck like a tingling wave under her skin. “Don't let him get inside your head”, Charlie recalled Lewis telling her. It was a mantra that she repeated sometimes when dealing with Fernando, a plea that she not lose control and slap him across the face.

But then, Fernando decided to provoke her one last time.

— If you don't know what to order, I can recommend a bar that's more to your tastes, one that has those kinds of girly cocktails.

Before Charlie realized what she was doing, she stood up abruptly and stormed away from the table, the protests of her colleagues becoming distant to her ears. Her throat felt tight and her eyes burned. Once again, he had disparaged her, calling the things she liked feminine, insinuating they were lesser, suggesting that she didn’t fit in.

As Charlie walked away from the bar, down the dimly lit street, tears began to stream down her face. She felt anger consuming her as she cursed at herself for not having some sort of comeback for Fernando, for not putting him in his place. She should have slapped him. Or even better yet, she should have called Mike and quit her job on the spot. She thought about what it would take for Fernando to be fired, realizing it would take something incredibly serious, nothing short of literal murder, more likely.

— Stupid, stupid, stupid — Charlie muttered, as she continued walking down the street. She’d gone a fair distance before realizing that she had no idea where she was going. At some point she would have to get to the hotel. She glanced down at her phone, trying to open a map, until she walked into something.

She looked up from her phone and realized that she’d run into the back of a man, standing and chatting to two other men. They looked like they were in their twenties. They were each wearing jeans and puffer jackets. They were each holding a bottle of beer, and reeked of cheap cologne, booze, and cigarettes. As she stared at them, the man Charlie had bumped into smiled at her, but it was not a kind smile — it was a smile that made Charlie’s skin crawl and her stomach churn.

— Miren lo que tenemos aquí — the man said, taking a swig from his bottle — ¿Estás sola, princesa?

Charlie took a step back and tried to swallow down her nerves. She had no idea what he said, or what to say in response. She knew very little Spanish, limited to a few greetings and how to count to ten, whatever she’d picked up from being with Carlos Sainz when he was with McLaren. The man repeated himself as Charlie visibly hesitated, stepping closer to her.

— ¿Qué es, princesa? ¿El gato te comió la lengua?

— Debe ser sorda, Pablo — the man on the right, with curly hair, said, with a laugh.

— No, ella puede oír. Me escuchas, ¿no? — he said, pointing to his ear. Charlie understood that it might be a question about listening, so she nodded, taking another step back — Ves, ella escucha.

— Pero no responde nada. Esa perra debe ser muda — the third man said, his voice deep and gravelly.

— Si es muda, mejor para nosotros — the curly-haired boy said, running his tongue over his lower lip — De todo modo, es hora del postre.

She could feel the adrenaline kicking in, making her feel hyper-aware of her surroundings. She wanted to run away, but she felt frozen on the spot as the men got closer, their eyes dark and sinister, murmuring things in a language she didn’t understand. She felt one of the men wrap his hand around her wrist, and understood what they wanted. Charlie knew she wasn't going to get rid of them until they got it.

— Vamos, princesa, no seas mala — the first man murmured, tightening his fingers around her arm — Si no, tendremos que utilizar la fuerza.

Fear had rendered Charlie unable to say anything. She couldn't scream, couldn't protest, couldn't call for help. With more tears streaming down her cheeks, she realized exactly what was about to happen to her, on some dark street in Jerez, all because she got into a fight with an asshole coworker.

She hadn’t expected this night — and maybe her life — would come to such a ridiculous and tragic ending.

— Cariño — she thought she heard someone say through the fog of dread that shrouded her mind. Her throat was getting tighter by the second, and she could feel a nervous sweat breaking out across her lower back — ¡Espérame, cariño!

The words seemed to have a repelling effect on the men who were surrounding her, their expressions startled as they watched someone approach behind her. "This is a trap, I’m so fucked", Charlie thought, gasping when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was about to try to run before she realized who had been calling her name. Fernando stepped in front of her, his expression mixing relief and concern.

— Por favor, mi amor, nunca vuelvas a hacer eso — Fernando said, cradling her face gently in his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheeks — Nunca, nunca más. Casi muero preocupándome por ti.

He pulled her into a tight hug, nestling her head in the crook of his neck, cradling the back of her head with one of his hands. Wrapped in his arms, Charlie felt a whirlwind of emotions. Her confusion only grew when he whispered in her ear in English, requesting that she follow his lead and not say anything.

As the man that grabbed Charlie’s wrist backed further away, Fernando returned to run his hand through her hair, tenderly.

— Perdóname, mi ángel, realmente fui un idiota contigo. Pero no salgas así, sin rumbo. No sé qué haría si te hubiera perdido, mi corazón — he said, planting a kiss on Charlie's forehead before hugging her again, his hand resting on the back of her head — Gracias por encontrar mi novia. No sé qué sería de mí sin ella.

If the three men said anything in response, Charlie didn't hear them. As Fernando held her close, her face buried in the white sweatshirt Fernando was wearing, she forced herself to focus on the sound of his heart pounding against his chest instead. Being in such close proximity to someone she didn’t like was strange. It was even stranger to her that she wasn’t feeling annoyed, or even disgusted with such close physical contact with him. What she felt then, wrapped in his arms, wasn’t anger, but safety and relief.

— Gracias, buenas noches — he said, before pulling away slightly to look into Charlie's face. She could feel that her tears had smeared her mascara — Vamos, cariño.

As Fernando led her down the street, still holding her hand, she felt like she was having some strange out-of-body experience. She was just a spectator, unable to act or intervene. Walking next to her, Fernando seemed to be talking on the phone with someone, but the way her pulse pounded in her ears stopped Charlie from being able to tell who she was talking to or what they were discussing.

— Necesito que vuelvas al hotel ahora. Por favor, no puedo explicar por teléfono. Charlie está bien, dile esto al resto del equipo y que se queden al tabanco y disfruten de la noche. Si, te espero. Hasta luego — Fernando said, before putting the cell phone back in the back pocket of his jeans — Are you okay, Charlie?

— Yeah — she replied in a whisper.

— I'm taking you back to our hotel, okay?

— Okay — Charlie said, finally managing to find her voice. She felt a strange, pleasant heat rising around her shoulders. It was a welcome relief in the chilly night air that prickled at her skin, even under her thick woolen sweater.

The rest of the walk to the hotel was a blur. Neither her or Fernando said anything. There wasn't much to say. She was still processing what had almost happened that night, all because she was unable to keep her anger in check, especially where Fernando was concerned. However, contrary to what she expected to feel, given the situation, she didn't feel angry with him.

The only thing she felt was guilty.

As they got to the hotel lobby, Charlie spotted Edoardo standing by the reception desk, looking at his phone. When he looked up and saw the two of them there, the expression of concern on his face changed to relief.

— Thank God you're here. Are you all right, Charlie? What happened? Can I help?

— Edo, I'll explain later — Fernando said. He cut himself off as soon she placed her hand on his fingers, which were still on her shoulder.

— I'm fine — she replied, her voice hesitant — I just need to go to my room.

— Do you have your key? Those guys didn't steal anything, right?

— It's in my purse — Charlie said, running a hand over her cheeks, wiping away her tears with the back of her sleeve.

The three of them rode the elevator to Charlie’s room in silence. Edo helped her find her key card and Fernando stepped into the room first, giving a cursory check before signaling to the other two to enter. Charlie trudged to the bed and sat down on the mattress, still in disbelief over the evening’s events. It replayed over and over in her mind. She shook her head, as if it could physically eject the memories of the men’s sinister, knowing smiles and the rough hand around her wrist.

— Here, drink this — she heard Fernando say from in front of her. She opened her eyes, and saw him bent over, a soft expression on his face as he offered her a water bottle. Without protesting, she drank the water, realizing how parched her lips and throat were. Then, she propped the bottle against her leg and looked up at him.

— Why?

Fernando blinked, confused.

— Sorry, I don’t understand.

— Why did you run after me?

He sighed.

— My initial intention was to apologize and bring you back to the bar. But when I realized you were gone, I — he hesitated for a few seconds — I knew you didn't know the city and didn't speak the language, which, unfortunately makes you an easy target for bad people. I feared the worst, so I asked a guy that was in front of the bar which way you went and I followed.

— Why did you defend me from them?

— Because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something bad happened to you.

— But it was my fault...

— No, it's not. It's my fault, Charlie. I'm the one who was giving you a hard time, and made you react that way. I apologize for everything that happened today.

She couldn't deny that there was sincerity in the way Fernando was speaking to her and looking at her. His eyes were filled with obvious guilt. “Maybe he is actually sorry,” Charlie thought, sniffling.

— It’s alright. I'll be fine.

— You will be, I'm sure — he said quietly, before getting to his feet — Well, I'll let you rest. You go back to England tomorrow morning with the team, right?

— Yeah.

— Excellent. But if you need anything, message me. You have my number on Whatsapp right? I know you don't have Instagram anymore since I...

— Oh, I still do. I blocked you — Charlie muttered.

He stopped for a few seconds.

— You blocked me on Instagram?

— After your third or fourth request to follow me — she replied quietly.

— Ah — Fernando said, trying to disguise his discomfort with Charlie’s admission — Well, you know how to reach me. Good night, Charlie.

— Good night and — she paused for a few seconds, her eyes locked with his — Thank you. Honestly.

Fernando looked at her for a few moments, and then smiled.

— It was the least I could do — he replied, placing a hand on Edo's shoulder. His physiotherapist also wished her a good night before following Fernando into the hallway.

When the door closed, Charlie let out a heavy sigh, realizing the tension that had built up in her muscles. Perhaps a bath would help cleanse her body, and maybe, her soul of everything that had happened that night. There was one thing she needed to do before she did anything else, though.

Removing her phone from her purse, she unlocked it and logged into Instagram. Going into the search bar, she typed in a name and found the correct account immediately. So Charlie tapped the blue button and then the confirmation that popped up on the screen. Finally, she clicked the 'follow' button, dropping her phone onto her bed. “Maybe he feels better now”, she thought, as she walked towards the bathroom.

That night, her sleep was disturbed by nightmares. The next morning, Charlie woke up to the sound of her cell phone alarm feeling more tired than she had been when she’d gone to bed. However, she couldn't afford to stay in bed any longer, as she had to be at the airport in an hour.

The trip back to the UK was uneventful, and she took the opportunity to sleep during the flight. On the way to Northampton, she shared a car with Mikey and three of Fernando’s other mechanics, all chatting animatedly about the results from testing, and what their hopes were for the season.

However, Charlie couldn't think about sectors, telemetry or lap times. All she could think about the previous night, how Fernando had suddenly appeared from the darkness and embraced her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, and not someone he hated.

She sighed, deciding that this was something she’d need to talk about with Hannah.

Her session with the therapist had been scheduled for that Friday, late afternoon. Charlie started therapy in early 2016 as a way to deal with the anxiety she had begun to suffer from after a miserable season with Fernando and his constant haranguing and requests that she be swapped for another engineer.

However, she hadn't been Charlie's first choice, as she believed that a psychologist specializing in sports medicine could best help her. However, one session with the one that McLaren kept on retainer was enough for the therapist to tell her that her issues ran deeper than performance anxiety, and that he would recommend a colleague of his. Fortunately, his recommendation proved to be the right one for her.

— Charlie? — Hannah said with a smile. She was standing in the doorway of her office, with her curly hair tied up in a kind of bun and wearing an orange suit that looked vibrant against the dark color of her skin — Shall we?

— Yes.

After entering Hannah’s office and settling into the white armchair, Charlie dropped her bag on the side table. Then she took a deep breath as her therapist settled into the chair across from her.

— So it's been some time since our last session, has it? About 10, 15 days?

— Yeah.

— Then I think you have plenty to tell me. Shall we start with the book I recommended?

— Actually — Charlie said — I wanted to talk about my last trip.

— Oh, you had a work trip, right? Where was it again?

— Jerez — she answered softly.

— Is that in Spain? — Hannah asked, and Charlie nodded — Oh, I imagine that was quite interesting considering your relationship with…

— I'm not sure if interesting is the right word, Hannah — Charlie said quietly.

— Did something happen, Charlie?

— Well, not during testing. That bit all went as expected. But later, the night after testing was done, Fernando invited everyone to go to a bar.

— Everyone but you?

— No, he invited me as well, and I went. It was one of those traditional Spanish pubs that looks like a basement, I can't really explain it. But he and I ended up arguing because I ordered a Moscow mule, so I left.

— You argued over your choice of drink?

— He said it was a girly drink, that they didn't have that kind of stuff in that kind of bar, and he kept teasing me, so I lost my patience with him. But, after I left the bar, I ended up getting lost in the streets and I ran into — she paused for a few seconds — Some guys.

Hannah nodded, waiting for her to continue.

— They were drunk, speaking Spanish, but you could tell what they wanted. They cornered me, and I couldn't scream or call for help — Charlie's voice cracked, her eyes filling with tears.

— Did they do something to you?

— No, they did not. They couldn't because… Fernando followed me.

The therapist raised an eyebrow.

— But…

— He said he asked a guy who saw me leave the bar which way I'd gone and he went after me. He arrived, put his hands on my face and then hugged me. Then he said something to the guys and managed to get me out of there.

— And then what happened?

— We went to the hotel, where we found his physiotherapist, Edoardo. And the two of them went with me to my room. Then, Fernando gave me water and told me if I needed anything I could send a message that he would do his best to help me. I thanked him, and he said it was the least he could do, because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something bad happened to me.

Hannah opened her mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it again, her expression thoughtful.

— And what do you think about that?

— About what?

— About Fernando's attitude.

Charlie pressed her mouth into a thin line, trying to organize her thoughts.

— Well, all of my feelings are kind of contradictory. I'm surprised, since he hugged me, kissed my forehead, kept his arm around me while we walked back to the hotel, tried to calm me down the whole time, I realized that he's not being as nasty as he used to be. It's like he’s putting in an effort on his part to try to have a cordial relationship with me.

— So you notice a change in his attitude towards you?

— Well, a little? — Charlie answered, a little uncertainly. Noticing Hannah's expression, she corrected herself — Okay, yes, the change is considerable.

— And how does that make you feel?

— I'm still suspicious, I don't believe someone can change like that...

— Charlie, you haven't seen him on a daily basis in nearly five years. People can change in that time, even more so in a volatile environment like your job. You told me yourself that you’d noticed how Daniel Ricciardo changed from his first to his second year at McLaren and how that affected your team as a whole.

— But Danny never stopped being polite to us.

— And Fernando isn't being polite?

— Well, he is, but...

— Charlie — Hannah interrupted her — Have you ever thought that maybe your perception of Fernando might be changing?

— What do you mean?

— When we started our sessions, one of the first things we explored was your relationship with him. You were 27 years old, you were starting to become more established in your career and you were particularly disappointed because the driver you were excited to work with and thought was handsome was an asshole. But, I don't think you ever stopped to think that maybe he was disappointed too.

— Hannah…

— The point is, you're not the same now. You're 33 and he's over 40, right? You both have grown and matured. You’ve dedicated yourselves to other projects and dreams, as well as personal goals.

Charlie remained silent, trying to concentrate on her breathing.

— Just like you sometimes don't recognize that woman from 2015, who cried hiding in the paddock after Fernando said something rude, maybe Fernando doesn't recognize the guy that was yelling about GP2 engines and looking like an amateur — the therapist said — And that's okay. What I mean is, are you able to recognize that he is no longer McLaren Fernando, and are you open to meeting Aston Martin Fernando?

Charlie looked down at her hands, contemplating Hannah’s question. It was true that the Fernando she knew now was not the same Fernando she’d met in Woking. He was no longer the driver looking for a second chance in an older team, nor was he the frustrated veteran not given the proper tools to achieve his goals, but someone more mature, with more experience and, more than anything else, still hungry to win.

Just like her.

— I think I am.

#fa #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x oc #fernando alonso fic #fernando alonso fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula one x oc #formula 1 fic #nordswrites

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favefandomimagines · 2 years

Text

Sometimes You Just Need Somebody (e.b)

Summary: Everyone had someone at the 118, a place to go, a partner to go home to. And it makes Buck begin to wonder; who’s his somebody?

AN: inspired by the season 3 episode where he meets Red because it’s probably one of my favorite Buck moments

I’m so sorry I’ve been so absent, my personal life kind of imploded for a little bit lol but it is starting to get better. I’ll be working on part 2 of my Ace fic ‘I’m Here’ and chapter 4 of my Tommy Shelby series! This was in the drafts and i felt like i needed to post something.

Buck was coming off a large high after saving a woman from a burning building. He was the city’s hero and all he wanted to do was celebrate with his 118 family. Though sometimes he forgets that they have wives, girlfriends, children, and he doesn’t. The only person he really has is himself.

He had you though. His best friend, person who knows him almost as much as Maddie. It was the cheesiest and most cliche story in the book, but Buck was in love with his best friend. He met you on a call during the earthquake two years ago. You flagged them down because your dog was trapped in your house still when the earthquake hit.

Never has he seen a woman run out into the middle of the street and in front of a fire engine for a dog. Buck and the rest of the team exchanged glances before Buck got out of the truck. You were in hysterics, explaining how your St. Bernard was stuck on the second floor of your home and the stairs were blocked off.

The 118 was on the way back to the firehouse to refuel, Buck thought you were pretty, so he helped you. Two weeks later you and your dog ran into him while on a walk on one of his days off. The rest was history.

So when he was left alone to celebrate his victory, the first person he thought of was you. You probably watched it on the news and waited for his shift to end to call.

And like clockwork, the second he stepped out of the building, his phone rang. He saw your name and picture pop up on his screen and smile made its way to his face.

“Hello?” He answered. “Oh my god! I knew you were good but I didn’t know you were a freaking action hero!” You spoke loudly into the phone. “Well it’s good to hear your voice too.” He teased.

“That was literally something out of Mission Impossible. It was amazing! Reckless and terrifying, but amazing nonetheless.” You said. “Thank you, thank you. It felt really good to save her.” Buck replied. “How about we go and celebrate tonight?” You suggested.

Buck’s smile widened at your words, it’s as if you read his mind. And though he wanted to go out with you, a part of him wanted to live that domestic bliss that everyone else around him had.

“Or, I could come over with some takeout and we can have a night in.” He said. “That sounds even better. I gotta walk Max but after that feel free to come over.” You replied. “I’ll come with you. The adrenaline still hasn’t worn off.” He told you.

“Well look at you, Buckley. First you offer me food and then to walk my dog? Sounds like you’re trying to seduce me.” You joked. “Trust me, Y/N. You’d know if I was trying to seduce you.” Buck said. “Yeah because you’re such a charmer.” You replied.

Buck told you he’d see you soon and the two of you said your goodbyes. As he got in his car after the phone call, all he could feel was butterflies. He felt butterflies every time he was preparing to see you or spend time with you.

You felt the same way. As basic as it sounded you had deep feelings for Buck. He was handsome, he made you laugh, he cared about you, and he was kind even to strangers.

What’s there not to love about Evan Buckley?

Buck met you at your front door as you were heading outside with Max.

“World famous firefighter Evan Buckley at my front door? Well isn’t it my lucky day.” You spoke. Buck smiled down at you before lowering down to pet your dog.

“There’s nowhere Id rather be.” He said. “You flatter me.” You commented. You handed him Max’s leash and the two of you began to walk down the sidewalk.

“So, where’s the rest of the 118?” You asked as you walked. “Bobby is with Athena, Hen is with Karen, Eddie is helping Christopher with a sleepover and Chimney is whooing my sister.” Buck explained.

You could see that the fact that all of his ‘people’ had someone or something to go home to made him feel a bit hurt. You knew that Buck had a bit of a habit of feeling lonely or feeling as if he was by himself.

“Hey, you know you always have me. Any day, any time. I know that sometimes it’s easy to feel alone. But as long as we got each other you’ll never be alone.” You told him. “I know. And I’m glad I have you because sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He said. “Suffer immensely.” You replied.

Buck laughed lightly and you looped your arm with his as you walked. The whole thing felt so normal and as if you had done it a thousand times before. You liked how it felt to just be with Buck in a way that was so mundane. I was the little things that made you appreciate him.

“Y/N, can I tell you something?” Buck asked. “Of course you can.” You said. Buck took a deep breath, afraid of how you’d react. But he was feeling on top of the world and he just wanted you to know how he felt about you.

“I love you. I love you as more than a friend, I guess I have for a while I just didn’t know how to tell you. Everyone in my life has someone to go home to and I thought I didn’t but when I think about that, I think of you. You’re my somebody, the person I want to come home to. And if that freaks you out and you don’t feel the same way, we could just forget it ever happened.” He confessed.

You stopped walking and looked up at Buck with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “A-And I definitely freaked you out. I’m sorry I just I needed to tell you and-“ He started before you cut him off by pressing your lips against his. He was taken aback at first but he realized what was happening, he kissed you back.

“I take it you feel the same way?” Buck questioned when you parted. “I feel the same way. No matter how cliche it is.” You laughed. “How long?” He asked. “Do you believe in love at first sight? Because I think it was when you scaled the side of my house to save Max.” You answered. “Really? Because for me, I think it was when you ran in front of a 20 ton fire truck.” Buck said.

“Definitely not my finest moment but I’d do it again.” You spoke. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” He replied.

Before you could say anything else, Max started to whine, wanting to continue his walk rather than standing still. “We should probably get going. You still owe me some take out.” You said. “On one condition,” Buck started. “Say you’ll be my girlfriend.” He finished. “Evan Buckley, I would love nothing more than to be your girlfriend.” You told him.

“Oh and I love you too.” You added. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that.” Buck commented. “Good. Because I’ll never get tired of saying it.” You said.

Buck smiled at you before leaning in to kiss you once more before heading home.

He always thought that he never had his somebody. The person he goes home to at the end of a shift, the reason he strives to make it back after tough calls. But that person had always been you, it just took him some time realize it.

#imagine #imagines #911 imagine #911 lone star #911 fox #evan buckley oneshot #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley

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baby-alien11 · 1 year

Text

Like in the movie

Lewis Tan x Afro-Latina reader

A/N: I decided to fix the situation about Lewis Tan fics (english is not my first language)

Summary: You didn't think that a walk with your dog could turn into meeting a star

Warnings: just fluff, overdose of cuteness, first time writing on tumblr

When you booked the vacations to Hungary, you knew that you couldn't leave your precious corgie of six months, Nugget, at home, sure, your parents could take care of her, but you prefered to travel with your precious baby

Fortunely for both of you, the usually cold weather of Budapest turned into a sunny day, which allowed you to take a walk in a park nearby your hotel

"This is nice, right?", you asked your dog while walking, "It's good for us, you know, having a little of sun"

In response, Nugget just barked making you smile

"Thanks for agreeing with me", you smiled, "Maybe you can meet another dogs"

During a few minutes, you continued walking until you found a bench to rest for a little time, while giving Nugget water and a few treats, while also taking sips of water for yourself, but with your little potato nothing is calm, because in a brief moment when you let go of the leash, Nugget took the opportunity to run away from you

"Nugget!" You scream, quickly taking your things, to run after her, "Come here, you little naughty!"

After what it felt like an eternity, you finally spotted Nugget sitting next to a small pug, causing you to sigh of relief

"There you are, baby", you smile kneeling next to the dogs, "And you make a friend, what's your name cutie?"

"Bear!"

At the moment of hearing that, the pug stand on her four legs barking of happinnes, making you smile while standing up with Nugget in you arms, watching a guy no more older than you running in your direction

"Oh my god, baby, you scared me", the guy sighed in relief taking the dog in his arms, "Don't do that again"

Hearing that, you let a small laugh of cuteness, making him to pay attention to you

"Sorry for that", he apologized, "Sometimes Bear gets to energetic, I'm Lewis, by the way"

"Don't worry, is the same with Nugget", you shrugged, "I'm Y/N, and I think I've seen you before, you seem a little familiar"

"Actually I'm an actor, I'm here for work"

In that moment, the engines in your brain started to work, remembering were you'd seen his face

"No way! You're playing Tolya in Shadow and Bone!", you exclaimed with exciment making him laugh, "I love the books!"

"Please tell me Tolya is your favorite character", he basically begged in a joke mode

"Actually is Tamar and Jesper, but Tolya is pretty badass too"

"And you just won my heart with that", Lewis joked making you laugh, "Hey, I'm here with Anna who plays Tamar, do you and Nugget want to come to hang out?"

"I'd love to, but I need to go back to my hotel", you sighed, "I need to see a few things of my business"

"Oh! You're your own boss", Lewis joked again, "What kind of business is?"

"I sell jewelry online, mostly by Instagram"

"Well, I'm happy for you"

"I can say the same for you, and I hope to see you again"

With a last smile, you and Nugget turn around to go back to the hotel, while Lewis did the same but to return to the picnic blanket were Anna was waiting for him laying on the floor.

"What take you so long, little brother?", Anna asked

"Bear made a friend, and the owner and I just talked for a while", Lewis responded, "She was nice"

"You had a 101 Dalmatians moment, like in the movie", Anna joked, "Did you get her number?"

"Unfortunately not, but her name in Y/N"

"Nice name, lets find her on Instagram"

"Wait, are you serious?"

"Of course, I'll tell the girls to help"

"She also said that she is a fan of Shadow and Bone, and Tamar is her favorite character"

"I like her more!"

So, this is my first time writting on Tumblr (i'm already a writter with six fics on wattpad) and lets see how this goes, and I hope all of you liked it

Thanks for reading it!! Love you all 💜

#lewis tan #lewis tan x reader #shadow and bone #tolya yul bataar #lewis tan imagine #lewis tan fanfiction #lewis tan x fem! reader #lewis tan x poc! reader

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safeashousespdf · 7 months

Text

semicompleted saturday

rules: share a scene or piece of art that never made it into a finished piece, and probably never will.

tagged by @mooshkat <3 this was going to be a saucy little 3.07 coda, but i just got bored of it and moved on. oh well! hope y’all enjoy what there is.

There’s something thrilling about the way Carlos wrestles him into the passenger seat, with one hand guiding his head, and the other gripped right where TK’s shoulder becomes his neck. He waits for the slam of the door, when he knows Carlos won’t see him grinning at the spoils— the pounding in his chest, the sting of his skinned knees, the dangerous clench of his boyfriend’s jaw as he lowers himself into the driver’s seat.

“They started it,” He says through pursed lips. Carlos had warned him before about poking the bear, but claws have never deterred TK. If anything, they excite him.

Carlos looks over at him with a stern expression, but the corners of his mouth quirk upward, breaking his resolve.

He shakes his head fondly. “You’re trouble.”

“Yeah, but you’re into it,” TK muses.

He’d felt it just moments ago, when Carlos had dragged him out of the dogpile. TK had dug his heels into the dirt, fighting against him to try and jump back into the fray. But Carlos wasn’t letting up that easily. The harder TK fought, the more force he was met with. Muscled arms wrapped tightly around his middle, and Carlos had whispered a hot and gravely order to behave through gritted teeth.

The scene had bordered on indecent. It felt like some kind of exhebisionist display of something they would otherwise save for the privacy of their home (or the car, or the occasional public restroom. There had been one incident where Owen caught them in his kitchen, but that was an outlier and not to be counted.)

It left TK starving for more.

And Carlos clearly knows the feeling. He’s leaning across the gearshift, crowding TK back against the window. He’s got one arm braced on the back of the seat, flexed and bulging with veins. With the other he pulls TK’s sunglasses off his nose and sets them on the dashboard. Carlos takes his chin between his fingers, posing him like he’s looking for the perfect spot to sink his teeth.

“What am I going to do with you?” He uses the same low, sultry voice as he did out on the field.

“Anything.” TK’s voice comes out as a whimper. “Fuck.”

He means it too. He’d take anything Carlos offered right now, just as long as it meant getting his hands on him. Carlos could fuck him to tears in the backseat and leave him a sobbing mess in the parking lot if he wanted, and TK would be grateful for the release.

He looks like he’s considering going in for a kiss, but he must change his mind. He leans back into his seat and slips his key into the ignition. Under the soft growl of the engine he says;

“Guess you’re just gonna have to wait.”

TK whines at that, hitting his head back against the seat. His cock is already throbbing in his suddenly too tight boxer-briefs. He reaches into his lap to relieve some of the pressure, but Carlos snatches his hand up with a bruising grip around his wrist.

Caught, TK snaps his head up. He’s expecting another reprimand, but Carlos isn’t even looking his way. His eyes are glued to his mirrors as he reverses out of their parking spot. Even as he pulls out onto the main road, he maintains the vice-like hold on TK that keeps him from soothing his aching cock.

All TK can do is sit there and want. He watches the flex of Carlos’s fingers, the way his knuckles have gone white around the steering wheel, around his wrist. He knows Carlos is eager too, but the release isn’t what matters to him. What Carlos gets off on is control— forcing TK into submission, teasing him until he’s desperate for it.

It’s always a competition between them. They chase each other in circles like dogs through one prolonged climax.

“You know I could just use my right hand,” he says pathetically. It’s the best he can manage right now as far as psychological warfare goes. All of the blood from his brain is rushing between his legs.

“You could,” Carlos agrees. “It’s not like I’d be able to stop you.”

TK frowns. It’s the oldest trick in the book, and he’s falling for it hook, line and sinker. Carlos feigns indifference and suddenly he’s tripping over himself to please him.

“Carlos,” he whines.

Carlos shushes him. “We’re almost there,” he says. He releases his hold on TK’s wrist in favor of rubbing his thigh. The gesture should be soothing, but it only worsens his need— Carlos’s hands on him, too close, not close enough. “You’re doing so good.”

The praise gets under his skin, lights a fire there. It’s a power play. A gentle reminder that he’s got TK right where he wants him, aching and compliant. Thanks, but no thanks.

TK doesn’t want to be good. He just wants.

He’s already crawling across the center console when Carlos finally shifts the Camaro into park. TK drags him into a rough, biting kiss. He can still taste the ballpark on his tongue: kicked-up dust, stale bubblegum, blood and grass stains and scorching afternoon sun.

It’s always a competition, but that doesn’t mean there has to be a winner and a loser. Sometimes it just means taking off the gloves, taking off whatever else they can, and roughing each other up.

Carlos bites his lip hard enough to sting, but TK delights in the pain. He moans and his head lolls back, not far enough to slip out from between Carlos’s teeth. Carlos doesn’t let him go too far before he’s reeling him back into another kiss, all wet tongues sliding together and reaching deep inside him.

His cock grazes Carlos’s thigh and he lets out a pained whimper. It’s the closest he’s got to the sort of attention he’s craving, and the oversensitivity feels like an electric shock. He twitches his hips again— experimenting with more and more friction until he’s grinding against his boyfriends lap, the steady pace punctuated by little cries of ah, ah, ah.

Carlos’s powerful hands are sliding up TK’s waist now, then across his chest. They pause for just a few moments to tease at his sensitive nipples, already chafed raw against the rough fabric of the jersey, then keep pushing up, across his sternum, his collarbone, and finally settle around his throat. His grip is gentle, only the suggestion of pressure, but it’s enough that when TK feels Carlos pushing him away, he’s helpless to do anything but be led.

Carlos tuts at the nasally sound that escapes from him. “I know,” he says softly. “You’re just desperate for it, aren’t you?”

TK nods his head frantically, hands white-knuckled around Carlos’s wrist.

“What’s that?”

“Please, Carlos. Fuck, I need you.”

Something like a smirk flashes in Carlos’s eyes. He studies up and down TK’s body— the wet stain growing at his crotch, his wrinkled jersey and backwards ballcap. TK’s sure that he’s probably flushed, with swollen, spit-slicked lips to match him.

“Good,” Carlos says under his breath. He reaches behind TK and shuts off the engine with a click.

feeling very evil for this one… tagging @tailoredshirt to also be evil with me <3

#charlie.txt #911ls #my fic

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theyellowroseofsodor · 7 months

Text

FINALLY, MY MASTERPIECE IS COMPLETED!

Pebble

Rated G for General Audiences

Summary: Pebble’s, the stuffed rhino that belongs to James, origin story.

“What are you going to do?”

“Me?! What do you mean?? You were involved too, Thomas!”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one who broke it.”

“I didn’t know it was going to break! James’ shouldn’t have asked me to help with his laundry if there was something like this in here.”

Thomas and Percy stood next to one another, both with a slightly worried look on his face, looking down at the washing machine and the piles of wet fluff that littered all over James’ clothes. Mixed in the clothes, and the producer of the fluff, was a very deflated rhino plush.

“M-maybe he won’t notice or care?” Percy asked frantically with worry, glancing at Thomas. “I didn’t even know he had a stuffed animal until he asked me to put his laundry in the wash.”

“Was she in the basket?” Thomas asked, not taking his eyes at the devastation of the stuffy.

“No…” Percy confessed, “But she was filthy, I mean even her red bow had faded, and she was next to his laundry so I figured she was just supposed to be in there.”

Thomas picked up a piece of the fluffy innards of the stuffed rhino and squeezed the excess water out of it. “I dunno, Percy. James doesn’t just keep random things and he freaks out when anyone touches his stuff.”

“We’ve got to hide her then!” Percy said, frantically picking up the fluff, holding out his shirt like a pouch and stuffing them in there, “We can fix this right?? Do you think Emily or Camille know how to sew?”

Thomas eyed him, “You know they’d slap you for that kind of remark.”

“I don’t mean it like that! I just don’t know any guys that do and I know Camille does cross stitch sometimes!” Percy shrieked, panic beginning to take over, “What if this was really special to James?? I’m a dead engine!”

Thomas couldn’t come up with a rebuttal for that and quickly helped sort of the fluff from the clothes and put James’ clothes in the dryer. It easily looked like half of the stuffed rhino had fallen out and she looked like a raggedy dog chew toy by the time they fished her and her red bow out.

“I’m so dead…” Percy whined.

“Not if we can fix her first.” Thomas smiled confidently, “It can’t be that hard to fix!”

At that moment, the laundry room door opened and both engines startled, Thomas hiding the rhino behind his back. Percy had no way to hide the shirt pouch he had created but pulled it close so the contents couldn’t be seen. Edward walked in and looked between the two of them with an odd expression.

“Is something the matter guys?”

Percy was basically shaking where he stood. Although James would have been the absolute worst person to see at that moment, Edward, being James’ significant other, was indubitably the next worst thing.

Thomas, however, didn’t seem to think so. He looked relieved, “Oh Edward! It’s you! Percy could really use your help!”

Percy squawked at his best friend’s sudden betrayal.

Edward still looked fairly confused, “In the laundry room? It’s not that hard and we’ve done this for years, Percy, I would’ve thought you figured out the laundry machines by now.”

Percy’s face fell flat, “I’m not so dumb as to not know how to work the laundry machine.”

Edward blinked and looked at the two, “Well, if that’s not it, can I get by? James forgot to do his laundry and I know he asked the two of you to help but-“ He stopped and began to worry himself, “You didn’t do something to James’ clothes did you?”

“What?! No! Are you crazy?!” Percy asked, still holding tight to his shirt, his slightly pudgy belly showing, “Who in their right mind would mess with James’ clothes??”

Edward sighed and placed his hands on his hips, “Then what is this all about? Why are you two so antsy?”

When Percy couldn’t quite find the words to speak, Thomas took the lead again much to Percy’s chagrin. Thomas simply revealed the deflated rhino and her ribbon that he had been hiding.

Edward paled a bit at the sight.

“You washed Pebble??”

“She has a name?” Thomas asked incredulously.

“Sh-sh-she was right by his laundry!” Percy tried to explain as Edward came close and held the floppy remains, “A-a-and she was dirty and I thought she was supposed to have been in the basket since a couple of other clothes hadn’t made it into the basket and I didn’t know she had a hole in her because I wouldn’t have put her in otherwise and I’ve got her fluff here-“ He showed Edward his makeshift kangaroo pouch, “and I’m gonna fix her I just have to call Camille or maybe Emily and I promise to stuff her back properly and everything please don’t tell James!”

Percy was panting from lack of oxygen after such a confession and watched as Edward held onto Pebble and opened up the now very large hole in her side.

“We’ll need to be quick.” Edward sighed, pulling the remaining fluff out and handing it to Percy, placing Pebbles in the dryer with the rest of James’ clothes, “James doesn’t go one night without Pebble nearby and he will notice, I guarantee it.”

Percy was nodding quickly as Edward spoke, hanging onto every word that the older engine said, looking for guidance. Thomas, however, couldn’t keep his cheek in check.

“What’s a grown and married engine like James doing with a kids stuffy?”

Edward smiled as he shut the lid and started the load of laundry, “It’s not too long of a story. I can tell it to pass the time.” He smiled at Percy and knew he would have to reassure the small engine down from a full panic attack, “We can get her fixed before James comes home. You’re lucky I’ve had to stitch her before. C’mon.” He led the way out of the laundry room, holding the door open, “Let’s get her fluff cleaned up.”

All three engines made their way up to James and Edward’s room. Edward grabbed a towel and hair blow dryer from their private bathroom. He asked Thomas to go grab a small bowl from the kitchen and laid the towel down. He then nodded at Percy, signaling him to drop all the fuzz.

“This is everything?” He asked.

Percy nodded, “Y-yup!”

Thomas returned with the bowl and handed it to Edward before sitting down on the floor and joining the other two engines. Edward gently squeezed the excess water from the fuzz and placed it down on the towel to dry.

“Pebble has been around for a while.” Edward said with a smile, “Though not even I knew about her until James’ started moving into my bedroom. He kept her a secret, I think, due to his pride.” He chuckled, “You all remember how much he used to look up to Gordon? I think that in part was why he hid her. He didn’t want Gordon thinking he was small, weak, and childish.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at the mention of the large tender engine, “Of course Gordon’s involved somehow. He sure knew how to be a bossy butt when we first all started working together.”

Edward chuckled again, “Well, I think Gordon’s own pride comes from his own familial issues, but we won’t get into that today.” He moved the bowl after squeezing the last bit of stuff n’ fluff and turned the hair blow dryer on low, starting to dry the fluff slowly.

“James got Pebble from one of his passengers shortly after we became a team of six. He doesn’t really remember when, but it was before Emily’s time.”

——

James had brought himself to a screeching and grinding halt at the station, barely keeping himself from overshooting the platform. He smirked brilliantly.

“Heeeeere’s James!!” He shouted to the other passengers at the platform and to Gordon who was trying to catch a few winks.

The larger engine startled, looking around, when he caught a glimpse of the red engine. He sneered, “Really, James? Must you do that every time you arrive at a station?”

James looked at him haughtily, “Do you have to say ‘express coming through’ every time you depart or arrive at a station?”

Gordon gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, “I have a very important job, you know. Announcing my comings and goings keeps every keen and wary that a large, powerful, and fast engine is approaching and to make sure to get out of my way. We wouldn’t want any accidents.”

It was James’ turn to roll his eyes, “You’re not the only important engine on the island, Gordon. Not to mention, I’ve had to do your job a few times for you since you have a knack of getting into trouble with the boss.” James smirked.

Gordon wrinkled his nose and closed his eyes, “Hmph!” That was the end of that conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” James said with a sigh, waiting impatiently for his passengers to load and unload.

His driver came up, not looking too thrilled, “James!”

James sighed irritably, “What?!”

The driver glared and pointed a finger at him, “You’ve got to stop doing your stops like this! You could injure yourself, or members of our team, or worse yet a passenger! What if someone was thrown from their seat or hit their head? It would’ve been your fault!”

James frowned, “They should know how to stay seated till I come to a complete stop. Not my fault if they’re bad at keeping seated or balancing.”

His driver looked ready to fight some more, but heard the whistle from the station master and looked to see the doors shut for the coaches.

“Listen to me, James. One day, your reckless driving is going to get this railway into a lot of trouble.”

James rolled his eyes, “Oh please. Me? Trouble? Ha!”

But of course, there would be trouble. As it so happened, not long after this little conversation James ended up in the Steamworks with terrible dents, scratches, and cuts alongside his face and paintwork. The cause? He was so busy trying to be splendid and fast that he nearly hit a stray cow that had found herself stuck on the rails. Her hoof was caught and seeing the engine barreling down the lines she panicked all the more. James did his best to brake and move onto a different set of tracks, but it was no use and he ended up derailed on his side. Worse yet, his passenger cars ended up coming with him. It was a very serious accident with several critical injuries. He thanked Lady above that not a single passenger was labeled a fatality.

He found himself unable to look Sir Topham Hatt in the eyes as he was scolded repeatedly and almost threatened to be removed from the rails indefinitely. The passengers and their families were suing the railway and it was all James’ fault. He couldn’t help the frightened tears that ran down his face or the constant apologies he spoke as a result of the accident. A VIP was ready to have him scrapped and the pressure was put on the Fat Controller that it was seen through. The railway leader refused to have such a monstrous action happen, taking a life was not going to fix injuries faster, and it was no quick and painless death for an engine to be scrapped. James was staying, however he was to be taken off the lines and then some. He wasn’t going to be pulling coaches anytime soon.

The others visited him when he could, Edward most of all. Years later, that moment would become one of the turning pivotal points in their relationship. James still was nervous despite everything.

He was feeling particularly upset with himself one day, sitting all alone in the steamworks, when his former driver approached him with his little girl. She was holding a stuffed animal close to her chest as they approached. He looked up at them nervously.

“James, this is my daughter Tilly and she has something she wants to give you.” The man nudged her forward, “Go on, Tilly dear.”

The little girl walked up to James’ buffer and showed him a stuffed rhino with a red ribbon around it’s neck, “This is Pebble! Whenever you’re scared or afraid you’re supposed to give her a big hug because rhino’s are tough and can make scarier things go away.” He blinked in surprise at her, “I.. I know you can’t hug her but you can have her. Daddy said you’re really sorry about what happened and that mean people were saying really mean things about you. But you’re my favorite engine, James, and you’ve gotta be tough.” She smiled up at him and placed the toy on his buffer, standing on her tiptoes to nudge it closer to his face, “Pebble will scare all those bullies away. Mummy even gave me a splendid red ribbon to tie on her. I hope you like it.”

James looked down at the stuffed animal and the little girl who smiled up at him, a few teeth missing in her grin, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Not one passenger had ever given him a gift before and here this little girl was just looking out for him.

He swallowed and smiled at her, “Thanks Tilly, I’ll take really good care of her.”

She pointed a finger at him in a feisty manner, “You better! She’s the best stuffie in the world and she should go to the best engine in the world!”

He smiled brightly for the first time in a long time that day. James thoroughly apologized, again, to Sir Topham Hatt and the others and after a while was back on the rails. He had his driver hide Pebble in his cab and on days when he was alone or feeling particularly down he had the man pull her out from the cab and put her on his buffer to have close. When the day did come that the engines were able to shift one of the first things James did, once he had gotten used to his legs, was hold Pebble close, besides hold his beloved Edward.

——

“And that’s the story.” Edward said as he finished drying all her fluff, “At least we can get her repaired. She is pretty old.”

“No wonder James is so protective of this toy. I would be too.” Thomas said.

“And I ruined her…” Percy said feeling down, out, and defeated.

Edward chuckled, “No, you didn’t ruin her Percy and it’s not the first time Pebble has found herself de-fluffed in a washer.” He winked, “If you keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”

Percy and Thomas chuckled, though Percy found himself really relieved, “Thanks Edward. Your secret is safe with us.”

Edward smiled, “Now, let’s go grab her from the dryer and get her all sewn up. We’ve still got some time before my husband gets home.”

Percy grinned, “You sure like to call him that, don’t you, Edward?”

Edward looked kindly at the small engine, “More than you can ever know.”

#ttte fanfic #ttte humanized #ttte james #ttte edward #ttte Thomas #ttte Percy #fanfiction update #ttte 2x5 #ttte jameward #finally I have finished it #This took so long because I demanded perfection from even this tiny fic #It was supposed to be posted on Monday #shhhhhhhh

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madphantom · 2 months

Text

New snippet from my writing!

Diary of Paul Killarney, November 1st, 1994 (cont'd)

By the time I was ready to leave the village, blue twilight had crept in among the trees. White fog wandered up from the nearby valley and the trees rustled in the wind. I shivered on my way to the car. Susan, darling, why did you want to be laid to rest here?

It was strange, but I almost felt watched in the parking lot. When something cracked in the thickets surrounding it I jumped, but then I saw it was merely a hare and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Its blue eyes hypnotically stared at me before it jumped off into the night.

Since when do wild rabbits have blue eyes?, I wondered. Eh, probably a trick of the light.

The Dog calmly trotted after me, unfazed by our surroundings. When I opened the car door he jumped onto the passenger seat and remained sitting there, his head curiously tilted.

I put my backpack into the trunk, climbed into the car, fastened my seatbelt and turned the key. Nothing happened. I frowned. Turned the key again. The engine stuttered, groaned, then suddenly died. I blinked. Well. Susan had had the other car when she'd left that night. I had no idea where it was right now. Probably being investigated as a crime scene in some police station.

Sighing, I got out of the car. The Dog followed, wagging his tail. For a moment I just stood in the parking lot, the trees rustling above me, and felt profoundly unsure where to go from here.

The house there on the edge of the forest, I suddenly recalled a bone-chilling, absurdly timeless voice say. If you squint you can kind of see it.

I hesitated, glanced over at the house in the dark, the window emitting a warm orange glow.

I mean, what could go wrong?

Shivering, I wrapped myself in my coat, took my backpack out of the car, locked it and began to make my way towards the house on the edge of the woods. Strangely, the Dog followed me like he knew exactly where we were going.

“You've been here before, haven't you?”, I asked him. “Here with your old friend. I wonder what stories you could tell me if you were human. I bet you've seen a lot.”

The Dog tilted his head and his too-intelligent eyes glinted in the sparse light. At first I thought he was growling, but then I realized it was more of a low purr. Then he brushed past my leg, and ran towards the house. He stopped at the doorstep, wagging his tail, and I sighed. I just couldn't understand this thing.

I rang the doorbell, my fingers numb from the cold. After a minute or two, the door suddenly opened.

Rory glanced outside, seeming confused. He was wearing a hand-knitted green sweater with a bird pattern on it and looked like he had prepared for a cozy evening. “Oh.”

“Sorry to bother you.” I awkwardly scratched my neck. “Uh, my car broke down and the last train home is already gone and I don't really know anyone here except you.”

Rory smiled. “Oh, no problem, come in! You can stay for the night.” - I entered the house and he closed the door behind me.

“I don't want to bother you…”

“No, no, it's totally fine.” His constant grin unnerved me just a little bit. “Probably gonna be a more exciting evening if I don't spend it alone again. The coat rack is over there, and you can take your shoes off or leave them on, whatever you like. I made biscuits, would you like some?”

“No, thank you.” I awkwardly hung my coat up and followed Rory into the living room. He peeked outside the window while I sat down onto the green plush sofa.

“It's probably gonna rain soon,” Rory commented. “I had a pretty grisly injury back in 1973, I can feel the weather change ever since. Worst superpower of all time.” He laughed. “Would you like some tea?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure.”

“Excellent.” He hushed over to the kitchen. While he was busy heating the kettle, I got up and began pacing around the living room.

The wallpapers were floral and faded, 1950s style. The plentiful shelves were painted moss green and filled with memorabilia of all kinds.

Rory glanced over at me. “Interesting, isn't it? Some of it belonged to the previous owner of the house, I just thought it'd be a shame to get rid of it. The wallpapers too. She had good taste, I have to admit. Lived here from 1936 to 1967, until she suddenly passed away.” He walked over to the sofa and put two chipped cups onto the table. “Tea’s finished. Sugar?”

“No thanks.” I returned to my seat and I took a sip of the tea. It tasted surprisingly well. The Dog came over, his tail wagging, and put his head on Rory's knee. The man laughed. “Aww, you missed me?”

“I have to admit - I can't believe the Dog acts this way around you,” I began and Rory glanced up. “I mean, he never listened to anyone but Susan and with you he's a downright darling.”

“You just gotta treat him right.” Rory scratched the Dog's ear. “He likes his dignity.”

Soft rain began tapping against the window glass like fingers. Rory sat up and raised his head, in some odd way regal as a long-necked heron, but with his hair covering his eyes it was impossible to tell his expression. It unnerved me.

He smiled. “Ha, I was right.”

“Hm?”

“About the rain.” He limp-wristedly waved towards the window.

“Oh.” I leaned back into the sofa, trying to distract myself from how tense I was. “So, how long have you been living here?”

“Oh, since 1970.” He was smiling a little wider again and I shivered. “The house was left desolate for a while after the previous owner's death and, you know, it looked intriguing.”

“Intriguing? How so?”

“There’s a history in these walls, you know? Someone has lived and died here for over a hundred years, over and over and over. You can feel it, I think. You can feel that it's alive in some way. At some point the house becomes its own inhabitant, and the inhabitant their own house.”

“What, you think the house is haunted?” I laughed.

Rory tilted his head. “That's an interesting way to phrase it. Maybe. By memories.”

For a while we just sat in the living room, drinking tea. The rain drummed against the windows and the orange light flickered. The Dog had wandered off into the other rooms and Rory had let him. The familiarity between the two was odd, almost like old friends that had drifted apart over the years, but never quite let go of the bond between them.

“How did you and Susan meet, if I may ask?” Rory leaned forward, putting down his chipped teacup.

I chuckled melancholically. “Oh, that was a funny story.

It was raining the night we met. I was on the train, going home from some outing with friends I've long lost touch with, somewhat drunk, but sober enough to realize the extent. The train was completely empty, and all you could see outside was blackness, only occasionally interspersed by the lonesome lights of a train station, and all you could hear was the hypnotic clacks of the train, and the greenery scraping against the windows like hungry ghosts.

I was, as I mentioned, drunk, and in the dark all the stations looked the same, so when I got out and discovered to my dismay that my stop had been twenty minutes ago, I didn't quite know what to do with myself. For the moment, I just sat down on a bench at the train station, and stared at the rain falling from the black sky. The station was on a hilltop, and through the rain, you could see the sleeping villages, the trees, and way in the distance, a lake in a valley.

“Beautiful night, isn't it?”

I flinched and turned my head. A young woman was standing on the other side of the station, a huge, three-legged dog at her feet. I had no idea how long she'd been standing there, or how long I'd been sitting here.

“Huh?”, was all I could say.

She shrugged and walked over to the bench, hands in the pockets of her corduroy pants. The Dog followed like a watchful shadow, his white teeth glinting in the barely existent light. “I said it's a beautiful night.”

“Oh.” I didn't know what to say. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“Are you here for the view too?”, she asked.

“Uh, no.” I awkwardly ran a hand through my hair, unsure what to say. “I…may have gotten off at the wrong stop.”

She laughed and something about her laugh chased a shiver down my spine. I had never heard such a beautiful sound in my life. “Happens.”

“How about you?”

“I always come here when it rains.” She sat down next to me. I could smell the scent of her brown leather jacket and when I glanced at her I saw that despite her youth, her blonde hair was full of silver strands. “For the view. You see the lake over there?”

“In the valley?”

“Yes.” She smiled. She had a smile that showed her gums and it was oddly endearing in the moment. “There's a house by that lake. I used to live there.”

I squinted and barely saw the white outline of that house. It was a tiny dot in the distance, like a faraway star, and yet the sight of it made me shiver.

The girl turned her head and glanced at me. “I'm Susan, by the way. You?”

“Paul.”

“Nice to meet you, Paul.” She smiled. And that was that.”

Rory smiled. “Sounds like her. You know, it was raining when I met her, too. Funny, isn't it?”

I smiled.

“I suppose so,” I said.

What I didn't say was: On the 271st night we met (I counted every single one of them), when I finally got down on one knee, she finally turned to me, her eyes big and sad and shiny.

“You do realize you will never be the love of my life, don't you?”, she asked. “I just wanted to say it before I break your heart. Because mine is in that valley and that's where it stopped beating. You're standing before a dead girl, and dead girls cannot fall in love.”

“I don't care,” I whispered and shook my head. “As long as you stay in my life.”

She blinked slowly. Then she slowly ran her cold fingers across my cheek.

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” she whispered and kissed me.

#personal post #sarah the novel #susan's hell sprint

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duramaters · 2 years

Text

Heat of the Moment // E.M.

AO3

Summary: You’re new to Hawkins, working at Family Video and living at the trailer park. Robin and Steve recommend someone who can help you let off some steam - a freshly graduated drug dealer who happens to become a whole lot more.

Warnings: Drug use, explicit language, sexual content, fem!reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Song: Heat of the Moment – Asia

Requested by @radical-munson

You had been living in Hawkins, Indiana for a few weeks now but the boxes containing evidence of your hoarding habit were still piled up in teetering stacks around your trailer. The only things that were unpacked and held pride of place in your new space were your guitar and your collection of books; your dog eared copies of Tolkien perched on the small coffee table, within easy reach at all times. Currently sat next to them was your rucksack and your new work uniform, an offensively green vest with Family Video stitched above the pocket in an equally unpleasant yellow. Even your typical outfit of monochromatic black and grey couldn’t offset the lurid colours but hey at least you had a job now.

The rust bucket of a car that was your beloved Ford Pinto squeaked in complaint as you launched your rucksack into the passenger seat and slipped behind the wheel. It puttered to life and you peeled out of Forest Hills Trailer Park and towards the centre of the small town.

Your new co-workers, Robin and Steve, welcomed you with open arms and endless questions about who you were and where you’d come from. They were genuinely inquisitive so you felt comfortable enough sharing your backstory of absent parents and a crappy high school experience in the city. It wasn’t long before Robin had roped you into a popcorn catching competition and you were belly laughing harder than you had in months, trying not to choke on the kernels as you held back a snort.

~~~

Scraping your hair off of your neck and into a pair of messy buns that loosely resembled those of your favourite heroine, you stood behind Steve as he locked up the store.

“God, I need a smoke.” You whined, fanning your flushed face in the humid heat.

“What kind of smoke?” Robin leaned into your side with a cheeky grin and bright eyes. Your mouth twitched up into a matching grin as you nudged your shoulder against her own.

“What do you think, huh?” You winked conspirationally, “know anyone who sells?”

Robin pondered for a moment before Steve joined the conversation, twirling the keys to his Beemer around his finger.

“Hey, what about Eddie? I’m sure he’s still dealing.” He glanced at Robin and her face lit up, peaking your curiosity.

“Yes! Eddie! He just graduated.” Her bright red lips pulled up in an affectionate smile.

You scrunched your nose at the thought of potentially buying from an eighteen year old, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Robin and Steve seemed to take your nose scrunch as distaste and Steve swung his arm around your shoulder as you all began walking towards the parking lot.

“He’s a good guy, don’t worry about it. His weed isn’t the best, but it does the job.” He seemed embarrassed that he spoke from experience and you laughed at his light blush.

“Oh yeah, remember that time you and Jonathan-”

“Thank you Robin, no need to tell the fresh meat about that.” Steve jumped in, huffing out a chuckle at the clearly amusing memory.

You made sure to get the dealer’s details from Robin before hopping into your little red sedan and waving goodbye to the hapless pair. The drive home was short and the heady heat had sweat trickling between your shoulder blades despite the fact that you had discarded the ugly green vest in the backseat. The craving for a high wasn’t helping so you bypassed your trailer and continued down the dirt track, looking for the van that Steve had described, hoping that this Eddie guy was at home.

You spotted the black and white van and pulled your Pinto up next to it, the engine puttering out in relief as you switched off the ignition. Mindlessly swiping the sweat from you brow you hopped out of the car and jogged up the steps. Just as your knuckles were about to make contact with the trailer door you heard a dull thud from behind you and you turned to watch a tall boy with a halo of soft curls tumble out the back of the van in a cloud of smoke.

“Eddie Munson?” You approached him tentatively, he seemed completely oblivious despite your car very obnoxiously announcing your arrival. He let out a feeble, high pitched squawk when you spoke and you had to stifle a laugh at the theatrics. Eddie turned to face you, flattening his fluffy hair that must have been ten times more voluminous than normal in the humidity.

“Can I help you?” Once he had tamed his mane and regained his composure he stepped towards you, head tilted and arms folded defensively.

“Robin..erm…recommended you.” You made a smoking gesture and his eyes lit up in realisation.

“Good old Buckley, reeling in the customers.” He grinned to himself. His scowl had disappeared and his posture loosened at the mention of his friend. “What was her selling point?” He asked as he approached you, wrapping a leather clad arm over your shoulders.

“Steve said, ‘it does the job’ and my standards aren’t that high so I figured I’d give you a chance.”

Eddie faked a stab to the chest with his free hand, “you wound me, Harrington.”

“I don’t usually buy from teenagers, but desperate times and all that.” You shrugged.

“Teenager?” He paused, dropping his arm from your shoulder and turning to face you with a quizzical expression.

“Yeah, Robin said you just graduated?” A beaming smile lit up his face.

“That I did. That I did.” He oozed pride. “Ms O’Donnell had it out for me you see, hence my super super senior status.” He winked at you and you blushed once you had done the maths, he was probably a few months older than you at most. This realisation had you flustered and you were now significantly more intimidated by the man than you had been when you had him pinned as a kid. At least you could let yourself acknowledge how cute he was now, without feeling like a certified creep.

Eddie lead you through the entrance of the trailer and you spun around, slowly taking in the assortment of hats and mugs lining the walls.

“My uncle’s.” He nodded towards the hat collection, stepping away from you to strip out of his leather jacket. Underneath he wore an old Iron Maiden tour shirt with ripped sleeves. You swallowed thickly at the sight of his pale, lithe arms. The heat in the tin trailer was really getting to you.

“How were you wearing that anyway? I would be running around naked if I could.” You had continued to mosey around the trailer, taking in the knickknacks and furniture so you missed his bewildered expression and the way he bit his lip at the thought of you naked.

“Nothings stopping you.” He crossed his ankles and leant back in an attempt at nonchalance but almost missed the doorframe and went stumbling backwards. You hid your giggle behind your palm and lowered your gaze to the stained carpet to offer him a chance at regaining his dignity. You heard him clear his throat and disappear down the hallway.

“How many ounces?” His muffled voice came from a room further down and you stepped lightly down the hallway to find him, not wanting to shout for the rest of the trailer park to hear. “Or do you just want a couple joints?”

You found yourself in what you could only assume to be Eddie’s room, he was rooting through the closet so you peered around at his posters, the dirty magazines on the floor and the overflowing ashtray. Nice. What really took your breath away was the guitar hanging in front of the mirror. She was magnificent and you let out a low whistle as you approached. You were desperate to touch her, but you could tell from looking at her just how sacred she was so you refrained.

“Wow, Eddie.” You whispered. He turned and caught your awed expression in the mirror. Your eyes flicked to his and a knowing smirk was plastered across his face.

“She’s something, right?” He joined you at his altar of rock and lightly brushed his fingers down the fretboard. You shook yourself out of the spell the guitar had put you under and smiled up at the man.

“What were you saying about those joints?”

He beamed back at you and brandished a freshly rolled spliff in your face. “Wanna share?” His grin gave you goosebumps despite the heat.

“Sure thing, wanna go back to my trailer? It’s a bit cooler.”

~~~

You swung the door of your trailer open and relished in the cool air escaping around you. Having one of the few trailers that sat on the boundary to the woods was a blessing on days like this. Shuffling across your living room, you dumped your vest and bag on the table and collapsed on the sofa, kicking your feet up onto one of the boxes full of books. Eddie flicked through your scruffy copy of The Return of the King that was sat on the coffee table, his tongue poking between his lips as he read your annotations.

“You’re a total nerd.” He grinned, making sure the book was back where he found it before flopping down to join you on the couch, digging around in his back pocket for a lighter. The movement had him lifting his hips and angling his body towards you and you squeezed your thighs together at the close proximity. A slow graze of his denim clad thigh against your own had you jumping up abruptly.

“I’m a sweaty mess,” you twirled the damp flyaway hairs at your temple to emphasise the point, “I’m just gonna get changed real quick while you light up.” Eddie nodded absentmindedly, his focus on the blunt between his moistened lips. You dashed into your room and took a moment to compose yourself before stripping off the stifling clothes you had worn to work and donning a short floral sundress. You would have worn it even if Eddie wasn’t around, but the thought of him seeing you in it was definitely an added bonus. You returned to Eddie as he sat in a swirl of smoke and plucked the joint from his fingers as you slumped back down beside him.

As you relaxed into the cushions you were blissfully unaware that the hem of your dress had crept up your thigh until cool metal stroked your flesh and you felt a thumb caressing your skin.

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring” Eddie’s hushed whisper drew your attention to his hand stroking over the tattoo peaking out from your dress, the Elvish inscription wrapping around your leg like a garter. You flushed bright red and cleared your throat, subtly shifting your leg to hide the embarrassing tattoo.

“I was young and dumb.” You explained, dragging your dress down to cover your thighs.

“It’s fuckin hot, princess.” Eddie’s eyes finally left your leg and flickered up to your face, the deep brown irises blown black with lust. “You got anymore?” A cheeky grin split his lips as he leaned in teasingly. You decided to toy with him, since he seemed so affected by the simple band around your thigh.

“Take a guess” you sighed, breath fanning out onto his pouty lips. He looked ready to risk it all so you plucked the blunt from his fingers and took a slow drag, leaning back into the arm of the sofa to enjoy the entertainment of Eddie’s brain short-circuiting at the thought of other potential tattoos. You muffled a giggle and patted him gently on the head.

“Ok shortcake, stop thinking about it before you hurt that sweet brain. I only have this one.” You motioned to your now clothed thigh.

“Disappointing.” Eddie murmured sheepishly as you leaned forward and dropped the roach into an empty can on your coffee table. His adorable expression had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Hey,” you nudged his shoulder with your own, “I show you mine you show me yours, right?” You had already spent more than enough time ogling the Metallica reference and the bats adorning his forearm when he wasn’t looking, but you knew there were more.

“Maybe one day, sweetheart. If you’re lucky.” He winked at you and rose from the sofa. You didn’t want him to leave but the delirium from the drugs, the heat and Eddie’s presence put you at risk of saying something wildly inappropriate and embarrassing.

~~~

Eddie had become more than just your new dealer during the summer of ’86 and your feelings for the man had become almost unbearable. You wanted to simultaneously smush his adorable face, pinch his cheeks and suck on his fingers, tasting the sharp tang of his rings. You not only had the superficial things in common: music taste, style, tattoos, smoking habits; but the deeper, more secret parts of yourselves were also strikingly similar. Your life experiences and subsequent moral codes matched up perfectly and you spent most evenings sat on the stoop of his trailer delving into each other’s minds while sharing a spliff.

Steve and Robin shared knowing looks whenever Eddie stopped by the video store under the illusion of wanting to rent The Thing for the billionth time knowing it was your favourite and you would inevitably find yourself curled up against him on his couch later that evening, watching the disgusting gore and giggling.

It was a cool September afternoon and you could feel a storm brewing; electricity building and sharp gusts of wind battering the windows of the video store. Your temperamental Pinto had finally given up on you and was stuck at the garage for the foreseeable future so Steve had offered to give you a lift home after your shift ended. You were increasingly grateful for that offer as a downpour was looking more and more likely.

As soon as the last customer left you vaulted over the counter to join Steve as he locked up the store. The drive home was full of girly gossiping and laughter at Steve’s music choice.

“Blondie? Really Steve, I expected better of you.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “It’s Robin’s I swear.”

His earnest tone had you belly laughing so hard it came out as a wheeze and you were almost relieved when Steve pulled up in front of your trailer, you’re abdominal muscles were on fire and you couldn’t take much more of his wounded puppy expression.

You waved at Steve as he drove off before rooting around in your purse for your keys. Shit. You’re trailer keys were on your car keys. Your car keys were with your car. And you car was very much back at the garage in the middle of town. Shit, shit, shit. Normally it wouldn’t be an issue, you’d just go to Eddie’s and beg for a lift to the garage but you knew he was out with his little gang of loveable dweebs playing a new campaign so there was nothing left to do but walk back to town or wait for Eddie to get back. You decided to take a leisurely stroll to his trailer where you could sit on the stoop and smoke the cigarettes you had hidden behind the trashcans.

You were on your third cigarette when the heavens opened and great fat blobs of rain began to pelt down on you from above. You groaned as your cigarette was extinguished mid-puff and the water was already starting to seep through your clothes. Wrapping your arms around yourself you tried to get as far under Wayne’s makeshift porch as you could, but it made no difference. Within minutes you were soaked through and shivering. At least the oppressive heat had been broken by the storm, you thought, as a loud clap of thunder sounded overhead.

The rolling thunder quieted slightly, allowing you to make out the sound of an engine approaching. Thank fuck. You had the sound of Eddie’s van memorised so you knew it was him but the reckless driving and blaring music would have given him away regardless. You hair was hanging limply down your shoulders by the time he pulled up, the water dripping from your sodden strands down into your bra so that there was no escape from the soggy discomfort.

Eddie’s eyes went wide behind the windscreen when he noticed you hunched over on his stoop and he flew out of the van, slipping in the mud in his haste to get you inside.

“L-locked o-out.” You stuttered, shivering violently. He wrapped his leather clad arms around you and guided you into the trailer, you felt slightly guilty leaving puddles on the carpet but Eddie was soon bundling you up in a scratchy old towel, palming at your hair with the thin material. Your shivering continued despite his attempts to dry you off and get you warm.

“We have to get you out of these wet clothes, sweetheart.” He said bending down slightly to wrap the towel around you from behind.

“Are you t-trying to get me n-naked, Munson?” You asked, huffing out a chuckle at his responding smile.

“It’s your fault for surgically inserting that imagine into my brain the moment we met.” He dropped his hands from you and shuffled off down the hallway, returning with a pair of sweats and an old Hellfire shirt balled up in his hands.

“I’m soaked through to my underwear Eds.”

“Even better.”

You blushed furiously at his salacious wink and he threw the heap of clothes at you, gesturing to the bathroom where you could get changed with only a semblance of privacy since the door didn’t lock properly and had a tendency to sweep open of its own accord.

With one foot holding the door closed you stripped off down to your underwear and then thought fuck it and flung your bra and panties into the pile of sopping clothes you had dropped into the sink. The soft fabric of Eddie’s clothes against your bare breasts and core felt strangely intimate but you weren’t going to complain. You quickly threw your damp hair up into a bun and tossed the towel into the hamper by the door before going to rejoin Eddie in the living room.

You were fiddling with a few wayward curls that were brushing the base of your neck when you walked back into the living room, your eyes cast to the floor and neck bent so that you could tuck the hairs into your bun. When you had finished fiddling you looked up to see Eddie sat up, strangely alert, a light flush on his cheeks and a cushion in his lap. Oh.

You smirked.

“Seeing me in your clothes doing something for you is it, shortcake?”

Eddie balked and began stuttering out an apology but you waved it off and joined him on the sofa. His eyes were roving over your form and you began to feel shy under his adoring gaze.

“You’re so beautiful.” His half-lidded, lust blown eyes stared down at you and you had to repress a shiver at the feeling he evoked within you. Shuffling about on the couch, you made your way onto your knees and scooted closer to your friend. Friend. God you wanted more.

Without hesitating you closed the gap between the two of you, tentatively suckling on his lower lip as you felt him tense beneath you. He release a groan and immediately relaxed into the kiss, returning your attentions with a light nip. His warm, weighty tongue settled against your own and you felt around for the cushion on his lap, launching it into the hidden depths of the trailer without breaking the kiss. Eddie hissed at the momentary friction before the feeling of your thighs bracketing his own and your warm core settling above his pelvis had his mind blanking.

“Jesus Christ, princess.” He moaned into your mouth and you ground your hips against him in response.

“Fucking finally, right?” You mumbled, lips brushing across his jaw and pressing damp kisses against his throat.

“Hell yeah.” You felt the bright smile pulling at his cheeks and peppered them with gentle pecks.

“I bloody love you, Munson.” You pulled back to look him in the eyes, cupping his face in your soft hands to make sure he heard you.

“If you insist.” He waggled his eyebrows at you and your laugh puffed onto his reddened lips. Eddie pulled you back in to deepen the kiss once again, the desire almost exploding between you. He nuzzled into your neck affectionately as your delicate fingers tugged at his mousy curls.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

You could feel his heart beating through his chest in a tempo that matched your own.

It was perfect.

#eddie munson #eddie munson lives #eddie munson graduates #eddie munson x reader #x reader #eddie munson x you #x you #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #st4 #steve harrington #robin buckley #smut #eddie munson smut #g writes #stranger things fanfiction

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mariamariquinha · 1 year

Text

Bossa Nova (Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x f!reader) - Six

Five | Seven

Summary: A Cosmopolitan here, a charm there...

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Bad words, a pinch of flirting, a slight mention of a crime scene, alcohol consumption, make-out session (?) and don’t drink and drive, ‘kay?

Author’s Note: I have a type and my type is any Maurice Compte’s character. “Oh but he would probably do you wrong” SO WHAT.

And yes, I used a KJ gif. Fight me.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

-------------------------------

“I don’t know how I feel about this one.”

You were greeted with silence. It only took one turn to realize that that dress wouldn't work. Defeated, you strode back to the bedroom and changed. For the fifth time.

Maybe a song would lift the spirits…

“Alexa, play female empowerment songs!”

She started with The Pussycat Dolls.

“Forget it!”

Your hands rubbed your eyes and you suppressed a grunt for being such an idiot. Of course it didn't need so much drama, he never seemed like the type to put you in an anxious situation. It was you, again, dealing with the shit you created for yourself.

When you walked back into the living room and opened your arms with a pair of jeans, the same silence greeted you and the grunt came out this time. Kojak wasn't the best at clothing opinions for this sort of thing.

Looking around, you came to the conclusion that you needed more friends.

--------------------------------

“Well, this will do, right? You can’t tell it doesn’t.”

Kojak entered his house as if it was nothing.

“I should’ve adopted a dog.”

----------------------------

With remorse, you passed by the aquarium before leaving for work and formally apologized to Kojak.

----------------------------

Who brought the subject up was Connors. In a way, Benny was more than used to his friend's remarks, but this one was so unexpected that it took him a while to process what was happening.

“Do you think she works out or something?”

“Mm?”

“She.”

They were both in different circumstances here - Magalon was returning from a brief trip to Fresno to interrogate a suspect and was signing transfer paperwork at the front desk. Connors, on the other hand, found him after lunch, so the two started talking. Benny couldn't pinpoint when the subject turned to you, but when he looked up and saw Connors pointing in your direction, he frowned.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe, right? She has great legs.”

Benny felt a twinge of offense, but he wasn't overly moved. From what little he knew about you, it wasn't like Connors' interest meant anything; besides, the guy was right. Your legs were incredible.

That kind of thought was never there, hovering over his head, and since the few interactions the two of you had involved a very restricted professional scope, this sounded away from that context. You lived your married life, him with some girlfriends and the hotel parties that Nick promoted. Both apparently comfortable, immersed in reality itself - God knew how O'Brien could be a catalyst for attention with his 6ft2, almost absurd requests and impertinent comments.

There was no sure way to tell how he reacted when the talk of your divorce started to run around the station, but there was a reaction when the stories turned to be a lot less pleasant about you. He didn't know you, but he respected you as a person. It was unfair.

As unfair as the way Connors looked at you at that moment and how he himself had looked at you when he saw those photos on your Instagram.

“Do you think she would go for a guy like me?”

That didn't have an answer either, but this time Benny held a knowing smile between his lips as he wiped his hand over his mouth and went back to staring at the documents in front of him.

“Do you think she would go for a guy like you?”

“I don’t know. Have you seen her ex? The guy was good looking. Good salary, one of those fancy engineers… And he was younger too. She doesn't seem like the type to step off her pedestal like that.”

Oh yeah, that was another thing that was a joke among the guys - you lived on an imaginary pedestal. Benny might have a slicker answer to that, after all, he never got involved with these jokes, but the fact that Connors brought up your ex and him, of all others, proved to fall short of what people knew as the right type for you. It bothered him. Magalon didn't have a majestic salary or great professional achievements; otherwise, he considered himself attractive, but not necessarily extremely handsome. He just had good genetics.

For the rest of the day, between the busyness of work and anything else about the case, he thought about it. Not with insecurity, of course, but with how certain things didn't add up - you were firm, decisive and no less brave in such a naturally hostile work environment. Despite that, when he asked you out unpretentiously, expecting a short and sharp refusal, there was something different in your look, in your posture. It couldn't be unique to him, it's just that of all people, you would be the last one Benny would think was full of mean precepts about others.

Deep down, as Benny scribbled his name on the paper, he thought to say that Connors was overreacting. Heavens, you even had a fish named after a policeman. What were the chances that you, even discreetly, had a soft spot for cops?

Later that day, he saw you talking to Connors. He observed your smile easily turning into a smaller one, just to change to an expression of reticence. Benny watched from afar, sitting in the break room with a packet of Skittles in hand, the hallway still visible through the window with the shutters open. You said no, probably apologizing because despite your attitude, you had respect for everyone.

Benny smiled to himself before taking another handful of candy and popping it in his mouth. Despite the friendship he had with Connors, male pride touched him deep down, and he was happy that you didn't do the same when the invitation had a different face and, certainly, another intention.

--------------------------------

You knew that nice bar in Hermosa Beach because you'd been there once or twice, but that was a long time ago. It wasn't the kind of place that suited men so attached to a dual lifestyle like the guys of Major Crimes, in theory, but Benny had just been showing himself to be particularly oblivious to certain types of their preferences, so getting there was more of a surprise than a moral lesson.

The only text he sent you came before you left the house, replying to yours saying you were on your way. Maybe that's why when you walked further into the place, he was already looking at you.

For all the good sincerity and honesty you had with you, it was hard to deny that Benny was, for obvious reasons, an attractive man. This criterion went a little beyond how he looked, it extended to the way he presented himself. This you noticed with a little time, when his attention started to turn towards you and the text messages, as well as the brief glances in the corridors of the station, showed that he had an almost appreciative way for things that piqued his interest.

Well, the fact that he punched Mathias Walsh already gave him a whole life of credits.

As you approached with careful steps, dodging two waiters and a few tables, Benny was watching you unreservedly but respectfully. His eyes hovered over your bare legs for a few moments longer before moving up gradually until they stopped on your face. He smiled, got up, kissed you on the cheek with a mumbled ‘hey’. As soon as you pulled away, his hand stayed for a while on your waist and the same eyes took in every inch of your face again before pulling away completely.

“I think I'm a little late, sorry,” You said, already sitting comfortably in front of the guy.

“Not at all,” The answer came with a singular smile. “And even if you were, it would be worth the wait. You look beautiful.”

That made you smile and shift your eyes to the side, at least for a brief moment, and when you looked back at his face, he was relaxed, his body slumped in the chair as he watched you become naturally embarrassed by the compliment.

“I heard they have a great Cosmopolitan here,” The subject change was sudden, in an attempt to bring you back, which worked. You raised your eyebrows curiously at his comment.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever been here?”

“A few times, but not enough for them to know me. What did you think?”

“Ah, it looks nice to me. Maybe it's a little early to say something for sure. I tend to believe that the company makes all the difference.”

It was his turn to look a little taken aback by your answer, which was short lived because soon Benny was smiling again, head nodding.

“I hope to make a good impression then, I'd hate to scare you away from such a nice place.”

You wanted to say he looked promising; wanted to make a brief deal to make things more interesting. If you only took two Cosmopolitans, you were enjoying it and would have liked to stay lucid longer to listen to it. Otherwise, I would drink three. But you considered and said nothing, choosing instead to call the waiter over and order.

You would have time to make that decision.

-----------------------------

After an hour, you haven't even gotten past the first one. The drink was there, of course, and you took a good sip of it, but not even its delicious taste or its ability to be multifunctional saved you the attention you gave Benny. You could tell it was even dangerous. He listened to you tell things about your life and you did the same with him, which brought out laughs that you didn't remember having in a long time.

In the second hour, with the drink being replaced by beers, Benny became more contemplative - sipping his own beer, never taking his eyes off you for a second. The story about the time you photographed a bizarre scene in a weird dolls' room? He listened. Nobody ever paid attention to this story. Or the time you and your brother did a powerpoint presentation so he could come out to your parents? It was the first time you heard a genuine, choked laugh from him.

“Is this serious?”

“Mm-hm. And it was my idea,” Your hands were gesticulating, sometimes stopping below your chin. “We dressed up as Elton John and took them to the garage because my dad had one of those video projectors. At the end I'm Still Standing started playing and I threw some confetti for, you know, dramatic effect.”

“And what did they say?”

“My mom cried because she was proud that we chose Elton and my dad just said no one needed to get the new carpet dirty just to state the obvious, but he appreciated the presentation design. Then we had dinner.”

“Your family sounds great, not everyone would react like that.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure. They are very supportive,” You nodded a little, a sincere smile occupying your face with the memory. “And my mother thinks you’re very good looking, by the way.”

“Is that so?”

“The day we saw each other at the restaurant, remember? She had good first impressions.”

“And is it a shared opinion?”

Flirtation came here and there, but much of the conversation was more casual than intentional in that regard. That was the first time he'd actually asked a more charming question, his little smirk hidden behind the beer bottle.

“Looking for a compliment?” You teased.

“I would have no problem telling you that I find you attractive. Very attractive, as your mother would say.”

You contemplated a moment of silence, gauging each other's reactions with a pleasant tension in the air, the kind that made you feel good in the pit of your stomach. Benny looked at you more openly, running his eyes from your face to your cleavage before wetting his lips with his tongue. It was understated, certainly brief by certain standards, and maybe that's what made you like the idea of being appreciated like that.

“Who did you learn to be like that from? Older brother? Dad?”

“You seem to have good suggestions.”

“It certainly wasn't Connors.”

“We both know that if he was any good at this, I wouldn't be the one here right now.”

“It's a good point, but it's not the whole truth.”

“Oh no?”

“Nn-nn.”

“Clarify for me, please.”

Aware that you'd piqued his interest in this, you raised an eyebrow almost conspiratorially and made circular motions with the bottle, staring at the table cloth for a while before looking back at him.

“It is a shared opinion.”

-------------------------------

By the time you two decided to finish the drinks, he offered a walk. The evening was pleasant, a discreet silence lingering over the two of you after you'd decided to take your heels off to be more comfortable with the ‘tour’. Your head was a little unsteady from the alcohol, which was quite distracting, and for a while it felt like you were a tourist looking at the shops as if you'd never seen them before.

Being a busy season, the other establishments around the bar were open, so the mixed and different play of lights suited the mild mood between the two of you. Time has never been so favorable for you to observe things judiciously - besides that part of town being beautiful, Benny smelled good and his discreet perfume made it easy to keep company.

It was when his arm was paired with yours, gently touching the entire length of it and making your knuckles touch gently, that you noticed the closeness and it made you sober up almost instantly.

“What is Ben for?”

The question caught him by surprise. You stopped right under a light pole and he saw you looking at him with real expectation, which must have sparked an interest in playing with you a little.

“Take a guess,” He offered with a tut of his head, crossing his arms.

“Mm… Benjamin?”

“Too obvious.”

“Bernard?”

“I’m not British.”

“... Bennet?”

“No British,” Benny repeated with conviction, but not in a harsh way. You sighed, thought for a moment and closed your eyes with your face turned to the sky.

“Benson?” Peaking at him from under your lashes, you could see his head shaking and a smile well-planted on his lips.

“No.”

“Bentlee? Bentley? Benedicto?”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Bbbb… Benito,” He just smiled before shaking his head. “Ooooh c’moooon! I’m not good at guessing things, you tell me.”

Benny chuckled at your exasperated reaction before pinching the bridge of his nose, leaning his head against the post.

“It’s Benicio.”

You didn't say anything for a while, staring at him like this was some kind of joke even though you knew it wasn't. It surprised you, obviously. Benicio wasn’t a common name. Then you remembered what he told you about coming from a family with certain traditions and how his two older siblings also had names with B: Bruno and Belinda.

“Uh. Benicio.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Benicio… Sounds good,” Which was sincere. Not in the world would you guess that a beautiful man had such a exotic but resounding name.

“You think?”

“Sure thing. Your mom chose it?”

“She says it sounds pretty. Probably because it matches my eyes,” He batted his lashes playfully, making you scoff a laugh.

“Pretty like your eyes, then,” You considered. “Makes sense. You have such… Big orbits of brown, you know? I can’t look at them too much because they’re so intense.”

“You’re doing just fine until now.”

“Eh.”

There was a slight beat of silence.

“But if it comforts you, I can’t look at you for a long time either.”

“Why?”

“... You know why.”

God, you wanted to kiss him so bad. It felt like the right time, the perfect moment. The street wasn't very busy and the two of you were getting along so well. Even if it wasn't going to happen again, even if he wasn't enjoying the moment as much as you were, it sounded… ideal. And at worst, you could say that alcohol made you more free for such an initiative.

“And here I thought we’re having a sincere night. I’m really offended, detective Benicio Magalon,” He groaned at your teasing tone.

“You aren’t gonna let this die, right?”

“Nn-nn. You’ll need to do more to shut me up about it now.”

Of course that was a damn clear signal that he should kiss you right away. You were unusually brave, wearing a fucking pretty dress and on a date with an extremely interesting guy who had such a… kissable mouth. Not to mention that that light made him much more pleasant, illuminating his face in the right spot and… Damn, he took two or three steps towards you? Maybe four?

The heat that coursed through your body when you felt him closer was shamefully explicit. You were literally squirming when Benny brushed the tip of his fingers over the fabric of your dress, using a fake shy expression to stare at his discreet movement.

“Yeah?” He asked in a low teasing tone, smirking a little at the way you licked your lips at the proximity.

“Yeah.”

No one needed to say or direct anything from there. Benny just stared at your mouth and pressed a tentative kiss to it, pulling back just a little to see your reaction. Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was the feeling, but you smiled before leaning in for another one. Surprisingly calm, he gently placed one hand on your neck, fingertips brushing below your ear as his thumb rested on your jugular, the other pulling you close by the waist.

The shoes were on the floor in an instant - you certainly needed the tactile sense to enjoy that moment as much as he did, who savored the kiss with slow, smooth movements, without any rush. Heavens, his shoulders were so firm. You forgot your surroundings when you heard him sigh for a moment at the way you ran your nails down the back of his neck, touched by the fact that he was so visibly resistant but sensitive in such specific points of his own body. The contact of his mustache on your upper lip was intrinsic to the way you reacted positively to the kiss, as if that rough touch was what was missing to be perfect.

It was completely cliché, that unforgettable and incredible first kiss thing, but your vows to become a more sincere person with your own feelings lived up to the moment; Benny was an important balance point to revive things that only your teenage self felt, like that was forbidden and that's why you were kissing so sensually in the middle of the sidewalk.

His fingers went down a little to the strap of your dress. Just a little teasing, enough to make you a little flustered when the two of you pulled away.

“That was…”

“Mm-hm.”

Benny had focused eyes. Lingering gazes, even. And he looked at you for a long time there, under the streetlight, caressing your jaw as if thinking about his options, weighing the possibilities. The same intense eyes you mentioned earlier stared at you with adoration, an almost ardent appreciation for principles you shared.

“I should take you home,” He said simply, hand now lowering to your own to give it a squeeze. “A ride, in this case.”

Oh.

“You drank a little, so did I. It would be unwise to make any other decision.”

Somehow it was like Benny was sorry he had just said it, but he and you both knew it was the best thing to do. Let's go home, each to our own, and let the memory of that kiss flourish like rational people before taking off the clothes and starting the most intense part of the things.

“Right,” You licked your lips, leaning down to catch your shoes again.

No one said anything else after that and the walk back to the bar's parking lot was quiet, even though his hand was holding yours the entire way. You insisted that you could order an Uber, that you didn't want to be in the way, but he didn't listen and opened his own car door for you.

During that other journey, he looked at you from time to time and you did the same, except that nothing happened and that understanding weighed a little on the desire mixed with alcohol. You convinced yourself again that it was the best decision when he pulled up in front of your house. In the best of intentions, Benny dropped you off at your door, pulling you in for one more toe-curling-kiss.

If the neighbors were to speculate, nobody there cared and that was fine. Fuck them, in fact.

“I see you tomorrow?” You asked.

“In the same place as always.”

A genuine smile appeared on both of your faces.

“Well…” He cleared his throat. “I should go.”

“Okay.”

Benny took a few steps towards your porch steps and you watched him as he walked down to the concrete path.

“Hey,” At your call, he turned, both hands shoved in the back pocket of his jeans and eyebrows raised. “Good night, detective.”

“Detective?”

“Isn't that what you are? Detective Benicio Magalon?”

“You know, my name sounds so much better when you say it,” There was a humorous tone there, something that made you smile more. “I hope this is our secret now.”

“Like it was with Kojak?”

“I really faltered on this one. I guarantee I will make up for it.”

“You already did.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He pressed his lips together but the answer was suggestive enough to stay that way, up in the air. At your lack of response, his steps returned, this time backwards, while he was still looking at you.

“Good night, agent.”

Without much to add, you were left to watch him get in the car and leave with a mutual wave of the hand. Walking into the house was a different experience - you still needed to shower and change into pajamas, but nothing felt convenient because your mind wasn't on it.

Kojak was swimming amicably in the aquarium when you plopped down on the couch with your fingers brushing your lips. You reverberated the kiss in your mind with an attention that, again, felt dangerous. Get your fucking shit together, you got up, pointing a finger at the aquarium as you walked towards the bedroom.

“I told you this dress was the best option.”

-----------------------------

Taglist (no pressure)

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@nerdyreaderpapi

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@the-hinky-panda

#benny borracho magalon #benny magalon x reader #benny borracho magalon x reader #den of thieves #den of thieves fic #maurice compte #female reader

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queenmayor23 · 1 year

Text

Grand Piano III {Dean Winchester X Male Reader}

this one's a little angsty

Moments later, Dean wakes up in his back seat. He looks out the window to see dust being kicked up by the spinning wheels and rows upon rows of corn. TJ can see the confusion on Dean's face through the rearview mirror.

TJ: Shut up. We're almost there.

TJ pulls into a gravel driveway leading to a brick shed and a matching house next to it. The corn almost acted like a magical portal to the hidden property. TJ parks and shuts down the engine. He gets out, walking to the door of the house.

TJ: Hurry up if you want me to help.

Dean gets out of the car and follows the rock walkway to the porch, where TJ holds the door for him.

TJ: All the way down and hang a right.

Dean: After getting punched in the face, I don't trust you walking behind me.

TJ: That's hilarious. Either you walk in that kitchen, or I send my dogs after you, and you'll never see John or Sammy again.

Dean took the safer route and began walking. Staring at the back of his ex-boyfriend's head was the only thing that kept TJ from killing Dean right there and giving him time to process the mixed emotions.

TJ: Sit.

Dean sits at the kitchen table while TJ digs in the freezer. He pulls out some frozen peas and an ice pack, tosses the peas on the table next to Dean, and closes the freezer. TJ fixes himself a glass of whiskey and downs it like water. It was a taste he was just getting used to, even though his trash can would say differently. He fixes another glass and a separate one for Dean, walking it over to him.

TJ: Dean...

TJ struggles to find the words he wants to say. Was it "I hate you and want you dead," or "Why come back now just to ruin the sliver of happiness I just found" or maybe "I loved you, and I thought you loved me, but I guess I loved for both of us"? But the real question looming in TJ's mind was, "Why don't you love me?". But TJ didn't get to ask any of those questions before Dean spoke up, holding the peas to his cheek.

Dean: "Spirits of Vengeance", huh?

TJ: I bought the lounge a month after the mission with you and John. I was so mad.

Dean: He's your father too.

TJ: Was he? I've been alive twenty-seven years and have seen him a grand total of five times. I was ten when he introduced me to hunting. He had me chasing demons, poltergeists, and other unnatural creatures to prove myself to him.

Dean: It was your choice to start hunting.

TJ: He made me think he would love me if I eliminated all the monsters. So after graduation, I packed up and rode around the country on a hunting tour, and my mother hated me for it. She warned me of what kind of person John was, but I had to realize that he was the real monster on my own.

Dean: Dad was a hero!

TJ: He was my hero too, but I grew up Dean.

TJ walks back to his kitchen counter, smashing the ice pack on his knuckles.

Dean: I need you to help me find him. I don't want to drag Sam back unless I have to. At least that's what Dad would've wanted.

TJ: Did he leave any clues as to what he was hunting or where? This wouldn't be the first time John went on a bender and forgot to tell his puppy dog.

Dean: What are you talking about?

TJ: Amherst. Clifton. Laredo. Mesa. He's always missing, then a week later, after you search the continental US, he pops up and is fine.

Dean: How do you-

TJ: Sam knows how to say thank you.

Dean: Wait, Sam? Does he know?

TJ: No. All he knows is that I'm the idiot who doesn't know how to say no to his brother.

Dean sighs in a mixture of both relief and frustration.

Dean: Dad has never been gone for this long. He's in real trouble if he's not dead by now. I can't do this alone.

TJ: Yes, you can. You don't need John to limit what you can do. He's just an anchor that slowly drowns you until you feel like there's no more hope, and by then, you're dead or mentally unstable.

Dean: Yeah. Well, I don't want to do this alone.

TJ: You still haven't told me what he was hunting?

Dean: Oh, right. Let's see. Where the hell did I put that thing?

TJ reached into his back pocket and slid out the tape recorder.

TJ: Looking for this.

Dean sees the tape recorder and nods his head.

TJ: Found it when I searched your car. I listened to it, and he sounds like he could be Winchester wasted or actually in trouble.

Dean: Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About two months ago, they found a guy's car, but he'd vanished. Completely MIA.

TJ: Kidnapping?

Dean: Yeah, well, there was another one in April, then December of '04, '03, '98, '92... ten of them over the past twenty years- All men, same five-mile stretch of road. Started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough, and then I got that voicemail a few days ago.

TJ: Wait, why weren't you with him?

Dean: I was working my own gig in New Orleans.

TJ: Aww, he let you go on a trip by yourself?

TJ mocks Dean and takes the ice pack off his fist, feeling the melted ice.

Dean: I'm twenty-six, dude. Can you stop that?

TJ: I know you're twenty-six. We're nine months apart to the day.

Dean's face scrunches up.

Dean: How did I not know that?

TJ: You never asked.

Dean has a dumbfounded look on his face.

TJ: The message had an EVP saying it "can never go home" I ran into something like that about six months ago. It came after Richie, but there wasn't a body because she was cremated for cost-saving measures. So we sent her home.

Dean: How?

TJ chuckles, looking around the room.

TJ: This house wasn't always brick, and I'm not stupid enough to build it out of straw. Jackson drove his truck right through the middle of what was a bedroom and dining room. House caved in, Richie bought Jackson a new truck, and I started laying bricks that same weekend. The baseboards, door frames, and ledges are hollowed out and filled with salt, and everything wood is primed with mountain ash.

Dean nods his head, taking in the information about the house. Then, Dean takes a breath and asks the question.

Dean: So, are you and Jackson a thing, or what's your situation?

TJ smiles, looking up.

TJ: Jackson and I are in a business relationship. He helps me out at the lounge and around here while I'm out hunting.

Dean: What does he get out of your "business relationship"?

TJ: A slightly more than minimum wage paycheck every other week and a hunting buddy.

Dean's eyes widen, and he takes the now-thawed peas from his cheek.

TJ: What? I wanted to give him more, but he wanted the money to go into the lounge. I told him I had to give him enough to get groceries, pay his bills, and get gas. He only has truck insurance because I listed his truck as a company vehicle. There was this time before when we were a thing. He proposed, and I said no. But we're still as close as we were then, just as friends.

Dean: Can I ask why you said no?

TJ: I'll give you one guess.

Dean contemplates open-mouthed. When it shuts, it shows TJ that Dean realizes the answer.

TJ: Jack wasn't heartbroken for himself but for me. The whole town kept telling me I was insane for holding on so tight to you, but Jackson knew I needed a friend to help me, and he became that friend. He got me to stop answering your calls because he knew I would halt my world just to help. Just to hear from you when you and John get into another situation. Come on, Dean, I knew John didn't think you were calling me. You never called me by name when you called, you said my trigger word, and I turned into a mindless drone for you.

Dean: I don't have a trigger word for you. What do you mean, a trigger word?

TJ: Let's keep talking and see if it comes up. It's been almost two years since I stopped answering your calls, and now you want to check on me?

Dean: I thought what got Dad either got you too, or you took him.

TJ: So you thought I took John for what? To have tea with him, sit down and gossip about my ex-boyfriends. Oh wait, my first boyfriend didn't love me and milked me emotionally dry, then I found out he's my half-brother. After that, my second boyfriend and I broke up because I was still hooked on my first boyfriend. Yep, that casual conversation with a man I've spoken to five times in twenty-seven years.

Dean: No. I didn't mean it like that, alright. I was running out of options, and you were the first person that came to mind.

TJ: Do you hear yourself? You only think of me when you have no other choice. Is that how you truly see me? A last resort? Nobody else wanted to go on a wild goose chase with you, so you're stuck asking me for help.

Dean: Baby, I'm trying to keep you safe. To do that, I need you with me. I'll deal with Dad later, but I need you.

Chuckling came from TJ's mouth.

TJ: There it is.

Dean: What?

TJ: The word. Baby. But it's not going to work this time. Dean, you are welcome to stay for the night, but you need to leave tomorrow. I'm done.

Dean sat silently at the table, not knowing TJ's next move but also baffled at two simple words he thought he would never hear from TJ, "I'm done". TJ turned away from Dean and gathered, from his refrigerator, fresh produce and some rabbit meat to cook dinner. He cooked in silence, Dean not saying anything. TJ handed Dean a beer with his meal and filled his own glass once more. They ate in silence. After dinner, TJ washed the few dishes and escorted Dean to a guest bedroom.

TJ: Sit tight while I get you some clothes.

TJ leaves and returns with clothes and towels for Dean to shower with.

TJ: There is soap, toothbrushes and toothpaste, and hair products galore in the bathroom across the hall. Go crazy.

Dean: Thank you. And I honestly mean that.

TJ: It's just what a friend would do. If you need me, I'm upstairs, the third door on the right. And I have my own bathroom, so I'm not going to sneak up on you and stab you in the back.

Dean chuckles. TJ goes upstairs to his room and gets ready for a shower himself.

#dean winchester x tj chase #gay #dean winchester x omc #dean winchester #queenmayor23 #supernatural #angsty #read me please #toxic winchester men #this is my world now not your world #supernatural x male reader #mention of wincest #bts fic

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slashyrogue · 2 years

Text

AU-gust Day 3: Countryside

It all started with a business card.

Will woke one morning to take the dogs out at seven, their howls of need making him rush to the front door instead of the back, and when he stepped out the door a business card fell onto the porch in front of him.

He picked it up, barely able to make out more than just Lecter since the evening rainstorm had soaked the ink through. Will crumbled it up and tossed the mess into the trash herding the dogs to the back, not thinking much of it.

The nearest neighbors were miles away, but often he had a few come by to get engines fixed and things for their farms. He was one of the only houses around that didn’t have horses or a farm, though a few of the older farmers joked he had a ‘dog farm.’ Which was the most idiotic joke in the world but he let it slide.

Will wasn’t surprised moments after the dogs started doing their business the sound of a pickup truck engine revving before it shut off could be heard. He whistled to the dogs, herding them in a group, and all of them came to greet their visitor.

Mr. Huntley was in his seventies, widowed for as long as Will knew him, and had a tree farm about ten miles away. He waved to Will as they walked up, and Will saw a tractor sitting in his truck bed.

“Again?” Will joked.

“Those damn kids keep throwing rocks on my property from that new single mom I got next door. You’re lucky you know, being all alone out here, you don’t have to deal with all the shit neighbors do to your property.”

Will smirked, petting Winston who was the only one who lingered while the other dogs came up to Mr. Huntley for attention. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“They keep getting rocks in the mower, you know, and it….”

“I’ll fix it, Horace,” he said, as the older man brought out a ramp, “And I’ll call you when it’s done. It might be a few days.”

“I got a few days, kid, it’s fine,” he said, shaking his head, “I mowed everything just as the little shits rock pile caught me.”

“That’s good I guess.”

“Yep,” he said, climbing up, “I’ll drive ‘er out for ya.”

“Alright.”

He did just that, driving down, and they brought the tractor to Will’s garage where he parked it handing off the keys. “You’re a godsend, Will, you know? We all say we’d be stuck with those big wig prices without you.”

“I’m glad to help.”

Horace patted his arm. “You do more than help, Kid, way more.”

He blushed and didn’t say anything.

The two of them started walking toward Horace’s truck, and Will felt awkward. Was he supposed to offer coffee or something? A bottle of water? He didn’t know, but as the older man opened his door Will was ready to do both when he was interrupted.

“I forgot to tell you,” Horace said, leaning in, “There’s some new…hoity toity rich fella who just moved into Grace’s old place. He’s been bothering everybody, so he might be around you soon.”

“I haven’t…”

“His name,” Horace said, squinting, “It’s a weird one, something like…Hamilton? Somethin’ like that? I don’t know, I only heard about him from Billy. But he’s been going door to door trying to get advice on the horse farm and all that. I expect he’ll be outta there in a week or so.”

Will laughed. “No one’s gonna help him? Horses are hard work.”

“Yeah, well,” Horace said, stepping up into his big truck, “We don’t need people like that around here. You know?”

He frowned. “What kind of people?”

“You know,” he said, “Those…Richie Rich types.”

Will let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “Oh, those types.”

Horace nodded, closing his door and leaning out. “You be careful, Kid, alright? Don’t let him talk you into too much if he does come around.”

“I will.”

“Call me when it’s ready, alright?”

“Ok.”

Will watched Horace leave, keeping the dogs close, and walked back to the house.

He only hoped he didn’t have to deal with this ‘Hamilton’ character. It was hard enough for him to try to socialize with the farmers. How the hell would he even talk to some rich guy?

#au_gust_2022 #au-gust 2022 #hannigram au #pre-slash #pre-meeting

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mrssimply · 1 year

Text

16th: Silence

There are many drawings of catboy!Johnny on twitter, and no I think it's very fitting because Johnny is totally a stray cat. It's a metaphor I've used many times before, so maybe it was time I embraced it fully. On my list of ideas, this one was supposed to be... so much more than that. But every time I thought about writing yet another silverdyne long fic, I would lose steam 'cause I think the last one, To the Day I die, was like a purge and I couldn't find energy to write another one.

But it was still in my head still demanding to be known so here it is, just a glimpse of what I had in mind.

Oh, and despite being about cat!persons, there is no concept of heat (not at this moment in the story I had in mind), and it's neither funny nor sexy because well... I love complicated things ;) It's T-rated.

You can find the prompt list here.

Every fic will be posted on my AO3 Account here.

There is someone slumped against Milt’s door. Kerry thinks it’s a man, maybe a few years older than him. He’s pale, and way too thin, like he hasn’t had a good meal in ages. His skin is covered in bruises, some old, some new, and Kerry recognizes the kind: he’s been beaten up. He is naked except for a pair of ratty jeans, and Kerry would bet he lost the rest of his clothes in the fights that got him those many bruises. There is blood at the corner of his mouth, and tickling out of his right ear. Kerry is fascinated by the ear, because it’s not a human ear, it’s a cat ear. Covered in fur black as the stranger’s hair, Kerry would have missed it, if not for the blood. It twitches weakly as rain falls on it, a sluggish reflex. There are other particular features on the stranger, like his tail, limp and lifeless between his legs. The boy is sagged sideways, allowing Kerry to see where the boy’s skin slowly transforms into fur as it forms the tail. Last notable thing is his left arm: it’s a heavy piece of cyberware, military grade, crudely sewn into his flesh. The chrome flashes with the neon’s sign flickering above them that says there is a ripper’s clinic here.

Kerry lives in the building above the clinic with two of his older sisters, and the boy is literally on his way to access the back entrance, which he prefers to use. Crouching in front of the young man, Kerry extends an arm to brush the tip of the fur-covered ear. It twitches again, evading his intrusive touch.

Biting his lower lip, Kerry makes a decision.

Five minutes later, Kerry is back with Milt, the ripperdoc.

“Damn”, the man whispers and it doesn’t reassure Kerry.

“Is he gonna be alright?”

“I dunno. Help me get him inside.”

The boy is heavier than he looks, so it’s panting and heaving that they push him on the medbed. Diagnostics start to run as soon as Milt turns on the scanner. Kerry looks at the monitor and the cat person intermittently.

Milt mutters about dehydration and undernourishment, about broken ribs and concussions. He straps an IV to the stranger and injects a cocktail of meds and stim to go with the fluids.

Then, the doc starts looking at the arm.

“Arasaka,” he says, more to himself than to Kerry. Hanging around his neck are dog tags, or well — cat tags, Kerry supposes.

“RJL-20.103”,” the doc reads.

“Is that a code or something?" Kerry asks.

"Designation. Company and platoon, probably,” he explains while pointing to the two numbers separated by a dot, “and then his personal ID.”

“No name?”

“Don’t think they give them names...”

Kerry lowers his eyes. Cat people were first engineered by the army, to combine human intelligence with the agility, strength and endurance of big cats. Later, when the war was “won”, they sold the patent to interested private corps, which birthed them for commercial purposes, mostly for the pleasure business.

The boy is obviously military oriented, the tags are a clue if the arm wasn’t sufficient, and if he’s here alone, then that means he escaped.

“Deserted” would have been the term for any normal soldier, but cats are not citizens, they are property of the army, or the Corp which birthed them. They don’t get the same rights, their purpose is to live and die on the battlefield. There is an entire army corp with just cats, and they get deployed in the most dangerous zones. They are used as cannon fodder, and stay simple soldiers all their short lives since the officers' positions are given to humans.

Kerry watches as Milt tenderly moves a lock of hair away from the boy’s cheek, and remembers the doc’s son enlisted some years ago, and that Milt has had no news ever since. Kerry doesn’t remember how the conversation went, but he knows Milt and his son, Cody, parted in anger. People that enlist nowaday are guaranteed a good position, the field work is mostly done by cat people, so ambitious young folk try their chance at war, thinking themselves safe from harm in command tents. The doc was opposed to his son enlisting, but Cody felt the army would give him better, and easier prospects than staying here to learn his father’s practice.

Milt sighs, says they now have to wait and see, and goes to fetch a blanket. Kerry watches over the stray. He is filthy, but Kerry can tell he would be real pretty usually. They almost always are, with genes handpicked for their purpose. That one got long dark lashes, the echoes of a smirk on his thin lips, and the beginning of a beard. He can’t be over twenty.

Kerry brushes his fingers behind the cat’s ear, stroking the soft fur, fascinated by the creature resting on the bed.

Kerry fell asleep on the couch, lured by the warmth and the regular beeps of the medical equipment of the clinic. He came back after dinner to see if their rescue was awake, but was informed by Milt there had been no change. He practiced on his guitar for a while, and then the tiredness of the day caught up with him. Since he turned eighteen, his sisters have asked Kerry to help them with the rent, saying he’s now a man and has to do his share: he can’t lay around all day just playing guitar, since that doesn’t pay for food. Yet. Kerry has big dreams.

Dreams that are violently interrupted by an aborted shout, followed by a growl. He opens his eyes in time to see the catboy jump/fall from the med bed, tearing up at the tube Milt linked into him and kicking the equipment around in his wild thrashing.

“Hey, wow, calm down!” Kerry speaks while getting up. Intense dark eyes zero on him before the young catboy crouches, ears flattening on his skull. He stills, body brimming with tension except for his tail which is swishing slowly behind him. Kerry raises his hands in the air.

“It’s ok, you’re safe here. You’re in a ripperdoc clinic.”

The catboy’s head wipes around, maybe searching for the doc, or just finally realizing where he is. It doesn’t relax him in the slightest, but he looks less ready to jump at Kerry.

Milt appears in the doorframe, probably alerted by the ruckus. When the stray sees him, he finally relaxes and rises slowly to his feet. His ears perk up, although one stays bent toward Kerry, as if keeping him in check while his attention is focused on the doc.

“You’re awake, good.”

Milt comes forward, outwardly relaxed. The catboy follows him with his eyes.

“I can remove this,” the doc indicates, pointing to the tube and cable he linked to his patient for diagnosis.

After a moment of hesitation, the young soldier leans against the med med and extends his arms. Milt removes the IV, and the wire connecting to the chrome arm.

“How do you feel?” he asks, but gets no reply.

The catboy is looking at Milt very intently and Kerry even catches him taking a sniff. He swallows, glances at Kerry and nods to himself like he’s reached a conclusion.

He hops on the bed and takes off his left boot. Kerry sees him manipulate the heel until a small compartment opens. He tips the boot and something falls into his waiting palm. Too curious, Kerry approaches and the cat’s gaze pins him for a second before deeming him as no threat. The experience is still jarring, but Kerry is no chicken so he comes closer anyway.

It’s another set of dog tags, and these ones are more classical, displaying the soldier’s last name, the initials of his name, blood type, the acronym “USMC” and a religious preference (which indicates “none”).

The catboy hands it to Milt, who looks at the tags with shock. Kerry takes a better look and feels his stomach fall, because the last name reads Nauman. The doc takes the little metal plates with trembling fingers and reads the rest of the data. His mouth parts around a silent sob, and it’s all the confirmation Kerry needs.

Cody was about five years older than Kerry, and he dated one of his sisters for a while, so the young man remembers him fondly. He had no musical sense, but he could talk about the history of music for ages. He was one of the coolest guys Kerry ever knew and his death feels strange. Like an impossibility.

On the bed, the catboy looks sad. His head is bowed, eyes hidden from view but his ears and tail telegraph his emotion clearly. Beside the obvious grief, there is something else on the stranger's face. Regrets, anger, guilt… A mix of all three. It distracts Kerry from his own emotions until he hears Milt’s harsh breathing.

Both young men catch the tears on the doc’s face, silently running as he continues to look at the tags, and they tense, unprepared to deal with such display of emotion. The soldier in particular looks absolutely terrified, eyes widening and panicking as he finds himself caught in the grief of a father.

“Thank you,” Milt breathes, barely hiding the sob in his voice. “Thank you for bringing me this I… How…” He stops, closes his eyes and turns away. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, before practically running out of the room.

Kerry and the catboy look at him go, helpless to help. Kerry feels tears stinging at the back of his eyes and blinks furiously. The news hasn’t really sunk yet, but it feels like a gaping hole opened inside his chest.

He is pulled out of his grief by the stray putting his shoe back on. Kerry looks at him doing it with empty eyes, and it’s only when the young man jumps on his feet that he reacts.

“You’re going?”

The other nods warily, looking at him with suspicion.

“You can’t go yet, Milt… Milt will want to talk to you, you… What happened? How did it happen?”

The cat looks distinctly uncomfortable, his face is closed off but his ears are back to being flat against his skull and his tail is rigid between his legs. He eyes the door and tension fills his body gradually, like he is seriously thinking about bolting out.

Kerry catches his wrist tightly, making the catboy twist toward him with a snarl. Startled, the other boy released him with a gasp.

“Sorry,” he mutters as fresh tears rise to his waterline. He lowers his head to hide them, chest feeling tight, like the rejection is breaking something inside of him.

The cat sighs and fidgets before circling back to the med bed, hovering uncertainly. The strange feeling inside Kerry settles, and he looks back to where Milt disappeared. He lives upstairs with his wife, and Kerry supposes he will need time alone with her to process the news.

The two young men look at each other in awkward silence, when suddenly, the catboy’s stomach grumbles loudly. Kerry smiles faintly and turns to take his guitar back.

“We should find you something to eat, c’mon.”

He gestures for the other boy to follow, and after a moment of hesitation, he steps behind Kerry.

The catboy took a tour of the flat while Kerry reheated the pasta his sister Emma made earlier. She works the night shift as a dispatcher for the trauma team’s med center, so she cooked before going to work. Kerry ate with his oldest sister Malika while the stray was still sleeping, eager to get back to watching him. The moment the leftovers are served on a plate and put in front of the stranger, he seems to forget all about his wariness and digs into the plate with abandon. It’s a bit obscene to watch, but Kerry can’t tear his eyes away; he really must have been starved. After a few bites, he slows down and Kerry can tell it’s at the price of a great effort but he seems to know that eating too fast will just make him sick. He frequently glances at his host, and during such instances, Kerry gets a better look at his eyes. They are of a rich dark brown, but the pupil is slit like one of a pet cat, and the young guitarist feels a bit like a mouse when that gaze stares at him intensely.

Kerry drinks his Nicola in silence, and can’t help but note that the catboy won’t touch his, but he drinks the tap water from the jug next to the can eagerly. In silence, Kerry observes his various bruises and wounds. Some look really gross, still an angry red, even though they can’t be that recent. Those around the arms are the most impressive: the skin there looks tender and sensitive, but not in a good way. He is also really dirty, with stripes of dry sweat visible on his torso, and he smells really bad too.

“What about a shower?” Kerry offers once the plate has been mostly cleared. The catboy tenses, looks around, seems to weigh his options before nodding with a displeased expression. Obviously, he’s not super keen on the idea, but he’s also pragmatic: he doesn’t know when the opportunity will present itself again.

Kerry shows him the bathroom before going to his room to fetch clothes: a sweatpant and an oversized shirt. Even if the cat is really underweight, his frame speaks of military training and his shoulders are wider than the average male of his age. When Kerry reappears in the bathroom, the other boy hasn't moved an iota, struck looking at his reflection and touching his jaw length black hair like he doesn’t recognise it.

“Here, that should suit you. C’mon, I’ll show you how the shower works.”

He gets the water on slightly hotter than he prefers, and steps back when he thinks everything is set. Turning around, he loses what he wanted to say, looking at the catboy standing naked under the shitty light. He is fucking hung!

Kerry’s mouth opens in surprise and he can’t tear his eyes from the tableau; they really make them perfect. The stray smiles slyly when he catches him looking and his expression deepens when Kerry blushes and averts his gaze promptly.

“Ok, I’ll leave you to it,” the host declares, passing by his guest, only to be yanked back and pushed into the shower. He stammers, winces when his head collides with the tiles, and sputters when the hot stream hits him in the face.

When he finds his bearings enough to open his eyes and takes stock of the situation, the catboy is still holding him fast against the wall of the shower, and he growls when Kerry tries to disentangle himself.

The sound prompts a shiver to run down Kerry’s spine, and he forces himself to relax, hands going lax on his sides. They look at each other for a moment before the catboy relaxes somewhat, but he still holds Kerry firmly against the wall.

“Ok,” the young man breathes, “ok I’m staying,” he says and the other nods like he’s happy he made himself clear. Kerry doesn’t really understand what happened, but sure, he can stay here, it’s just super uncomfortable in his wet jeans.

Meanwhile, the boy is back to looking at the door, like he expects to be attacked any minute and Kerry finally understands: he’s here to watch the stranger’s back while he is in a vulnerable position.

“Can I just get rid of my clothes?” he asks and after a glance and a moment of hesitation, the cat steps back.

Kerry keeps his boxers on like they are a last barrier against the strangeness of the situation, and pours shampoo in his hands before slowly raising them to his guest’s hair, stopping with a questioning gaze.

Again, there is a moment of hesitation before the young ex-soldier lowers his head a fraction and Kerry starts massaging his scalp. He keeps an eye on the door for a while, but before long, Kerry sees his shoulders drop in relaxation. Huffing out a small laugh, Kerry continues his massage and even chances to rub the boy’s nape.

It takes a small minute, but Kerry suddenly realizes there is a soft vibration under his fingers and he stills. With the shower running, he can’t hear it but he is pretty sure the boy is purring. He starts his massage again, trying to act like nothing happened, persuaded that remarking on it would make the cat stop.

Slowly, the boy raises his head and lets the water wash the shampoo away, allowing Kerry to wash the rest of his upper body. His gaze looks hazy, a far cry from the previous tension, even if he jumps a bit everytime fingers brush against his scars.

Shyly, Kerry stops when he reaches his guest’s waist, and the other boy seems to get out of his trance. He smirks and raises a challenging eyebrow at Kerry, who colors even more with a mix of embarrassment and anger. He accepts the challenge and wash the rest of his guest’s body with jerkier movements than before. He takes mean pleasure in grabbing his cock a bit too tight and even stroking it once under the pretense of cleaning it. The catboy’s expression is smug, even if he blink and jerks forward when Kerry gets to his cock.

“There, all clean,” the host declares with a glare, taking the shower head to rinse him, and making sure to direct the stream right in his face. The ex-soldier sputters and growls, but Kerry can tell he’s not really angry. They get out of the shower and dry themselves in silence.

With a head movement, Kerry brings the catboy to his room.

“This is my sisters’ room. They’re not here. Emma is working and Malika is out with her boyfriend,” he explains as they pass the door in the corridor.

At the mention of Malika’s name, the boy perks up.

“Yeah,” Kerry says sadly, “she and Cody were together for a while. He told you about her?”

The catboy nods and continues looking at the door with something of a sad expression.

“You liked him?”

A shrug, but Kerry can tell they were close, maybe a bit like what Cody used to have with Kerry. The thought brings a fresh wave of grief to Kerry, who swallows thickly and continues to his room. He will deal with the emotions later, he doesn't want to right now.

In Kerry’s small bedroom, the two guitars he owns have a prime position. The one he had downstairs is his most recent acquisition. His sisters think he bought it thanks to doing more hours at Caliente, but in truth Kerry klepped it. His sisters understand nothing about music, so they didn’t recognise the quality of the instrument. The other one belonged to his father, also a good brand, though that one is really vintage. Both are electric, and there is an amp waiting in between.

The cat immediately takes an interest now that he is not in survival mode, and Kerry wonders if he can play. He sits on his bed and pats the spot next to him before grabbing his father’s axe.

The boy sits gingerly next to him, still taking in the rest of the room, but his attention zeroes on Kerry when he starts playing. The first notes of Depeche Mode’s Enjoy The Silence float in the quiet of the flat, and despite the amp being set to medium, it sounds really loud.

The boy listens intently, ears perking and tail tense as he looks at Kerry’s fingers on the guitar’s neck.

“You know how to play?” Kerry asks, never stopping to play.

A swish of tail, and then a tiny nod.

“You know that one?”

Both ears twitch back, like he is hesitating again.

“Take the other one if you wanna,” Kerry offers and that seems to decide his guest. He grabs the axe and takes his time admiring the quality of the work. Kerry can tell he is impressed and he grins, recognising someone who knows his guitars.

When he starts playing, it’s obvious the cat is skilled: his technique is good, the rhythm is perfect, and he even adds some personal style to it. Kerry is mesmerized, and he’s clearly not prepared for what happens next.

The boy starts to sing.

His voice is low and rough, like he hasn’t spoken in a month or two, and it waivers as he tries to find the right pitch. It’s unequal, and the process looks painful but he plows through it and it’s the most beautiful thing Kerry has ever heard.

As the chorus nears, Kerry snaps out of it and starts playing again, even joining him in the singing. When they finish the song, they both linger on the last notes and Kerry can’t help but grin.

“You can speak.”

The catboy smiles smugly and winks.

“I’m Kerry,” the host says, realizing they never exchanged names.

“I know. Cody said you were like a little brother to him.”

Kerry looks down and bites his lip.

“Yeah, he really was the big brother I never had.”

His voice is rough again, sorrow making the words difficult to get out. The cat shifts on the bed, uncomfortable. When Kerry glances at him, he seems lost in thought, sorrow threatening to take him under, too.

“He was my captain. Only decent officer ‘round. He really cared about us.”

His voice is but a whisper, and when he finishes, his tail swish back and forth nervously, like he’s said too much.

“Do you have a name?” Kerry asks next, trying to bury the sadness.

The boy shrugs.

“RJL, that’s how they referred to me. But Cody called me Johnny.”

“Johnny,” Kerry repeats and the other young man stares at him intensely, a small smile lifting his mouth. The host’s expression rises to match, and the smiles transform into grins, reflecting the elation they both feel for reasons they can’t yet explain.

The moment is interrupted by the doorbell chiming. It’s Milt, asking to speak to Johnny. Taking a deep breath, the catboy accepts, ears low and tail curled around his leg. Two hours later, Johnny climbs the fire escape to knock on Kerry’s window, tells him Milt wants him to stay with him for now, until they can make him papers by taking advantage of Night City liberal regulations about cat persons. For lack of a better option, Johnny said yes, he would stay, but just for a while.

Kerry was already in bed, tossing and turning, so he scoots back to give some space to his new friend, and ignores his heart when it races as the other boy lies down next to him. They talk until the wee hours of morning, avoiding the painful subjects and concentrating on music, until Johnny falls asleep under Kerry’s attentive gaze.

In hindsight, Kerry will know this is the moment he fell in love. But right now, he knows nothing about the pain and trials they’re gonna face, together and alone. He knows nothing about what Johnny will accomplish for cat people and the world, and how extreme he will get to achieve his goals. He knows nothing about the depth of the emotions he will experience for Johnny, and the destructive devotion he will endure for him. He knows nothing about how the intensity of his love will be matched, though nearly never acknowledged by his friend. He knows nothing about how dark some days will get, but that in the end, it will be worth it. For now, Kerry just watches Johnny sleep, watches his ears twitch as he dreams, his tail curled around his friend’s waist possessively.

Wows are spoken To be broken Feelings are intense Words are trivial Pleasures remain So does the pain Words are meaningless And forgettable

All I ever wanted All I ever needed Is here in my arms Words are very Unnecessary They can only do harm

#silverdyne #johnny silverhand #kerry eurodyne #Kerry x Johnny #Johnny x Kerry #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #my writing #fic advent calendar

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of-hopes-and-daemons · 2 years

Note

I see ask game, I ask questions:

Al - How has their hair changed over time? What is their favorite hairstyle? Charlotte - 12. Are they hot-headed or even-tempered? What frustrates them the most? An’Hangra - 8. What will always make them smile? What will always make them cry? Shanakay - 7. What are 3 foods they can’t live without?

I am gleefully rubbing my hands together, those picks are just so good, you know? [ Those were taken from THESE QUESTIONS, and at the moment I am accepting more! ]

Al(pharius, but not that one)

I think that for the most part of his life he had a pretty similar hairstyle or a small selection of those, ranging between clean-shaven head and short hairstyle we, here in Russia, would call "shaved a-la hedgehog". This, however, is not accounting for wigs and like, hair extensions he was using as parts of disguises. I firmly believe that this man, given enough prep time and data, can put to shame most stylists out there and his range is impressive. His least favourite ones are probably Space Wolves, because you also need to smell the part and ugh.

His current hairstyle, that he kept after assuming his main public identity of a Blackshield from a destroyed Chapter, is short-ish, roughly cut hair, which might look like it was styled under heavy fire with a tactical chain-spork... and is in fact styled with a tactical chain-spork under heavy fire, because Al likes being authentic.

Charlotte, the precious little Scion

I would say, that Charlotte contains multitudes. She is as recklessly brave and eager to ride to war as hundreds of generations of her family watching over from the Throne Mechanicum inside of Adder-Nidhogg. At the same time, she is keenly aware of how well-placed trap or single cog falling out of the place can bring down entire operations and mighty god-engines, so she is not without the appreciation for manifold intricacies of planning and carefully biding ones time to strike at the perfect opportunity. It appears to me, that it would be a good fit with overall somewhat sad bit of Charlotte's life (able to play the part and relate to many groups, but doesn't feel really belonging to any identity) to say that she is both and neither in that regard.

What frustrates her... Well, continuing the thought, I will say that her inability to really relate and feel belonging to any of the groups she is somehow related to frustrates her to some extent. Especially with being a Scion of House Illvia. She was born for this, she passed all the trials, she follows the traditions of her House, she rides to war alongside ghosts of her ancestors. But why, after some point, she can't bring herself to call say "Charlotte of House Illvia"?

An'Hangra, the tiny ball of bloodthirsty rage

Oh, this one is easy. Her flesh hounds are always able to make her smile. She has an unreasonable amount of those and the howling pack follows her into battle, but in-between they do leave at her place and just do dog stuff. Yip, yap, chase tails, climb on couches, chew things. You know.

As for crying - probably chopping onions. Even Warp can't protect one from chopping onions. Also sad dog movies, but I haven't told you this.

Shanakay, fan favourite perfectionist menace

Now, being a daemon, she is not really required to eat conventional food, but she does it anyway, because she can and she likes it, and because she deserves little hedonistic pleasures coming with the job. Her actually needed source of nourishment is emotions and among those she is particularly into passionate need to create, admiration and a side of desire to live. But any strong emotions would do in a pinch, really. Now in terms of physical food she likes, I would say there are few notable ones. There is this particular kind of space "pomegranates" she adores and will go great lengths to acquire. Unfortunately, it is mostly cultivated by aeldari. There is her homemade hot sauce, which she eats with pretty much anything you can somehow cover in sauce. In a pinch can be used as a weapon. And also there are sad soggy fries from McNurgle, which are reserved for a particular mindset of sitting on the sidewalk at their parking lot and staring in the distance, while eating them.

#wh40k #wh 40k #warhammer 40k #chaos daemons #imperial knights #alpha legion #adeptus astartes #of hopes and daemons #as it was foretold #heads of the hydra #the last in line #the hunt comes for you #chasing perfection

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shaunsummers · 1 year

Text

Reunited, and It's in the Woods!

"Sounds like a plan." Sticking close to her side, Lilith is quick to pull out her phone in search of music. The time away on their little retreat was in need of some fun pop beats and, as a bonus, it would be sure to piss Devin off; she had just the play list. Though, in wondering where that angry goblin ran off to, her eyes trail across the cabin in search for clues. Both dogs were content on the couch. Zeus' eyes trailing their moves with a smile while Captain chewed on his ball with drooling chomps. That's when she spots it. The light shining underneath the bathroom door. No doubt, Devin was already stressing the sewer system of this nice little cabin. Oh yeah, she was gonna get it. Not a moment too soon, Lilith queues the music that causes a loud scream of "NOOOOOOOOO!" from the bathroom.

"California girls

We're unforgettable

Daisy dukes

Bikinis on top"

Just like that, Tek was so quick to reassure her that everything was okay. It was a relieving contrast to the different varieties of lashing out Ash could provide; she wasn't going back, couldn't relive anything of the sort. It might as well have been a slow death. As she tried to still the crashing waves, the notion is returned in kind with a deep kiss against her temple; this moment serving a purpose to begin cementing the fountain of the things she treasured most. "You might get tired of hugging me when this is all over." Still, Siren couldn't help but to chuckle in the display that was Tek as her purest. What a fine thing it was to be reunited. "But I think someone beat us to the music." As the bass of the song's volume is turned up loud enough to be heard outside, her feet start to carry Tek towards her car, not willing to let her go just yet. "Let me help you with your bags."

----

Having spent so much time around Lilith, she knew the music that was about to come blaring through those speakers. But hearing Devin's wailing on top of it immediately sent her cackling. She wasn't even in the room. "Christ, already?" She didn't need to look to guess Devin was already having a shit. They just got there. Shaun still set to work, pulling already chilled ingredients from the cooler. "She's never been my favorite, but suddenly I really like Katy Perry. For some reason." Shaun flashes Lilith a shit-eating grin, idly rifling through the cabinets for a pitcher and a glass. Hell, Devin was getting a paid-for trip, free food, and booze. She could suffer a little.

After assembling Lilith's guilty pleasure—long island ice tea, gin instead of rum and vodka—and filling a cup, she could already feel the side-eye. "Not yet." Shaun shoos away her hand. She couldn't afford the cabin when the only income she had was disability, but she could cover food and drinks. And if chucking a few bucks towards some lemons and a pack of little paper umbrellas would help make the difference, that she could do. And so, she cuts off a slice to add to the edge, digging around until she found the pièce de résistance, popping in the tiny floral accessory before relinquishing her hold. Meeting Lilith's odd look, though, she raises a brow with a humored smile. "Well, we are on holiday."

"Tired of hugging you? Never." Tek grins, clinging to her without protest as they travel back to her car. But hearing the distant thump of music, her smile only widens. "Hot. Girl. Summer." Hell, Lilith managed to escape her for now, but Tek had a whole lot of hug coupons to cash in.

Even when she has to get down to cut the engine, she was still unwilling to abandon their connection and holds Siren's hand, pulling her along to open her trunk. "I didn't bring much." And she didn't; she separates for only a moment to toss Siren a deceptively light duffle bag before grabbing the other, swinging it over her shoulder. "I said a lot of snacks." Tek easily returns to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist as they make their way back. "And I dunno about you, but I'm ready to get sorority schwasty." It was just a flash of thought, but she couldn't help but to think how jealous/proud Aiden would be right now.

Entering the door, the sight before her had both her excitement and bewilderment. "There's tiny umbrellas?!" Oh, he'd be so jealous. It was strange, though. Such a small, barely noticeable thing, but she'd been around Shaun long enough to know there was nothing tiny-umbrella about her. Or to not at least groan at the music. And they were standing so close. It wasn't as if Tek had never thought it—she even straight up asked because she'd assumed they were together—but Shaun gave a solid, emphatic "No.". Lilith did too. Yet, the suspicion was quick to surface again. Despite time making her less angry and a little sweeter, there was just no way the girl that was snorting coke, drinking whiskey, and setting fires was sitting there making "froo froo" drinks with mothafuckin' umbrellas in them. Still.... "You gonna share?" She smiles broadly.

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teslacoils-and-hubris · 1 year

Note

For your tf2 ocs, how do they get along with all the mercs and Miss Pauling? Like what kind of relationships do they have?

hehe oh boy :3 gonna go through this merc by merc- also i added the administrator and saxton hale for fun- under the cut cause this got LOONG with 3 ocs x 12 characters-

Soldier

Chemist has a teasing/antagonistic relationship with him, since he's The Definition of a hippy despite being a merc. Whenever soldier calls someone a dirty hippy he's just like 'what, you mean like meeee?' and soldier starts yelling at chemist. it's fine they're friends its like a cat purposely annoying a dog

Soldier has conflicted feelings about the artist- mostly because they're pretty quiet and timid and are scared of guns when they first get the job customizing them so soldier thinks they're a coward(true). But artist is always very respectful of soldiers totally real military rank so they're alright- this continues as artist comes out of their shell and gets more assertive and into weapons

informat doesn't spend much time interacting with the team honestly- he's just a contact of spy's not someone working for the administrator. That said he find's soldier's recklessness and genuine nature a breath of fresh air. Soldier is trying to teach him to rocket jump- but joey isn't hooked up to respawn so doesn't want to take the chance

Scout

scout reminds chemist of his younger brother- despite the pair being the same age- so he wants to give advice to scout. Scout, for his part, usually sees the advice as complete nonsense and doesn't understand why "looking like you're dying of the flu" would help him pick up chicks

him and artist get along pretty well! they sometimes hang out just to draw together. Artist is more than happy to let scout do all the talking, though they're fully capable of cutting in with a good joke now and then

I imagine poor jer had a bit of a crush on the informat when they first met. I think scout is into competent people and joey is very competent at their job. i don't think it lasted too long, but its sort of awkward for scout now.

Pyro

they smoke weed with chemist and sniper. best friend trio who hot box sniper's van

they make artist uneasy. They rely so much on facial expressions and even with how animated pyro is they have a hard time figuring out what they're feeling. It's an anxiety thing artist knows isn't fair to pin on pyro, but they can't really help it. They're working on it!

i dont imagine informat likes them. at least not at first. Pyro is a bit of an inverse of joey's specific Character Type that it's a sort of self recognition in the other kind of moment that joey isn't really equipped to handle. something about pyro wearing a physical mask but being so unabashedly themselves while joey wears metaphorical masks to the point they don't have any real clear sense of self left anymore

Engineer

i dont have much to say for chemist honestly. they're like. chill. idk maybe chemist annoys dell into cooking for him when he gets the munchies

Dell was introduced to this poor wet cat on the verge of tears who was scared of power drills and was forced into a job painting guns and went dammit I cant NOT help them figure out their damn job and they've been inseparable ever since. I imagine them in the crushing stage with dell dropping hints that he likes them and Monty being an idiot like 'haha its perfectly normal for friends to want to make out with their friends what do you mean you think i have a crush on dell???'

Engie doesn't trust joey much at first. he doesn't like the whole information field or how they seem to be always putting up a front. But that distrust waves as Joey slowly lets walls break down

Demoman

magic buddies! they hang out and talk about weird esoteric ideas about the universe and aliens and whatnot. good friends!

I dont really have much for the other two. I think he'd be good for building artists confidence and he'd probably get along well enough with joey but nothing specific jumps to mind

Heavy

for some reason i feel like heavy would adopt an older brother persona with chemist and try to get him to grow up a bit? i have no reasoning for this decision other than the fact that I like big bro heavy

he and artist trade book recommendations. heavy appreichiates the chance to practice his english and his literature degree at the same time

i think Joey's disguised but probing questions would set off alarm bells for heavy that make him shut down the conversation. probably best the two keep their distance lest joey find out something about heavy's family that heavy would rather him not know.

Spy

annoyed at the gross hippy tendancies of chemist. chemist doesn't like that spy works for the Maaan, man.

indifferent to each other. Spy feels a bit bad for them after getting curious and digging into their past and why they got shoved into merc duty.

he's professional partners with the informat. they run on a series of favors promised back and forth. they both have deep respect for the other and sometimes go out drinking together

Medic

on the one hand kind of offput by the human experimentation- on the other medic knows how to get lsd directly into the brain soooo

artist has a weird facsination with medic's work, even if you wouldn't guess that on the surface. medic enjoys having someone who's willing to listen to his ramblings about super baboon hearts or whatever

informat looked up everything he could find on medic after their first meeting. joey is very, Very scared of medic and what he's capable of doing while giggling like a school girl

Sniper

they like to drive into the desert and get stoned and look for ufos together. best friends!

you put two autistic people who are bad at starting conversations in a room together and see what happens. Absolutely nothing they never talk. Artist thinks sniper is scary cause they can't read his expressions and sniper is more than aware that artist is scared of him

Informat saw sniper wrestling a croc, got so horny he nearly passed out, and thought if they banged that would be it. oops turned out sniper's weird bluntness and outdoorsman nature have awoken long suppressed feelings in joey and he's fallen Actually in love and has no idea how to cope. somehow they start dating. sniper calls joey roo

Miss Pauling

is constantly trying to get pauling to calm down and take a break every now and then. it never works. pauling either appreciates the effort or finds it annoying depending how stressed she is

artist can't really get over the idea of her as their boss. they like pauling enough but its a very professional relationship

informat has deep respect for all the shit pauling goes through. shes incredibly good at her job, even if her job sometimes makes his job harder.

Admin

mark chemist down as scared AND horny!

god so scared. why are so many people constantly threatening them please they didn't even finish art school they didn't sign up for this!

knows far more than he should. Very invested in NOT finding out any more. Don't need to be on her radar.

Saxton hale

punching panthers is like, soo uncool man. think about mother nature!

looks up to his confiedence, also very put off by his confidence

Joey keeps a close on him for work. lots of people are interested in finding hale's weakness

#asks #my ocs #woof that took a while!

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